«■
ilife1.1 'i. 'I 'liHWii
Manuscript, Archives,
and Rare Book Library
EMORY UNIVERSITY
th
Romance of War.
The Aide-de-Camp.
Scottish Cavalier. I
Bothwell. [vol.
Jane Set on ; or, The
Queen's Advocate.
Philip Rollo.
Legends of the Black
Watch.
Mary of Lorraine.
Oliver Ellis; or, The
Fusiliers.
Phantom Regiment.
LucyArden, or Holly-
wood Hall.
Frank Hilton; or,
The Queen's Own.
The Yellow Frigate.
Harry Ogilvie; or,
TheBlackDragoons.
Arthur Blane.
Laura Everingham.
Captain of the Guard.
Letty Hyde's Lovers.
Cavaliers of Fortune.
Second to None.
Constable of France.
King'sOwnBorderers.
The White Cockade.
Dick Rodney. [Love.
First Love and Last
The Girl he Married.
Lady Wedderburn's
Jack Manly. [Wish.
Only an Ensign.
Adventures of Rob
Roy.
U nder theRedDragon
The Queen's Cadet.
Published by George Routledge and Sons.
NOVELS AT TWO SHILLINGS.—Continued.
By FIELDING and SMOLLETT.
Fielding.
Tom Jones.
Joseph Andrews.
Amelia.
Smollett.
Roderick Random.
Humphrey Clinker.
Peregrine Pickle.
By AMELIA B. EDWARDS.
The Ladder of Life. | My Brother's Wife. | Haifa Million of Money.
By Mrs. CROWE.
Night Side of Nature.
Susan Hopley.
Linny Lockwood.
By Miss FERRIER.
Marriage.
Inheritance.
Destiny.
By CAPTAIN CHAMIER.
Life of a Sailor. | Ben Brace. | Tom Bowling. | Jack Adams.
By CHARLES LEVER.
Arthur O'Leary.
Con Cregan.
By S. LOVER.
Rory O'More.
Handy Andy.
By CAPTAIN ARMSTRONG.
Two Midshipmen. | Medora. '[War Hawk | Young Commander
By Mrs. GORE.
Mothers and Daughters.
Soldier of Lyons.
By Rev. G. R. GLEIG.
By Lady C. LONG.
First Lieutenant's Story.
Sir Roland Ashton.
The Hussar.
Country Curate. | Waltham.
By GERSTAECKER.
A Wife to Order. | Feathered Arrow.
Two Convicts. Each for Himself.
Stories of Waterloo.
Brian O'Linn; or,
Luck is Everything.
Captain Blake.
The Bivouac.
By W. H. MAXWELL.
Hector O'Halloran. Wild Sports in the
Stories of the Penin-
sular War.
Captain O'Sullivan.
Flood and Field.
Highlands.
Wild Sports in the
West.
By LANG. I By EDMUND YATES.
Will He Marry Her. I Running the Gauntlet.
The Ex-Wife. | Kissing the Rod.
By THEODORE HOOK.
Peregrine Bunce.
Cousin Geoffry.
Gilbert Gurney.
Parson's Daughter.
All in the Wrong.
The Widow and the
Marquess.
Gurney Married.
Jack Brag.
Maxwell.
Man of Many Friends.
Passion and Principle.
Merton.
Gervase Skinner.
Cousin William.
Fathers and Sons.
Published by George Routledge and Sons.
NOVELS AT TWO SHILLINGS.—Continued.
The Brigand.
Morley Ernstein.
Darnley.
Richeheu.
The Gipsy.
Arabella Stuart.
The Woodman.
Agincourt.
Russell.
By G. P. R. JAMES
The King's Highway.
Castle of Ehrenstein.
The Stepmother.
Forest Days.
The Huguenot
The Man-at-Arms.
A Whim and its Con-
sequences.
The Convict.
Gowrie.
The Robber.
The Smuggler.
Heidelberg.
The Forgery.
The Gentleman of the
Old School.
Philip Augustus.
The Black Eagle.
By RICHARDSON. (2s. 6d. each.)
Clarissa Harlowe. | Pamela. | SirCharlesGrandison«
By Mrs. TROLLOPE.
Petticoat Government
Widow Barnaby.
Love and Jealousy.
By VARIOUS AUTHORS.
Widow Married.
Barnabys in America.
Caleb Williams.
Scottish Chiefs.
Torlogh O'Brien.
Hour and the Man,
by Miss Martineau.
Tylney Hall. (
Ladder of Gold, by
R. Bell.
Millionaire (The) of
Mincing Lane.
Colin Clink.
Salathiel, byDr.Croly
Clockmaker. (2s.6d.)
Manoeuvring Mother.
Phineas Quiddy.
The Pirate of the
Mediterranean.
The Pride of Life.
Who is to Have it ?
The Bashful Irishman.
Deeds, not Words.
The Secret of a Life.
The Iron Cousin; or,
Mutual Influence.
The Young Curate.
The Greatest Plague
of Life, with Cruik-
shank's plates.
The Green Hand.
The Attache, by Sam
Slick.
Matrimonial Ship-
wrecks.
Lewell Pastures.
Zohrab, the Hostage.
The Two Baronets.
Whom to Marry, with
Cruikshank's plates.
The Man of Fortune.
Letter Bag of the
Great Western.
Black and Gold.
Vidocq, the French
Police Spy.
Singleton Fontettoy.
Lamplighter.
Gideon Giles, the
Roper.
Guy Livingstone.
Sir Victor's Choice.
Outward Bound.
The Flying Dutchman
Dr. Goethe's Court-
ship.
Clives of Burcot.
The Wandering Jew.
Mysteries ®f Paris.
Land and Sea Tales.
Cruise upon Wheels.
False Colours, by
Annie Thomas.
NickoftheWoods; or,
theFightingQuaker
Stretton, by Henry
Kingsley.
Mabel Vaughan.
Banim's Peep-o'-Day.
Smuggler.
S t«art of Dunleath, by
Hon. Mrs. Norton.
Adventures of a Strol-
ling Player.
Solitary Hunter.
Kaloolah, by W. S.
Mayo.
Patience Strong.
Cavendish, by author
of "Will Watch.
Will Watch, by ditt®.
Reminiscences of a
Physician.
Won in a Canter, by
Old Calabar.
Mornings at Bow
Street, with plates
by Geo. Cruikshank
Published by George Routledge and Sons.
ROUTLEDGE'S
COMIC RECITER.
EDITED AND SELECTED
BY
J. E. CARPENTER.
LONDON:
'GEORGE ROUTLEDGE AND SONS,
THE BROADWAY, LUDCATE.
NEW YORK: 41c, BROOME STRICT.
LONDON :
SAVILL, EDWARDS AND CO., PRINTERS, CHANDOS STREET;
COVENT GARDEN.
PREFACE,
It is believed that time has arrived when a fresh arrange,
ment of comic pieces adapted for recitation is required. The
selections popular half a century ago, with which the Bon
Vivants of our grandfathers' days were wont to set the table
in a roar, are, for the most part, too gross to suit the refined
taste of the present day; there was a fashion, too, of sneering
at things sacred, and of introducing unseemly oaths into the
most ordinary narratives, that would not now be tolerated.
True, among the purveyors of this fugitive literature were
such men as Dr. John Wolcot and the younger Colman, and
while the wit was undeniable the indelicacy was the less
excusable. In u Routledge's Comic Reciter no piece has
been admitted which may not be safely recited before a public
audience, the whole having been carefully revised without, it
is to be hoped, rendering them less effective. It is scarcely
necessary to point out that comic recitations in verse are
usually written in an easy, familiar style;—-judged by severe
critics of the u superfine order, they might even be called
rt common place"—but an editor or compiler must remember
the audience he appeals to as well as those who may sit in
judgment on his performance, and it would be an error to
17 Frpjace.
aim over the heads of the former for the mere sake of cor-
ciliating the prejudices of the latter.
For permission to include the many modern pieces which
enrich the selection, the editor and publishers have to return
their most grateful thanks to the respective authors and
owners of copyrights mentioned in the following pages.
J. E. C.
Notting Uill} 1867.
CONTENTS.
9 AO*
Adventures of Joe Hutch, The ... Mathews .|6
Advice to Young Women Dr. John IVtLcot 172
Apple Dumplings and the King,
The Dr. John Wolcol 88
Auctioneer and the Lawyer, The . Horace Smith 203
Bachelor and the Biide, The II. L. B 183
Bashful Man, The Mackenzie 223
Best of Wives, The Anonymous 70
Billy Dip the Dyer Anonymous 107
Biography of Mother Hubbard's
Dog, The T. H. Bayly 208
Brother Jonathan in the Vatican... Anonymous 176
Brick Lane Temperance Branch,
The Charles Dickens ... 38
Bullum versus Boatum George A. Stephens 54
Case altered, The Anonymous 180
Christmas Pie, The Anonymous 146
Choice of a Wife by Cheese, The . Anonymous J23
Cheap Clothing Anonymous 238
City Fast Man, The Anonymous '179
Citizen and the Thieves, The Anonymous j6o
Clerical Wit Anonymous 193
Cloud in the Honeymoon, A Bentlcy BalunH 22
Clever Idiot, The Anonymous 247
Cornelius A grippa linker 1 Sou they 42
Coldwater Man, The J. G. Sure 56
Come and Go., R. S. Sharpe 207
Countrymen and the Ass, The ... Dr. Byrom 234
Cockney Abroad, The J. G. Saxe 28
Collegian and the Porter, The ... Horace Smith........156
Daniel versus Disholout George A. Stephens 100
Dreaming Tim Jams T. Crofton Croker 37
Drummer and theTuikej'j The... Anonymous 98
vi
Contents,
Easy Remedy, An . .... Horace Smith............... 15
Evening-—by a Tailor O. W. Holmes ....... 112
Evening's Amusement in the
Country, An Gemge Grossmith 170
Fakenham Ghost, The . Robert Bloomfield 35
Farmer's Blunder, The Anonymous 7?
Farmer's Wife and the Gascon,
The Hm-ace Smith 174
.Farmer and the Councillor, The . Horace Smith < 224
Four Hunchbacks, The Anonymous 148
Frenchman and the Boxes, The... Anonymous 17
Frenchman and the Rats, The ... Anonymous 61
Ghost Player, The J. G. Saxe 16
Goody Grim versus Lapstone James Smith 149
Going to a Public Dinner J. A. Hardwick 187
Handy Andy's Little Mistakes ... Samuel Lover 44
Haunch of Venison, The Anonymous 217
Half Hundred, The James Bruton 89
Helps to Read J. Britton 177
Historical Butcher, The Mathews 184
How to Save a Thousand Pounds Anonymous 235
Honest Old Hostess, The Anonymous . 103
.How to Cure a Cough Anonymous 124
Homoeopathic Soup Anonymous 61
Hodge and the Vicar Anonymous 223
Irish Schoolmaster, Thp Anonymous 91
I Vant to Fly Anonymous 200
lackdaw of Rheims, The Rev. R. H. Barham 1
Jewish Mutton Amnymous 196
femble and the Elephant Anonymous 118
Likeness, The Anonymous 125
Lodgings for Single Gentlemen... Geo. Colman the younger. 161
I endon Tailor, The Anonymous.... 142
Marshal Saxe and his Physician... Horace Smith 82
Madame Talleyrand and the
Traveller Horace Smith 33
Merry Christmas, A Anonymous 74
Monsieur Tonson John Taylor 5
Modern Logic Anonymous,.... 173
Contents,
vii
PAGB
Mrs. Robinson's Evening Party... J. K. Carpenter „... I i,l
Mrs. Dobbs at Home Horace Smith...., 164
Mrs. Rose Grob Horace Smith ... 86
Mr. Rogers and Monsieur Denise. Mathews 122
Musical Butcher, The Anonymous 63
My Uncle John Taylor 129
No Grumbling Anonymous 108
Notary of Perigeux, The H. W. Longfellow 243
Nose and Eyes Wm. Cowper
Nux Postcoenatica O.W.Holmes 118
Old Gardener's Description of the
Warwick Vase, The 210
Old Cheese, The Anonymous 152
Oxford Student to his Mother ... Anonymous 130
Oyster, The Anonymous 103
Patent Brown Stout Anonymous 27
Parson and the Spaniel, The Anonymous 221
Parsons and the Corkscrew W. T. Moncricjf 230
?astor M'Knock's Address Anonymous 21
Pilgrims and the Peas, The Dr. John Wolcot
Poor Richard's Sayings, by Dun-
dreary London Society 67
Pork Steaks, or the Mistake Anonymous 218
Poet Grub at Brighton Horace Smith 121
Please to Ring the Bell Geo. Cclman the younger. 9
Professor Snuffle's Lecture on
Electricity 162
Precepts of Politeness J. Stirling Coyne, 84
Quack Doctor, The Anonymous 143
Razor Seller, The Dr. John Wolcvt.m,........ 181
Rabelais and the Lampreys Horace Smith 93
Richelieu; or, the Conspiracy Bentley Ballads 51
Rival Broom Makers, The Dr. John Wolcol 63
Rory O'More's present to the
Priest Samuel Lover 132
Saying, not Meaning Wm. Basil Wake.,, 80
Saint Michael's Chair Bobert Southey 205
Sermon on the word Malt Dr. Dodd 158
School for Politeness Anonymous 136
Serjeant Buzfuz's Address Charles Dickens 29
Schoolmaster and his Apples, The Anonymous 240
viii Content*,
Shepherd and the King, The Anonymous
Soft Sawder and Human Nature.. Haliburhm
Spectre no Ghost, The Anonymous
Spirit of Contradiction, The Robert Lloyd .....
Stage-struck Hero, The Anonymous
Talking Latin Ilaliburton
Three Warnings, The Mrs. Piozzi
I inker and the Glazier, The IVm. Harrison...
Tinker and the Miller's Daughter,
The Dr. John IVcLcal.
Toe, The Anonymous
Two Stammerers, The Anonymous
Two heads are better than one Anonymous
Vat you please J. R. Planche....
Waiting for Dead Men's Shoes ... Anonymous
Whiskers, The Anonymous
Woman of Mind, The Anonymous
Woman's Curiosity Hannah More
Woman's Rights Artemus IVard...
ne.~t
94
12
72
] IC
16C-
127
76
182
154
219
191
168
19.?
I05
201
I40
Yankee Author at Shakspeare's
Birth-place, The
Yorkshireman and the Jeweller.... Isaac Bass
.... 214
... Ill
ROUTLEDGE'S
COMIC RECITER.
THE JACKDAW OF RHEIMS.
Rev. Richard Harris Barham.
[The Rev. R. H. Barham was a minor canon of St. Paul's and
Rector of St. Augustine and St. Faith's, London. He contributed
largely to the magazines, but was chiefly known by his inimitable
 Ingoldsby Legends, of which numerous editions have been pub-
lished, and fresh ones constantly demanded. Born 1789 ; died 1845.]
The Jackdaw sat on the Cardinal's chair!
Bishop and abbot, and prior were there;
Many a monk, and many a friar,
Many a knight, and many a squire,
With a great many more of lesser degree,—
In sooth a goodly company;
And they served the Lord Primate on bended knee.
Never, I ween,
Was a prouder seen,
Read of in books, or dreamt of in dreams,
Than the Cardinal Lord Archbishop of Rheimi
In and out
Through the motley rout,
That little Jackdaw kept hopping about;
Here and there
Like a dog in a fair,
Over comfits and cates,
And dishes and plates,
Cowl and cope, and rochet and pall.
Mitre and crosier! he hopp'd upon all £
With saucy air,
He perch'd on the chair
fi
2
Comic Recitations.
Where, in state, the great Lord Cardinal sat
In the great Lord Cardinal's great red hat ;
And he peer'd in the face
Of his Lordship's Grace,
With a satisfied look, as if he would say,
"We two are the greatest folks here to-day!
And the priests, with awe,
As such freaks they saw,
Said, "The Devil must be in that little Jackdaw!'
The feast was over, the board was clearM,
The flawns and the custards had all disappeared,
And six little Singing-boys,—dear little souls 1
In nice clean faces, and nice white stoles,
Came, in order due,
Two by two,
Marching that grand refectory through!
A nice little boy held a golden ewer,
Emboss'd and fill'd with water, as pure
As any that flows between Rheims and Namur,
Which a nice little boy stood ready to catch
In a fine golden hand-basin made to match.
Two nice little boys, rather more grown,
Carried lavender-water, and eau de Colognej
And a nice little boy had a nice cake of soap,
Worthy of washing the hands of the Pope.
One little boy more
A napkin bore,
Of the best white diaper, fringed with pink,
And a Cardinal's Hat mark'd in "permanent ink.1*
The great Lord Cardinal turns at the sight
Of these nice little boys dress'd all in white!
From his finger he draws
His costly turquoise;
And, not thinking at all about little Jackdaws,
Deposits it straight
By the side of his plate,
While the nice little boys on his Eminence wait;
Till, when nobody's dreaming of any such thing,
That little Jackdaw hops off with the ring!
There's a cry and a shout,
And a deuce of a rout,
And nobody seems to know what they're about,
But the monks have their pockets all turn'd inside out
The Jackdaw of Rheims.
3
The friars are kneeling,
And hunting, and feeling
The carpet, the floor, and the walls, and the ceiling,
The Cardinal drew
Off each plum-coloured choe,
And left his red stockings exposed to the view;
He peeps, and he feels
In the toes and the heels;
They turn up the dishes,—they turn up the plates,—
They take up the poker and poke out the grates,
—They turn up the rugs,
They examine the mugs: —
But. no!—no such thing;—
They can't find the ring !
And the Abbot declared that, "when nobody twigg'd it,
Some rascal or other had popp'd in, and prigg'd it!
The Cardinal rose with a dignified look,
He call'd for his candle, his bell, and his book J
In holy anger, and pious grief,
He solemnly cursed that rascally thief!
He cursed him at board, he cursed him in bed;
From the sole of his foot to the crown of his head;
He cursed him in sleeping, that every night
He should dream of the devil, and wake in a fright;
He cursed him in eating, he cursed him in drinking,
He cursed him in coughing, in sneezing, in winking;
He cursed him in sitting, in standing, in lying;
He cursed him in walking, in riding, in flying,
He cursed him in living, he cursed him in dying!—
Never was heard such a terrible curse!!
But what gave rise
To* no little surprise,
Nobody seem'd one penny the worse I
The day was gone,
The night came on,
The Monks and the Friars they search'd till dawn»
When the Sacristan saw,
On crumpled claw,
Come limping a poor little lame Jackdaw!
No longer gay,
As on yesterday;
His feathers all seem'd to be turn'd the wrong way;—
His pinions droop'd—he could hardly stand,—
His head was as bald as the palm of your hand;
His eye so dim,
So wasted each limb,
b 2
Comic Recitations.
That, heedless of grammar, they all cried, "That's him
That's the scamp that has done this scandalous thing!
That's the thief that has got my Lord Cardinal's Ring!
The poor little Jackdaw,
When the monks he saw,
Feebly gave vent to the ghost of a caw;
And turn'd his bald head, as much as to say,
 Pray, be so good as to walk this way !
Slower and slower
He limp'd on before.
Till they came to the back of the belfry door.
Where the first thing they saw,
'Midst the sticks and the straw,
Was the ring in the nest of that little Jackdaw I
Then the great Lord Cardinal call'd for his book,
And off that terrible curse he took;
The mute expression
Served in lieu of confession,
And, being thus coupled with full restitution,
The Jackdaw got plenary absolution !
—When those words were heard,
That poor little bird
Was so changed in a moment, 'twas really absur 1,
He grew sleek, and fat;
In addition to that,
A fresh crop of feathers came thick as a mat!
His tail waggled more
Even than before;
But no longer it wagg'd with an impudent air,
No longer he perch'd on the Cardinal's chair.
He hopp'd now about
With a gait devout;
At Matins, at Vespers, he never was out;
And, so far from any more pilfering deeds,
He always seem'd telling the Confessor's beads.
If any one lied,—or if any one swore,—
Or slumber1 d in prayer-time and happen'd to snore,
That good Jackdaw
Would give a great  Caw!
As much as to say,  Don't do so any more!
While many remark'd, as his manners they saw,
That they  never had known such a pious Jackdaw **
He long lived the pride
Of that country side,
And at last in the odour of sanctity died;
When, as words were too feint
His merits to paint,
Monsieur Tonson.
5
The Conclave determined to mike him a Saint;
And on newly-made Saints and Popes, as you know,
It's the custom, at Rome, new names to bestow,
So they canonized him by the name of Jim Crow I
(By permission of Richard. Bentley, Esj.)
MONSIEUR TONSON,
John Taylor.
[John Taylir was grandson of the famous Chevalie; John Taylor,
oculist to the principal sovereigns of Europe, and son of John Taylor,
the chevalier's son and successor, who was for many years oculist to
George III. In 1795> he published a pleasing poem, entitled "The
Stage. In 1811, "Poems on Several Occasions, and in 1827,
"Poems on Various Subjects, 2 vols. His "Monsieur Tonson
has always been an immense favourite, and being among the first
works illustrated by the inimitable George Cruikshank, was one of
the stepping-stones to that great caricaturist's reputation. Mr. Taylor
was connected with the periodical press for upwards of half a century,
and he was the original editor and one of the proprietors of the Sun
newspaper, the misconduct of a partner depriving him of his property.
Porn 1756; died 1832.]
There lived, as fame reports, in days of yore,
At least some fifty years ago, or more,
A pleasant wight on town, yclep'd Tori King,
A fellow that was clever at a joke,
Expert in all the arts to tease and smoke,
In short, for strokes of humour quite the thing.
To many a jovial club this King was knowr,
With whom his active wit unrivall'd shone—
Choice spirit, grave freemason, buck and biood,
Would crowd his stories and hon mots to hear,
And none a disappointment e'er could fear,
His humour flow'd in such a copious flood.
To him a frolic was a high delight—
A frolic he would hunt for day and night,
Careless how prudence on the sport might frown,
If e'er a pleasant mischief sprang to view,
At once o'er hedge and ditch away he flew,
Nor left the game till he had run it down-
6
Comic Recitations.
One night our hero, rambling with a friend,
Near famed St. Giles's chanced his course to bend,
Just by that spot, the Seven Dials hight;
'Twas silence all around, and clear the coast,
The watch, as usual, dozing on his post,
And scarce a lamp displa/d a twinkling light.
Around this place there lived the num'rous claris
Of honest, plodding, foreign artizans,
Known at that time by the name of refugees—
The rod of persecution from their home,
Compell'd the inoffensive race to roam,
And here they lighted like a swarm of bees.
Well! our two friends were saunt'ring through the street,
In hopes some food for humour soon to meet,
When, in a window near, a light they view;
And, though a dim and melancholy ray,
It seem'd the prologue to some merry play,
So towTds the gloomy dome our hero drew.
Straight at the door he gave a thund'ring knock
(The time we may suppose near two o'clock),
 I'll ask, says King,  if Thompson lodges here.
 Thompson ? cries t'other,  who the devil is he t
"1 know not, King replies, "but want to see
What kind of animal will now appear.
After some time a little Frenchman came,
One hand display'd a rushlight's trembling flame,
The other held a thing they call culotte ;
An old striped woollen nightcap graced his head,
A tatter'd waistcoat o'er one shoulder spread,
Scarce half-awake, he heaved a yawning note.
Though thus untimely roused, he courteous smiled,
And soon address'd our wag in accents mild,
Bending his head politely to his knee—
Pray, sare, vat vant you, dat you come so rate;
I beg your pardon, sare, to make you vait;
Pray, tell me, sare, vat your commands vid rat'
 Sir, replied King,  I merely thought to know,
As Oy your house I chanced to-night to go—
But, really, I disturb'd your sleep, I fear—
1 say, I thought, that you perhaps could tell,
Among the folks who in this stre** may dwell,
If there's a Mr. Thompson lodg»-i here?
Monsieur Tonson.
1
The shiv'ring Frenchman, though not pleased to find
The business of this unimportant kind,
Too simple to suspect 'twas meant in jeer,
Shrygg'd out a sigh that thus his rest should break,
Then, with unaltered courtesy, he spake,
 No, sare, no Monsieur Tonson lodges here.
Our wag begg5d pardon, and toward home he sped,
While the poor Frenchman crawled again to bed;
But King resolved not thus to drop the jest,
So the next night, with more of whim than grace,
Again he made a visit to the place,
To break once more the poor old Frenchman's rest,
He knock'd—but waited longer than before:
No footstep seem'd approaching to the door.
Our Frenchman lay in such a sleep profound;
King, with the knocker, thunder'd then again,
Firm on his post determined to remain;
And oft, indeed, he made the door resound.
At last, King hears him o'er the passage creep,
Wond'ring what fiend again disturb'd his sleep ;
The wag salutes him with a civil leer:
Thus drawling out to heighten the surprise
(While the poor Frenchman rubbed his heavy eyes),
 Is there—a Mr. Thompson—lodges here ?
The Frenchman falter'd, with a kind of fright—
 Vy, sare, I'm sure I told you, sare, last night—
(And here he labour'd with a sigh sincere)
No Monsieur Tonson in de varld I know,
No Monsieur Tonson here—I told you so;
Indeed, sare, dare no Monsieur Tonson here!
Some more excuses tender'd, off King goes,
And the old Frenchman sought once more repose.
The rogue next night pursued his old career—
'Twas long, indeed, before the man came nigh,
And then he utterM, in a piteous cry,
 Sare, 'pon my soul, no Monsieur Tonson here!
Our sportive wight his usual visit paid,
And the next night came forth a prattling maid,
Whose tongue, indeed, than any jack went faster—
Anxious she strove his errand to inquire,
He said, "'Tis vain her pretty tongue to tire,
He should not stir till he had seen her master.
8
Comic Recitations.
The damsel then began, in doleful state,
The Frenchman's broken slumbers to relate,
And begg'd he'd call at proper time of day.
King told her she must fetch her master down,
A chaise was ready, he was leaving town,
But first had much of deep concern to say.
Thus urged, she went the snoring man to cad,
And long, indeed, was she obliged to bawl,
Ere she could rouse the torpid lump of clay.
At last he wakes, he rises, and he swears,
But scarcely had he totterM down the stairs
When King attacks him in his usual way.
The Frenchman now perceived 'twas all in vain
To this tormentor mildly to complain,
And straight in rage his crest began to rear—
 Sare, vat the devil make you treat me so ?
Sare, I inform you, sare, three nights ago,
Got tarn, I swear, no Monsieur Tonson here!
True as the night King went, and heard a strife
Between the harass'd Frenchman and his wife,
Which would descend to chase the fiend away j
At length to join their forces they agree,
And straight impetuously they turn the key,
Prepared with mutual fury for the fray.
Our hero, with the firmness of a rock,
Collected to receive the mighty shock,
Utt'ring the old inquiry, calmly stood—
The name of Thompson raised the storm so high,
He deern'd it then the safest plan to fly,
With  Well, Fll call when you're in gentler mood.'1
In short, our hero, with the same intent,
Full many a night to plague the Frenchman went—
So fond of mischief was the wicked wit;
They threw out water, for the watch they call,
But King expecting, still escapes from all—
Monsieur, at last, was forced his house to quit.
It happen'd that our wag about this time,
On some fair prospect sought the Eastern clirne,
Six ling'ring years were there his tedious lot;
At length, content, amid his rip'ning store,
He treads again on Britain's happy shore,
And his long absence is at once forgot.
Please to ring the Bell.
9
To London with impatient hope he flies,
And the same night, as former freaks arise,
He fain must stroll the well-known haunt to trace.
"Ah, here's the scene of frequent mirth, he said,
 My poor old Frenchman, I suppose, is dead—
Egad, I'll knock, and see who holds his place.
With rapid strokes he makes the mansion roar,
And while he eager eyes the op'ning door,
Lo! who obeys the knocker's rattling peal ?
Why, e'en our little Frenchman, strange to say 1
He took his old abode that very day—
Capricious turn of sportive Fortune's wheel 1
Without one thought of the relentless foe,
Who, fiendlike, haunted him so long ago,
Just in his former trim he now appears;
The waistcoat and the nightcap seem'd the same,
With rushlight, as before, he creeping came,
And King's detested voice, astonish'd, hears.
As if some hideous spectre struck his sight,
His senses seem'd bewilder'd with affright,
His face, indeed, bespoke a heart full sore—
Then starting, he exclaim'd in rueful strain,
 Begar! here's Monsieur Tonson come again !
Away he ran—and ne'er was heard of more 1
PLE A.SE TO RING THE BELL.
George Colman the Younger.
[Author of numerous plays, including  John Bull,  The Iroc
Chest, and "Blue Beard. Bom 1762; died 1836.]
Centric in London noise and London folly,
Proud Covent Garden blooms in smoky glory s
For cabmen, coffee-rooms, piazzas, holly,
Cabbages and comedians famed in story.
Near this famed spot, upon a sober plan,
Dwelt a right regular and staid young man j—
Much did he early hours and quiet love,
And was entitled Mr. Isaac Dove
Comic Recitations.
He had apartments up two pair of stairs;
And on the first floor lodged one Dr. Crow;—
The landlord was a torturer of hairs,
And made a grand display of wigs below,
From the beau's Brutus to the parson's frizzle;—
Over the doorway was his name;—'twas Twizzle,
Now Isaac Dove,
Living above
This Doctor Crow,—
And knowing Barber Twizzle lived below,— •
Thought it might be as well,
Hearing so many knocks—single and double—
To try at his own cost a street-door bell,
And save confusion in the house and trouble.
Whereby his (Isaac's) visitors .might know,
Without long waiting in the dirt or drizzle,
To ring for him at once,
And not to knock for Crow or Twizzle.
Besides, he now began to feel
The want of it was rather ungenteel;—
For he had often thought it a disgrace
To hear, while sitting in his own room above,
Twizzle's shrill maid on the first landing-place
Screaming, "A man below wants Mr. Dove!
The bell was bought; the wire was made to steal
Round the dark staircase like a tortured eel,
Twisting and twining;—
The nobby handle Twizzle's door-post graced;- —
And just beneath a brazen plate was placed,
Lacquered and shining,
Graven whereon, in characters full clear,
And legible, did "Mr. Dove appear;—•
And, furthermore, which you might read right well.
Was, "Please to ring the bell.
Alas ! what pity 'tis that regularity,
Like Isaac Dove's is such a rarity;
But there are swilling wights in London town
Term'd Jolly Dogs—Choice Spirits—alias Swine
Who pour, in midnight revel, bumpers down,
Making their throats a thoroughfare for wine.
These spendthrifts, who life's pleasures thus outrun,
Dozing with headaches till the afternoon,
Lose half men's regular estate of sun,
By borrowing too largely of the moon.
Please to ring the Belt.
li
One of this kidney—Toby Tosspot hight—
Was coming from the Bedford late at night;
And being Bacchi plenus,—full of wine,
Although he had a tolerable notion,
Of aiming at progressive motion,
'Twasn't direct—'twas serpentine.
He worked with sinuosities along,
Like Monsieur Corkscrew, worming through a jerk;
Not straight, like Corkscrew's proxy—stiff Dong
Prong, a fork.
At length, with near four bottles in his pate,
He saw the moon shining on Dove's brass plate,
When reading,  Please to ring the bell;
And being civil beyond measure,
"Ring it! says Toby—"very well;
I'll ring it with a deal of pleasure.
Toby, the kindest soul in all the town,
Gave it a jerk, that almost knocked it down.
He waited full two minutes—no one came ;
He waited full two minutes more; and then
Says Toby,  If he's deaf, I'm not to blame !
I'll pull it for the gentleman again.
But the first peal woke Isaac in a fright;
Who, quick as lightning popping up his head,
Sat on his head's antipodes, in bed,
Pale as a parsnip, bolt upright.
At length he wisely to himself doth say—
Calming his fears—
"Tush ! 'tis some fool "has rung, and ran away
When peal the second rattled in his ears !
Dove jumped into the middle of the floor;
And, trembling at each breath of air that stirr'd
He groped downstairs, and opened the street door;
While Toby was performing peal the third.
Isaac eyed Toby, fearfully askant—
And saw he was a strapper—stout and tall;
He put his question— Pray, Sir, what d'ye want ?
Says Toby— I want nothing, Sir, at all.
 Want nothing ? Sir! you've pull'd my bell, I vow,
As if you'd jerk it off the wire!
Quoth Toby—gravely making him a bow—
 I pull'd it, Sir, at your desire.
12
Comic Recitations.
"At mine?"—"Yes, yours !—I hope I've done it well?
High time for bed, Sir; I was hastening to it;
But if you write up—' Please to ring the bell,'
Ccmmcn politeness makes me stop and do it
SOFT SAWDER AND HUMAN NAT UK.
Judge Haliburton— Sam Slick.
[Thomas Chandler Haliburton, whose humorous writings nave
delighted so many admirers and readers, died August 27th, l865> at
his residence, Gordon House, Isleworth. Mr. Haliburton was born
at Windsor, Nova Scotia, in 1796, and filled the offices of Chief
Justice of the Common Pleas and Chief Justice of the Supreme Court
of that province. In 1837 his literary reputation was founded, and at
once carried to its highest pitch, by the republication—under the title
of "The Clockmaker; or, Sayings and Doings of Sam Slick, of
Slickville "—of a series of papers contributed to a journal published in
Halifax, N.S. His subsequent works were numerous ( An Account
of Nova Scotia, 1828;  Bubbles ot Canada, "The Old Judge,
and  Letter-bag of the Great Western, 1839;  Rule and Misrule
of the English in America, 1851 ; "Yankee Stories, and "Traits
of American Humour, 1852 ; "Nature and Human Nature, 1855),
and all characterized by the peculiar cast of humour that gave such
sudden and wide-spread celebrity to the first. In 1858 the author of
 Sam Slick ' received the honorary degree of D.C.L. from the
University of Oxford, and in the following year he began his parlia-
mentary career, being elected M.P. for Launceston on Conservative
principles. He was a constant attendant in the House, but seldom
spoke, probably in consequence of fhe weakness of his voice, which
prevented his being distinctly heard.]
I had heard of Yankee clock pedlars, tin pedlars, and oible
pedlars, especially of him who sold Polyglot Bibles {.ill vi English)
to the amount of sixteen thousand pounds. The house of every
substantial farmer had three substantial ornaments, a wooden clock,
i tin reflector, and a Polyglot Bible. How is it that an American
can sell his wares, at whatever price he pleases, where a blue-nose
would fail to make a sale at all ? I will inquire of the Clockmaker
the secret of his success.
What a pity it is, Mr. Slick (for such was his name), what a pity
it is, said I, that you, who are so successful in teaching these people
the value of clocks, could not also teach them the value of time.
I guess, said he, they have got that ring to grow on their horns yet,
which everv four vear old has in our country. We reckon hours
Soft Sawder and Human Natur.
13
and minutes to be dollars and cents. They do nothin in these parts
but eat, drink, smoke, sleep, ride about, lounge at taverns, and
make speeches at temperance meetings, and talk about  House oj
Assembly. If a man don't hoe his corn, and he don't get a crop,
he says it is all owin to the Bank; and if he runs into debt, and is
sued, why he says lawyers are a cuss to the country. They are a
most idle set of folks, I tell you.
But, how is it, said I, that you manage to sell such v. immense
number of clocks (which certainly cannot be called necessary
articles) among a people with whom there seems to be so great a
scarcity of money ?
Mr. Slick paused, as if considering the propriety of answering tlie
question, ar.d looking me in the face, said in a confidential tone,
Why, I don't care if I do tell you, for the market is glutted, and I
shall quit this circuit. It is done by a knowledge of soft t aw (ley
and human natur. But here is Deacon Flint's, said he, I have but
one clock left, and I guess I will sell it to him.
At the gate of a most comfortable-looking farm-house stood
Deacon Flint, a respectable old man, who had understood the value
of time better than most of his neighbours, if one might judge from
the appeaiance of everything about him. After the usual salutation,
an invitation to  alight was accepted by Mr. Slick, who said, he
wished to take leave of Mrs. Flint before he left Colchester.
We had hardly entered the house, before the Clockmaker pointed
to the view from the window, and addressing himself to me, said, If
I was to tell them in Connecticut, there was such a farm as this away
down east here in Nova Scotia, they wouldn't believe me—why
there ain't such a location in all New England. The Deacon has a
hundred acres of dyke.—Seventy, said the Deacon, only seventy.
Well, seventy; but then there is your fine deep bottom, why I could
iuii a ramrod into it.—Interval, we call it, said the Deacon, who,
though evidently pleased at this eulogium, seemed to wish the ex-
periment of the ramrod to be tried in the right place.—Well, inter-
val, if you please (though Professor Eleazer Cumstick, in his work on
Ohio, calls them bottoms), is just as good as dyke. Then there is
that water privilege, wcrth 3000 or 4000 dollars, twice as good as
what Governor Cass paid 15,000 dollars for. I wonder, Deacon, you
don't put up a carding machine on it: the same works would carry a
turning lathe, a shingle machine, a circular saw, grind bark, and .
Too old, said the Deacon, too old for all those speculations.—Old,
jepcated the Clockmaker, not you, why you are worth half a dozen
of the young men we see now-a-days, you are young enough ta
have—here he said something in a lower tone of voice, which I did
not distinctly hear; but whatever it was, the Deacon was pleased, he
smiled, and said he did not think of such things now.
But your beasts, dear me, your beasts must be put in and have a
feed; saying which, be went our *der them to be taken to the
stable.
14
Comic Recitations.
As the old gentleman closed the door after him, Mr. Slick drew
near to me, and said in an under tone, Now that is what I call
 soft sawder. An Englishman would pass that man as a sheep
passes a hog in a pastur, without looking at him; or, said he, looking
rather archly, if he was mounted on a pretty smart horse, 1 guess
he'd trot away, if he could. Now I find—Here his lecture on "so/?
sawder was cut short by the entrance of Mrs. Flint. Jist come to
say good-bye, Mrs. Flint.—What, have you sold all your clocks ?—
Yes, and very low, too, for money is scarce, and I wished to close
the consarn; no, I am wrong in saying all, for I have jist one left.
Neighbour Steel's wife asked to have the refusal of it, but I guess I
wont sell it; I had but two of them, this one and the .feller of it
that I sold Governor Lincoln. General Green, the Secretary of
State for Maine, said he'd give me 50 dollars for this here one—it
has composition wheels and patent axles, it is a beautiful article—a
real first chop—no mistake, genuine superfine, but I guess I'll take
it back; and beside, Squire Hawk might think it kinder harder that
I didn't give him the offer.—Dear me, said Mrs. Flint, I should like
to see it; where is it ?—It is in a chist of mine over the way, at Tom
Tape's store. I guess he can ship it on to Eastport.—That's a good
man, said Mrs. Flint, jist let's look at it.
Mr. Slick, willing to oblige, yielded to these entreaties, and soon
produced the clock—a gawdy, highly-varnished, trumpery-looking
affair. He placed it on the chimney-piece, where its beauties were
pointed out and duly appreciated by Mrs. Flint, whose admiration
was about ending in a proposal, when Mr. Flint returned from
giving his directions about the care of the horses. The Deacon
praised the clock, he too thought it a handsome one; but the
Deacon was a prudent man, he had a watch—he was sorry, but he
had no occasion for a clock. I guess you're in the wrong furrow
this time, Deacon, it ain't for sale, said Mr. Slick; and if it was I
reckon neighbour Steel's wife would have it, for she gives me no
peace about it. Mrs. Flint said, that Mr. Steel had enough to do,
poor man, to pay his interest, without buying clocks for his wife.
It's no consarn of mine, said Mr. Slick, so long as he pays me what
he has to do, but I guess I don't want to sell it, and besides it comes
too high; that clock can't be made at Rhode Island under 40 dollars.
Why, it ain't possible, said the Clockmaker, in apparent surprise,
looking at his watch, why, as I'm alive, it is 4 o'clock, and if J
haven't been two blessed hours here—how on air'ch shall I reach
River Philip to-night? I"} tell you what, Mrs. Flint, I'll leave the
clock in your care till I jfsturn on my way to the States—I'll set if
a-goin, and put it to the right time.
As soon as this operation was performed, he delivered the key to
the Deacon with a sort of serio-comic injunction to wind up the
clock every Saturday night, which Mrs. Flint said she would take
care should be done, and promised to remind her husband of it, ic
case he should chance to fo get i%
An Easy Remedy.
•5
That, said the Clockmaker, as soon as we were mounted, that I
call  human natur J Now that clock is sold for 40 dollars—it cost
me jist 6 dollars and 50 cents. Mrs. Flint will never let Mrs. Steel
have the refusal—nor will the Deacon lam, until I call for the clock,
that having once indulged in the use of a superfluity, how difficult
it is to give' it up. We can do without any article of luxury we
never had, but when once obtained, it isn't in  human natur to
surrender it voluntarily. Of fifteen thousand sold by myself and
partners in this province, twelve thousand were left in this manner,
and only ten clocks were dver returned—when we called for them,
they invariably bought them. We trust to  soft sawder to get
them into the house, anu to  human natur that they never come
out of it.
AN EASY REMEDY.
Horace Smith.
[Author of  Brambletye House, and other prose fictions, much
comic verse, and one of the authors of the celebrated "Rejected
Addresses. Born 17795 died 1849.]
An honest tailor, whose baptismal
And patronymic appellations
Were William Button, had a dismal
Tendency to deep potations,
And though, as he were overmated,
Like Jerry Sneak, our snip was fated.
In spite of all his hungry heavings,
To drink the tea and coffee leavings,
And eat fat mutton-flaps for dinner
Yet sometimes the rebellious sinner,
Asserting his marital rights,
Would, on the wages-paying nights,
Betake him to the public-house,
To smoke, to tipple, and carouse;
And as with each new dram and sip he
Still more and more pot-valiant grew,
At last he fairly braved his spouse,
Called her a vixen and a shrew,
A Jezebel and a Xantippe!
Returning home one night, our varlet,
Bold with his wife-compelling liquor,
Rattled the knocker quick and quicker,
When, with fierce eye and face of scarlet,
His tender spouse appeared, and shrilly
Vented reproaches on her Willy.
Comic Recitations.
' So, jackanapes, you're come at last!
No doubt the evening has been past
In tippling purl, you drunken sot,
Mulled ale and amber, hot and hot;
While your poor wife is left to slave,
And drink cold water from the can,—
Cold water, ye remorseless knave!
 Cold! cried the husband, who began
In turn to wrangle and'To storm it,—
 Cold! ye poor lazy slattern, cold !
Then why, ye good-for-nothing scold,
Why don't you warm it?
THE GHOST-PLAYER.
J. G. Saxe.
[A popular American writer and humorist, still living.]
Tom Goodwin was an actor man,
Old Drury's pride and boast
In all the light and sprite-ly parts,
Especially the Ghost.
Now Tom was very fond of drink,
Of almost every sort,
Comparative and positive,
From porter up to port.
But grog, like grief, is fatal stuff
For any man to sup;
For when it fails to pull him down,
It's sure to blow him up.
And so it fared with ghostly Tom,
Who day by day was seen
\-swelling, till (as lawyers say)
He fairly lost his lean.
Vt length (he manager observed
He'd better leave his post,
\nd said he played the very deuce
Whene'er he played the Ghost.
'Twas only t'other night he saw
A fellow swing his hat,
And heard him cry,  By all the godit
The Ghost is getting fat!
ine frenchman and the Boxes.
n
'Twould never do, the case was plain
His eyes he couldn't shut;
Ghosts shouldn't make the people laugh,
And Tom was quite a butt.
Tom's actor friends said ne'er a word
To cheer his drooping heart;
Though more than one was burning up
With zeal to  take his part.
Tom argued very plausibly;
He said he didn't doubt
That Hamlet's father drank and grew,
- In years, a little stout.
And so, 'twas natural, he said,
And quite a proper plan,
To have his spirit represent
A portly sort of man.
'Twas all in vain : the manager
Said he was not in sport,
And, like a gen'ral, bade poor Tom
Surrender up his forte.
He'd do perhaps in heavy parts,
Might answer for a monk,
Or porter to the elephant,
To carry round his trunk;
But in the Ghost his day was past,—
He'd never do for that;
A Ghost might just as well be dead
As plethoric and fat.
Alas! next day poor Tom was found
As stiff as any post;
For he had lost his character,
And given up the Ghost.
THE FRENCHMAN AND THE BOXES.
Messieuks,—I would well tell you, Wv I am come to this country
to instruct me in the manners, the customs, the habits, the policies,
and the other affairs general in Great Britain. And truly I think
me good fortunate, being received in many families, so as I can to
speak your language now with so much facility as the French,
c
i8
Comic Recitations.
But, never mind. That what I would you say, is not only for
the Englishes, but for the strangers, who come at your country from
all the other kingdoms, polite and instructed; because, they tell me,
that they are abonnements* for you in all the kingdoms in Europe,
so well as in the Orientals and Occidentals.
No, messieurs, upon my honour, I am not egotist. I not proud
myself with chateaux en Espagne. I. am but a particular gentleman,
come here for that what I said; but, since I learn to comprehend
the language, I discover that I am become an object of pleasantry,
and for himself to mock, to one of your comedians even before I put
my foot upon the ground at Douvres. He was Mr. Mathew, who
tell of some contretems of me and your word detestable, Box.
Well, never mind. I know at present how it happen, because I see
him since in some parties and dinners; and he confess he love murh
to go travel and mix himself altogether up with the stage-coach and
vapouringf boat for fun, what he bring at his theatre.
Well, never mind. He see me, perhaps, to ask a question in the
paquebot—but he not confess after, that he goed and bribe the
gar9on at the hotel and the coachman to mystify me with all the
boxes; but, very well, I shall tell you how it arrived, so as you shall
see that it was impossible that a stranger could miss to be perplexed,
and to advertise the travellers what will come after, that they shall
converse with the gentlemen and not with the badinstructs.
But it must that I begin. I am a gentleman, and my goods are
in the public rentes,J and a chateau with a handsome propriety on
the bank of the Loire, which I lend to a merchant English, who pay
me very well in London for my expenses. Very well. So I come
to Paris in my proper post-chaise, where I selled him, and hire one,
for almost nothing at all, for bring me to Calais all alone, because I
will not bring my valet to speak French here where all the world is
ignorant.
The morning following, I get upon the vapouring boat to walk so
far as Douvres. It was fine day—and, after I am recover myself of
a malady of the sea, I walk myself about the shep, and I see a great
mechanic of wood, with iron wheel, and thing to push up inside,
and handle to turn. It seemed to be ingenuous, and proper to hoist
great burdens. They use it for shoving the timber, what come:
down of t ie vessel, into the place; and they tell me it was cal;
 Jaques ir the boxand I was very much please with the invention
so novel.
Very well. I go again promenade upon the board of the vessel,
and I look at the compass, and little boy sailor come and sit him
down, and begin to chatter like the little monkey. Then the man
what turns a wheel about and about laugh, and say,  Very well.
Jacques, but I not understand one word the little fellow say. So I
• Abonnements —subscriptions. + Bateau a vapeur—a steamboat.
% Bentes—public funds.
'1 'he Frenchman and the Boxes.
19
make inquire, and they tell me he was •* box the compass. I was
surprise, but I tell myself, "well, never mind; and so we arrive at
Douvres. I find myself enough well in the hotel, but as there has
been no table-d'hote, I ask for some dinner, and it was long time 1
wait: and so I walk myself to the customary house, and give the
key to my portmanteau to the Douaniers, or excisemen, as you call,
for them to see as I had not no smuggles in my equipage. Very
well—I return at my hotel, and meet cne of the waiters, who tell
me (after I stand little moment to the door to see the world what
pass by upon the top of a coach at the instant),  Sir, he say,
"your dinner is ready. "Very well, I make response, "where
was it? "This way, sir, he answer, "I have put in a box in
the cafe room. "Well—never mind, I say to myself, "when a
man himself finds in a stranger country, he must be never surprised.
'Nil admirari.' Keep the eyes opened, and stare at nothing at all.
I found my dinner only* there there, because I was so soon come
from France; but I learn another sort of the box was a partition
and table particular in a saloon, and I keep there when I eated some
good sole fritted, and some not cooked mutton cutlet; and a gentle-
man what was put in another box, perhaps Mr. Mathew, because
nobody not can know him twice, like a chameleon he is, call for the
pepper box. Very well. I take a cup of coffee, and then all my
hardes and portmanteau come with a wheelbarrow; and, because it
was my intention to voyage up at London with the coach, and I
find my many little things was not convenient, I ask the waiter
where I may buy a night sack, or get them tie up all,together in a
burden. He was well attentive at my cares, and responded, that he
shall find me a box to put them all into. Well, I say nothing of all
but, "Yes, for fear to discover my ignorance; so he bring the little
box for the clothes and things into the great box what I was put
into; and he did my affairs in it very well. Then I ask him for
some spectacle in the town, and he send boot-boy with me so far as
the Theatre, and I go in to pay. It was shabby poor little place,
but the man what set to have the money, when I say  how much,
asked me if I would not go into the boxes.  Very well, I say,
"never mind—oh yes—to be sure; and I find very soon the box
was the loge, same thing. I had not understanding sufficient in
your tongue then to comprehend all what I hear—only one poor
maigre doctor, what had been to give his physic too long time at a
cavalier old man, was condemned to swallow up a whole box of his
proper pills.  Very well, I say,  that must be egregious. It is
cannot be possible; but they bring little a box not more grand nor
my thumb. It seem to be to me very ridiculous; so I returned to
my hotel at despair how I could possibility learn a language what
meant so many differents in one word.
I found the same waiter, who, so soon as I come in, tell me,
* La, la, signifies passable, indifferent.
r. *
so
Comic Recitations.
 Sir, did you tiot say that you would go by the cOacA to-morrow
morning? I replied "Yes—and I have bespeaked a seat out of the
side, because I shall wish to amuse myself with the country, and
you have no cabriolets* in your coaches.  Sir, he say, very
polite, "if you shall allow me, I would recommend you the box,
and then the coachman shall tell everything. "Very well, I
reply,  yes; to be sure—I shall have a box then—yes; and then I
demanded a fire into my chamber, because I think myself enrhumed
upon the sea, and the maid of the chamber come to send me in
bed: but I say,  No so quick, if you please; I will write to some
friend how I find myself in England. Very well—here is the fire,
but perhaps it shall go out before I have finish. She was pretty
laughing young woman, and say,  Oh no, sir, if you pull the bell,
the porter, who sit up all night, will come, unless you like to attend
to it yourself, and then you will find the coal-box in the closet.
Well—I say nothing but  yes—oh yes. But when she is gone, I
look direct into the closet, and see a box not no more like none of
the other boxes what I see all day than nothing.
Well—I write at my friends, and then I tumble about when I
wake, and dream in the sleep what should possible be the description
of the box what I must be put in to-morrow for my voyage.
In the morning, it was very fine time, I see the coach at the door,
and I walk all round before they bring the horses; but I see nothing
what they can call boxes, only the same kind as what my little
business was put into. So I ask for the post of letters at a little
boots boy, who showed me by the Quay, and tell me, pointing by
his finger at a window— There see, there was the letter-/;ox, and
I perceive a crevice. "Very well—all box again to-day, I say, and
give my letter to the master of postes, and go away again at the
coach, where I very soon found out what was coach-tor, and mount
myself upon it. Then come the coachman, habilitated like the
gentleman, and the first word he say was— Keep, horses! Bring
my box-coat! and he push up a grand capote with many scrapes.
 But—never mind, I say;  I shall see all the boxes in time.
So he kick his leg upon the board, and cry  cheat 1 and we are
out into the country in lesser than one minute, and roll at so grand
pace, what I have had fear we will be reversed. But after little
times, I take courage, and we begin to entertain together: but I
hear one of the wheels cry squeak, so I tell him,  Sir—one of the
wheel would be greased • then he make reply, nonchalancely,  Oh
—it is nothing but one of the boxes what is too tight. But it is
very long time after as I learn that wheel a box was pipe of iron
what go turn round upon the axle.
Well—we fly away at the pace of charge. I see great castles
The cabriolet is the front part of the old French diligence, with
a hood and apron, holding three oersons, including the guard, or
 conducteur 
The Frenchman and the Boxes. 21
many; then come a pretty house of country well ornated, and I
make inquire what it should be. "Oh! responsed he, "I not
remember the gentleman's name, but it is what we call a snug
country box.
Then I feel myself abymed at despair, and begin to suspect that
he amused himself. But, still I tell myself, "Well—never mind;
we shall see. And then after some times, there come another
house, all alone in a forest, not ornated at all.  What, how you
call that ? I demand of him.  Oh! he responded again,  that is
a shooting box of Lord Killfots.  Oh ! I cry at last out,  that is
little too strong; but he hoisted his shoulders and say nothing.
Well, we come at a house of country ancient, with the trees cut
like some peacocks, and I demand, "What you call these trees?
"Box, sir, he tell me. "Devil is in the box! I say at myself.
"But—never mind; we shall see. So I myself refreshed with a
pinch of snuff, and offer him, and he take very polite, and remark
upon an instant,  That is a very handsome box of yours, sir.
 Morbleu ! I exclaimed with inadvertencyness, but I stop myself.
Then he pull out his snuff-iox, and I take a pinch, because I like at
home to be sociable when I am out at voyages, and not show some
pride with inferior. It was of wood beautiful with turnings, and
colour of yellowish. So I was pleased to admire very much, and
inquire the name of the wood, and again he say,  Box, sir! Well—
I hold myself with patience, but it was difficilly; and we keep with
great gallop, till we come at a great crowd of the people. Then I
say,  What for all so large concourse ?"— Oh! he response again,
 there is one grand boxing match—a battle here to-day."— Peste!
I tell myself, "a battle of boxes! Well, never mind! I hope it can
be a combat at the outrance, and they all shall destroy one another,
for I am fatigued.
Well—we arrive at an hotel, very superb, all as it ought, and I
demand a morsel to refresh myself. I go into a salon, but, before I
finish, great noise come into the passage, and I pull the bell's rope
to demand why so great tapage ? The waiter tell me, and he laugh
at same time, but very civil no less, "Oh, sir, it is only two of the
women what quarrel, and one has given another a box on the ear.
Well—I go back on the coach-box, but I look, as I pass, at all
the women ear, for the box; but not none I see. "Well, I tell
myself once more, "never mind, we shall sec; and we drive on
very passable and agreeable times till we approached ourselves near
London; but then come one another coach of the opposition to pass
by, and the coachman say, "No, my boy, it shan't do! and then
he whip his horses, and made some traverse upon the road, and tell
to me, all the times, a long explication what the other coachmen
have done otherwhiles, and finish not till we stop, and the coach of
opposition come behind him in one narrow place. Well—then he
twist himself round, and with full voice, cry himself out at the
another man, who was so angry as himself. "<'ll tell you what, my
22
Comic Recitations.
hearty! if you comes some more of your gammon at mc, I shan't
stand, and you shall yourself find in the wrong l-ox. It was not
for many weeks after as I find out the wrong box meaning.
Well—we get at London, at the coaches office, and I unlightened
from my seat, and go at the bureau for pay my passage, and gentle-
man very polite demanded if I had some friend at London. I
converse with him very little time in voyaging, because he was in
the interior; but I perceive he is real gentleman. So, I say, "No,
sir, I am stranger. Then he very honestly recommend me at an
hotel, very proper, and tell me, "Sir, because I have some affairs in
the Banque, I must sleep in the City this night; but to-morrow I
shall come at the hotel, where you shall find some good attention!
if you make the use of my name. "Very well, I tell myself,
 this is best. So we exchange the cards, and I to come at my
hotel, where they say, "No room, sir,—very sorry,—no room.
But I demand to stop the moment, and produce the card what I
could not read before, in the movements of the coach with the dark-
ness. The master of the hotel take it from my hand, and become
very polite at the instant, and whisper to the ear of some waiters,
and then come at me, and say,  Oh yes, sir, I know Mr. Box very
well. Worthy gentleman, Mr. Box. Very proud to incommode
any friend of Mr. Box—pray inlight yourself, and walk in my
house. So 1 go in, and find myself very proper, and soon come so
as if I was in my own particular chamber; and Mr. Box come next
day, and I find very soon that he was the right Box, and not the
wrong box. Ha, ha!—You shall excuse my badinage,—eh ? But
never mind—I am going at Leicestershire to see the foxes hunting,
and I shall leave behind in orders for some presents, to give what
people will come at my lodgments for Christmas Boxes.
A CLOUD IN THE HONEYMOON.
Know ye the road of sylvan notoriety,
Where close cabs stand, and omnibuses ply;
Which squares and crescents deck in gay variety,
And walled-up villas, hidden from the eye;
Which counts dramatic stars in its society,
In numbers that with Heaven's stars can vie;
Which boasts an hospital?—but wherefore prompt on!
The place you must have recognised, as.Brompton.
Near this famed place, in a secluded spot,
By a small garden from the road divided;
A small house stood—a perfect rural cot,
In which, not many months ago, resided
A Cloud in the Honeymoon.
A happy pair, contented with their lot;
Thinking all bliss, while they were not divididj
Asking kind Heaven for no further boon,—
'Tis true they still were in their honeymoon:
Yet, as good models for all constant lovers,
Joseph an I Anna might have been displayed—
Each day, some brighter charm in her discovers
By fresh devotion on his part repaid—
One cloud alone in their horizon hovers;—
(The crumpling of the rose-leaf, I'm afraid),
That horrid office!—every day, poor Joe,
At nine o'clock is hurried off to go.
Short-sighted mortals! why,—the separation
Of those same eight hours out of twenty-four,
Adds to affection, zest and animation,
Felt by the wife,—and by the husband more—
Returning from a long day's application,
To find a sweet face smiling at the door,
A bright fire sparkling.—warmth, and joy, and peace
Does not the contrast home's true charms increase ?
 Don't be late back, love, Anna murmured, parting
From Joseph, on the morn of the New Year;
It almost paid the grievance of departing,
Those tender words and gentle tones to hear.
So Joseph thought, while on his long walk starting,
With Anna's sweet voice ringing in his ear.
He gave a sigh—then, quickening his gait,
Exclaimed,  Confound that watch! I shall be late.
Elbowing, pushing, forcing on his way,
At length a brother clerk he chanced to meet.
 Why, you are early from your work to-day 1
Said Joseph, as he stopped, his friend to greet.
 Work ! said the other,  'tis a holiday,
 To us poor fellows a delightful treat.
 A holiday! cried Joseph,  what a pleasure!
"I'll hasten home—what glad news for my treasure
How gaily now, his best exertions using,
Onwards-to home and wife he quickly hies;
With pleasant fancies, now, his mind amusing,
Anticipating Anna's glad surprise;—
At other times, the length of way abusing;—
At length the wished-for cottage meets his eyes—
He knocks once—twice—thrice, vainly at the door;
The well-known raps strike heedless o'er and o'er.
Comic Recitations.
A t length, the door was opened; and beside him
Stood Anna, in becoming agitation;
She said, she from the window had descried him;
And when he asked her, what her occupation
Was, that so long an entrance she denied him ?
She blushed, and uttered with much perturbation.
Some faint excuse, which, with her shrinking eye
And changing tint, seemed very like a lie.
"Don't let us stand here in the cold to chatter,
Said Joseph, in an accent somewhat stern,
His Anna would have asked, what was the matter;
But feared lest her solicitude he'd spurn:
Perhaps (my heroine I would not flatter),
Her busy conscience made her fair cheeks burn!
And thinking of the slip in her veracity,
Acted as a restraint on her loquacity.
But, by degrees, their spirits rose again,
And as they sat conversing, side by side,
With fond words Joseph tried to soothe the pain
His harsh tones must have caused his gentle bride.
 What could, he thought,  have made my silly brain
Form an idea against a love so tried ?
And quite convinced that he had been the offender,
He strove to make it up by words more tender.
What has occurred to make him, in a hurry,
Draw back from Anna's slender waist his arm ?
Can jealous thoughts again his fancy worry,
And cause that sudden glance round of alarm?
Why does his look put Anna in a flurry ?
She rose, and murmuring, "'Tis very warm,
Opened the window, and then left the room,
Leaving her husband sunk in deepest gloom.
Oh, jealousy! how much are to be pitied
The victims of thy poisonous influence!
When once a mind is to thy power submitted,
Farewell all hope, all reasoning, all sense 1
Now art thou into Joseph's brain admitted,
On what would seem too idle a pretence:
Those fears, those doubts, which all his pleasure mar,
Rise from the smell of an expired cigar!
"Now, who can have been smoking here? thought Josepht
 There's no use asking Anna, I presume.
She really might as well have got no nose, if
She can't perceive this evident perfume!
A Cloud in the Honeymoon.
She said she had no visitors—who knows if
I had not better ignorance assume ?
She must have smelt it, and, with guilty care,
Opened the window, just to change the air.
 I'll hide my doubts, and watch her every motion.
Just then, his wife re-entered with a smile:
Her manner showed no traces of emotion,
As, with gay talk, she strove the hours to wile;
Her merry laugh, her simple, fond devotion,
Served, for a time, his fancies to beguile j
But still, that odour, floating in the air,
Contrived his coming gaiety to scare.
Vainly, dissimulation's aid invoking,
The conversation round about he led;
Wished they had visitors—and said half-joking,
That he had met a friend, who was ill-bred
Enough to want to come in, although smoking.
Here he thought Anna's cheek grew very red;
But, as she answered with some slight remark,
He was obliged to leave off in the dark.
Next morning, Joseph lingers in his going,
Although the clock his tardiness reproves;
Till Anna, with a smile, the hour hand showing,
Presents him, as a hint, with hat and gloves.
'"Tis but too clear! she's quite impatient growing,
Thought he, as to the door he slowly moves,
 But, this time, in hypocrisy I'll match her.
As sure as I'm alive, to-day I'll catch her!
Resolved to act with care and circumspection,
He hid the bitter pain from which he smarted;
He said  good-bye! with much assumed affection,
Trying to hum an air, and look light-hearted.
His doubts thus safe from all fear of detection,
Upon his fatal journey off he started,
With plans that gave this gay, good-humoured fellow
A wpnderful resemblance to Othello.
If, thought he,  I find something wrong about her,
No pains, no torments of revenge I'll spare!
Yet, after all, it is unjust to doubt her
On a cause, literally, ' light as air.'
What a blank would existence be without her—
Kind looks and words, her tender, loving care 1
Here, as he melted fast into the lover,
He hastened back, the whole truth to discover.
20
Comic Recitations.
Through the small garden, now behold him stealing,
With beating heart, and footstep light and airy;
Fearing some chance, his quick return revealing,
Should spoil his plot, he cast round glances wary.
At length, successfully his form concealing,
He reached the house; and then, with anxious care, he
Crept to the parlour-window, and peeped in,
Trembling at what he might behold within.
What sees he there?—each jealous fancy flics;
Doubt and suspicion are for ever gone 1
By the fireside, his Anna meets his eyes,
Reclining in an arm-chair, and alone.
But what her occupation ?—(his surprise
Is justified by such a cause, we own),
A faint cloud issues from her lips, which are
Puffing away at an immense cigar!
The exclamation, he could not repress,
Startled the fair one from her meditation;
Trembling with wonder, and with fear no less,
She spied her husband at his observation.
"Joseph! she cried, in accents of distress.
He waited for no further invitation,
But, quick as thought, the window ledge he gained,
And to his heart his faithful wife he strained!
I need not tell how Joseph, doubts forswearing,
Was of his jealous whims for ever rid;
How Anna had been longing, yet not daring,
To own the secret habit from him hid;
How, all his frantic jealousy declaring,
He owned his fears deserving to be chid;
How he forgave, and joined his constant Anna
In quiet indulgence in a mild Havanna.
Moral.
Now, of this tale the moral I'll explain:
A useful one to husband and to wife.
Wives, let no idle fears your truth restrain.
For mystery will oft occasion strife.
Husbands, from causeless jealousy refrain,
Lest you embitter all your wedded life,
For doubts which afterwards you would revoke,
And fears which may, like Joseph's, end in smoke!
(From the  Ben thy Ballads. By permission of Richard Bcnthy, Esq.)
27
PATENT BROWN STOUT.
A brewer in a country town,
Had got a monstrous reputation;
No other beer but his went down.
The hosts of the surrounding station
Carving his name upon their mugs,
And painting it on every shutter;
And though some envious folks would uttr;
Hints that its flavour came from drugs,
Others maintained 'twas no such matter;
But owing to his monstrous vat.
At least as corpulent as that
At Heidelberg—and some said fatter.
His foreman was a lusty Black,
An honest fellow,
But one who had an ugly knack
Of tasting samples as he brewed,
Till he was stupefied and mellow.
One day in this top-heavy mood,
Having to cross the vat aforesaid
(Just then with boiling beer supplied),
O'ercome with giddiness and qualms, he
Reel'd—fell in—and nothing more said,
But in his favourite liquor died,
Like Clarence in his butt of Malmsey.
In all directions, round about,
The negro absentee was sought,
■ But as no human noddle thought
That our fat Black was now Brown Stout,
They settled that the rogue had left
The place for debt, or crime, or theft.
Meanwhile the beer was, day by day,7
Drawn into casks and sent away,
Until the lees flowed thick and thicker,
When, lo ! outstretched upon the ground
Once more their missing friend they found,
As they had often done—in liquor.
"See, cried his moralizing master,
 I always knew the fellow drank hard,
And prophesied some sad disaster;
His fate should other tipplers strike.
Poor Mungo ! there he welters like
A toast at bottom of a rankard! 
Comic Recitations.
Next morn a publican, whose tap
Had helped to drain the vat so dry,
Not having heard of the mishap,
Came to demand a fresh supply,
Protesting loudly that the last
All previous specimens surpassed—
Possessing a much richer gusto
Than formerly it ever used to,
And begging as a special favour
Some more of the exact same flavour.
 Zounds! cried the brewer,  that's a task
More difficult to grant than ask—
Most gladly would I give the smack
Of the last beer to the ensuing;
But where am I to find a black,
And boil him down at every brewing r
THE COCKNEY ABROAD.
J. G. Saxe.
It was in my foreign travel,
At a famous Flemish inn,
That I met a stoutish person
With a very ruddy skin;
And his hair was something sandy
And was done in knotty curls,
And was parted in the middle,
In the manner of a girl's.
He was clad in checkered trousers,
And his coat was of a sort
To suggest a scanty pattern,
It was bobbed so very short;
And his cap was very little,
Such as soldiers often use;
And he wore a pair of gaiters,
And extremely heavy shoes.
I addressed the man in English,
And he answered in the same,
Though he spoke it in a fashion
That I thought a little lame;
For the aspirate was missing
Where the letter should have bceii-
Bur where'er it wasn't wanted,
He was sure to put it in 1
Serjeant Buzjuz's Address.
ig
When I spoke with admiration
Of St. Peter's mighty dome,
He remarked: "'Tis really nothing
To the sights we 'ave at 'ome !
And declared upon his honour,—
Though, of course, 'twas very queer,—
That he doubted if the Romans
'Ad the hart of making beer !
When I named the Colosseum,
He observed, "'Tis very fair;
I mean, ye know, it would be,
If they'd put it in repair;
But what progress or /nmprovement
Can those wile ffitalians 'ope .
While they're /tunder the dominion
Of that wretched muff, the Pope'?
Then we talked of other countries,
And he said that he had heard
That ifamericans spoke Hinglish,
But he deemed it quite Ziabsurd j
Yet he felt the deepest ^interest
In the missionary work,
And would like to know if Georgia
Was in Boston or New York"!
When I left the man-in-gaiters,
He was grumbling o'er his gin,
At the charges of the hostess
Of that famous Flemish inn ;
And he looked a very Briton
(So, methinks, I see him still),
As he pocketed the candle
That was mentioned in the bill!
SERJEANT BUZFUZ'S ADDRESS.
Charles Dickens.
[Author of the  Pickwick Papers, and that long series of proso
fictions which has placed him, by universal consent, at the head of
modern novelists. For humour, power, pathos, and descriptive powers,
Mr. Dickens remains unrivalled. Born 1812.]
Serjeant Buzfuz rose with all the majesty and dignity which the
grave nature of the oroceedings demanded, and having whispered to
Comic Recitations.
Dodson, and conferred briefly with Fogg, pulled his gown over his
shoulders, settled his wig, and addressed the jury as follows:—
Never, in the whole course of his professional experience—never,
from the very first moment cf his applying himself to the study
and practice of the law—-had he approached a case with feelings o 1
such deep emotion, or with such a heavy sense of the responsibility im-
posed upon him—a responsibility, he would say, which he could never
have supported, were he not buoyed up and sustained by a conviction
so strong, that it amounted to positive certainty that the cause of truth
and justice, or, in other words, the cause of his much-injured and most
oppressed client, must prevail with the high-minded and intelligent
dozen of men whom he now saw in that box before him.
Counsel always begin in this way, because it puts the jury on the
very best terms with themselves, and makes them think what sharp
fellows they must be.
 You have heard from my learned friend, gentlemen, continued
Serjeant Buzfuz : "you have heard from my learned friend, gentle-
men, that this is an action for a breach of promise of marriage, in
which the damages are laid at 1500Z. But you have not heard from
my learned friend, inasmuch as it did not come within my learned
friend's province to tell you, what are the facts and circumstances of
the case. Those facts and circumstances, gentlemen, you shall hear
detailed by me, and proved by the unimpeachable female whom I
will place in that box before you.
 The plaintiff, gentlemen—the plaintiff is a widow; yes, gentle-
men, a widow. The late Mr. Bardell, after enjoying, for many years,
the esteem and confidence of his sovereign, as one of the guardians
of his royal revenues, glided almost imperceptibly from the world,
to seek elsewhere for that repose and peace which a custom-house
can never afford.
 Some time before his death, he had stamped his likeness upon
a little boy. With this little boy, the only pledge of her departed
exciseman, Mrs. Bardell shrunk from the world, and courted the
retirement and tranquillity of Goswell-street; and here she placed
in her front parlour-window a written placard, bearing this inscrip-
tion—' Apartments furnished for a single gentleman. Inquire
wi thin.'
 I entreat the attention of the jury to the wording of this docu-
ment—'Apartments furnished for a single gentleman!' Mrs. Bardell's
opinions of the opposite sex, gentlemen, were derived from a long con-
templation of the inestimable qualities of her lost husband. She had
no fear—she had no distrust—she had no suspicion—all was confi-
dence and reliance. ' Mr. Bardell,'said the widow; 'Mr. Bardell
was a man of honour—Mr. Bardell was a man of his word—Mr.
Bardell was no deceiver—Mr. Bardell was once a single gentleman
himself; to single gentlemen I look for protection, for assistance, for
comfort, and for consolation—in single gentlemen I shall per
petuallv see something to remind me of what Mr. Bardell was.
Serjeant Buzjux s Address. 31
when he first won ray young and untried affections; to a single
gentleman, then, shall my lodgings be let.5 Actuated by this
beautiful and touching impulse, (among the best impulses of our
imperfect nature, gentlemen,) the lonely and desolate widow dried
her tears, furnished her first floor, caught her innocent boy to her
maternal bosom, and put the bill up in her parlour-window. Did
it remain there long?' No. The serpent was on the watch, the
train was laid, the mine was preparing, the sapper and miner was at
tvork. Before the bill had been in the parlour-window three days—
three days, gentlemen—a Being, erect upon two legs, and bearing
all the outward semblance of a man, and not of a monster, knocked
at the door of Mrs. Bardell's house. He inquired within; he took
the lodgings; and on the very next day he entered into possession of
them. This man was Pickwick—Pickwick, the defendant.
 Of this man Pickwick I will say little; the subject presents but
few attractions; and I, gentlemen, am not the man, nor are you,
gentlemen, the men, to delight in the contemplation of revolting
heartlessness, and of systematic villany.
 I say systematic villany, gentlemen, and when I say systematic
villany, let me tell the defendant Pickwick, if he be in court, as I am
informed he is, that it would have been more decent in him, more
becoming, in better judgment, and in better taste, if he had stopped
away. Let me tell him, gentlemen, that any gestures of dissent or
disapprobation in which he may indulge in this court will not go
down with you; that you will know how to value and how to appre-
ciate them; and let me tell him further, as my lord will tell you,
gentlemen, that a counsel, in the discharge of his.duty to his client,
is neither to be intimidated nor bullied, nor put down; and that
any attempt to do either the one or the other, or the first or the last,
will recoil on the head of the attempter, be he plaintiff or be he
defendant, be his name Pickwick, or Noakes, or Stoakes, or Stiles,
or Brown, or Thompson.
 I shall show you, gentlemen, that for two years Pickwick con-
tinued to reside constantly, and without interruption or intermission,
at Mrs. Bardell's house. I shall show you that Mrs. Bardell, during
the whole of that time, waited on him, attended to his comforts,
cooked his meals, looked out his linen for the washerwoman
when it went abroad, darned, aired, and prepared it for wear, when
it came home, and, in short, enjoyed his fullest trust and confidence.
I shall show you that, on many occasions, he gave halfpence, and
on some occasions even sixpences, to her little boy; and I shall
prove to you, by a witness whose testimony it will be impossible
for my learned friend to weaken or controvert, that on one occasion
he patted the boy on the head, and, after inquiring whether he had
won any alley tors or cortimoneys lately (both of which I under-
stand to be a particular species of marbles much prized by the youth
of this town), made use of this remarkable expression—'How
should you like to have another father ?' I shall prove to you, gen-
32
Comic Recitations.
tlemen, that about a year ago, Pickwick suddenly began to absest
himself from home, during long intervals, as if with the intention of
gradually breaking off from my client; but I shall show you also,
that his resolution was not at that time sufficiently strong, or thar
his better feelings conquered, if better feelings he has, or that the
charms and accomplishments of my client prevailed against his un-
manly intentions; by proving to you, that on one occasion, when
he returned from the country, he distinctly and in terms offered her
marriage: previously, however, taking special care that there should
be no witnesses to their solemn contract; and I am in a situation to
prove to you, on the testimony of three of his own friends—most
unwilling witnesses, gentlemen—most unwilling witnesses—that on
that morning he was discovered by them holding the p air tiff in his
arms, and soothing her agitation by his caresses and en le? rments.
"And now, gentlemen, but one word more. Two Utters have
passed between these parties, letters which are admitted to be in the
handwriting of the defendant, and which speak volumes indeed.
These letters, too, bespeak the character of the man. They are not
open, fervent, eloquent epistles, breathing nothing but the language
of affectionate attachment. They are covert, sly, underhanded com-
munications, but, fortunately, far more conclusive than if couched
in the most glowing language and the most poetic imagery—let-
ters that must be viewed with a cautious and suspicious eye—
letters that were evidently intended at the time, by Pickwick, to mis-
lead and delude any third parties into whose hands they might fall.
Let me read the first:—' Garraway's, twelve o'clock. Dear Mrs. B.
—Chops and Tomata sauce. Yours, Pickwick.' Gentlemen, what
does this mean? Chops and Tomata sauce. Yours,'Pickwick!
Chops! Gracious heavens! and Tomata sauce! Gentlemen, is the
happiness of a sensitive and confiding female to be trifled away,
by such shallow artifices as these ? The next has no date what-
ever, which is in itself suspicious—'Dear Mrs. B., I shall not be
at home till to-morrow. Slow coach I' And then follows this
very, very remarkable expression—' Don't trouble yourself about the
warming-pan.' The warming-pan! Why, gentlemen, who does
trouble himself about a warming-pan? When was the peace of
mind of man or woman broken or disturbed by a warming-pan,
which is in itself a harmless, a useful, and I will add, gentlemen,
a comforting article of domestic furniture? Why is Mrs. Bardell
so earnestly entreated not to agitate herself about tbis warming-pan,
unless (as is no doubt the case) it is a mere cover for hidden
fire—a mere substitute for some endearing word or promise,
agreeably to a preconcerted system of correspondence, artfully con-
trived by Pickwick with a view to his contemplated desertion, and
which I am not in a condition to explain ? And what does this
allusion to the slow coach mean ? For aught I know, it may be
a reference to Pickwick himself, who has most unquestionably been
a criminally slow coach during the whole of this transaction, but
Madame Talleyrand and the Traveller.
33
whose speed will now be very unexpectedly accelerated, and whose
wheels, gentlemen, as he will find to his cost, will very soon be
greased by you 1
 But enough of this, gentlemen; it is difficult to smile with an
aching heart; it is ill jesting when our deepest sympathies are
awakened. My client's hopes and prospects are ruined, and it is
no figure of speech to say that her occupation is gone indeed,
The bill is down—but there is no tenant. Eligible single gentle-
men pass and repass—but there is no invitation for them to inquire
within, or without. All is gloom and silence in the house; even
the voice of the child is hushed; his infant sports are disregarded
when his mother weeps; his 'alley tors' and his 'commoneys' are
alike neglected; he forgets the long familiar cry of 'knuckle down,'
and at tip-cheese, or odd and even, his hand is out. But Pickwick,
gentlemen, Pickwick, the ruthless destroyer of this domestic oasis
in the desert of Goswell-street—Pickwick, who has choaked up the
well, and thrown ashes on the sward—Pickwick, who comes before
you to-day with his heartless tomata sauce and warming-pans—■
Pickwick still rears his head with unblushing effrontery, and gazes
without a sigh on the ruin he has made. Damages, gentlemen—
heavy damages is the only punishment with which you can visit
him; the only recompense you can award to my client. And for
those damages she now appeals to an enlightened, a high-minded,
a right-feeling, a conscientious, a dispassionate, a sympathising, a
contemplative jury of her civilized country men. With this beauti-
ful peroration, Mr. Serjeant Buzfuz sat down, and Mr. Justice Stare-
leigh woke up.
[By permission of Messrs. Chapman and Hall.)
MADAME TALLEYRAND AND THE TRAVELLER,
Horace Smith.
The famous Talleyrand, who knew
The secret of avoiding execution,
And kept his head upon his shoulders through
All the convulsions of the Revolution,
When heads were cropp'd by the prevailing powers,
Like cauliflowers,
Till they themselves endured the keen
Infliction of the guillotine,
And made way for another faction
To undergo the same reaction
This Talleyrand possessed a wife,
Selected in his humbler life,-—
a
Comic Recitations.
A rich bourgeoise of homely breeding,
Neither has lieu, nor femme savaute,
But rather, as I freely grant,
Deficient in her general reading.
One day—'twas when he stood elate,
Napoleon's minister of state,—
Having invited to his house
Some literati to confer
With a great foreign traveller,
The husband thus addressed his spouse:—
 My dear, at dinner you will meet
A foreigner, a man of note.
These authors like that you should quote
From their own works ; therefore, to greet
Our guest, suppose you learn by rote
A sentence here and there, that when
He prates, like other travelled men,
Of his exploits on land and ocean,
You may not be completely gravell'd,
But have at least some little notion
Of how, and when, and where he travelled.
Take down his book, you'll find it yonder ;
Its dull contents you need not ponder ;
Read but the headings of the chapters,
Refer to them with praise and wonder,
And our vain guest will be in raptures.**
Madame resolved to play her part
So as to win the stranger's heart,
Studied the book ; but far from dull,
She found it quite delightful,—full
Of marvellous adventures, fraught
With perilous escapes, which wrought
So deep an interest in her mind,
She really was surprised to find,
As to the dinner-room she tripp'd,
How rapidly the time had slipp'd.
The mere to flatter and delight her,
When at the board she took her place,
The famous traveller and writer
Was seated by her side; the grace
Was hardly said, or soup sent round,
Ere with a shrug and a grimace,
Eager to '.bow her lore profound,
A la Fra~:^aise, she raised her eyes,
And hands, and voicf- in ecstacies,—
The Fakenham Ghost.
35
 Eh, Monsieur Robinson, mon Dieu,
Voila un conte merveilleux !
Ah, par exemple ! it appals
The mind to think of your attacks
On those terrific cannibals,—
Those horrid savages and blacks,
Who, if they once had gained the upper
Hand, had eaten you for supper,
And so prevented your proceeding
With that sweet book I've just been reading.
Mais, quel bonhexir ! to liberate
Poor Friday from the murderous crew,
A nd gain, in your deserted state,
'o lonely and disconsolate,
A servant and companion too!
The visitors were all astounded;
The stranger stared aghast, dumbfounded;
Poor Talleyrand blushed red as flame,
Till having catechized the dame,
The mystery was quickly cleared:
The simple woman, it appeared,
Instead of the intended book,
In which she had been urged to look,
From the same shelf contrived to take
Robinson Crusoe by mistake I
THE FAKENHAM GHOST.
Robert Bloomfield.
[A very popular rural poet, originally a shoemaker. Autho; ot
"The Farmer's Boy, &c. Born 1766; died 1823.]
The lawns .were dry in Euston park,
(Here truth inspires my tale),
The lonely footpath, still and dark,
Led over hill and dale.
Benighted was ap ancient dame,
And fearful haste she made
To gain the vale of Fakenham,
And hail its willow shade.
Her footsteps knew no idle stops,
But followed faster still:
And echoed to the darksome ccpse
That whispered on the hill:
D %
Comic Recitations.
Where clamorous rooks, yet scarcely hushed,
Bespoke a peopled shade;
And many a wing the foliage brushed,
And. hovering circuits made.
The dappled herd of grazing deer,
That sought the shades by day,
Now started from her path with fear,
And gave the stranger way.
Darker it grew, and darker fears
Came o'er her troubled mind:
When now, a short quick step she hea/s
Come patting close behind.
She turned—it stcpt—nought could she sec
Upon the gloomy plain!
But, as she strove the Sprite to flee,
She heard the same again.
Now terror seized her quaking frame:
For, where the path was bare,
The trotting ghost kept on the same!
She muttered many a prayer.
Yet once again, amidst her fright,
She tried what sight could do;
When, through the cheating gloom of night,
A monster stood in view.
Regardless of whate'er she felt,
It followed down the plain 1
She owned her sins, and down she knelt,
And said her prayers again.
Then on she sped, and hope grew strong,
The white park-gate in view:
Which pushing hard, so long it swung
That Ghost and all passed through.
Loud fell the gate against the post!
Her heart-strings like to crack :
For much she feared the grizzly ghost
Would leap upon her back.
Still on, pat, pat, the Goblin went,
As it had done before—
Her strength and resolution spent,
She fainted at the door.
Dreaming Tim Jarvis.
Out came her husband, much surprised j
Out came her daughter dear:
Good-natured souls ! all unadvised
Of what they had to fear.
The candle's gleam pierced through the night,
Some short space o'er the green:
And there the little trotting Sprite
Distinctly might be seen.
An ass's foal had lost its dam
Within the spacious park ;
And, simple as the pla' ful lamb,
Had followed in the lark.
No Goblin he; no imp of sin ;
No crimes had he e'er known :
They took the shaggy stranger in,
And reared him as their own.
His little hoofs would rattle round
Upon the cottage floor;
The matron learned to love the sound
That frightened her before.
A favourite the Ghost became,
And 'twas his fate to thrive;
And long he lived, and spread his fame,
And kept the joke alive.
For many a laugh went through the vale.
And some conviction too :
Each thought some other Goblin tale
Perhaps was just as true.
DREAMING TIM JARVIS.
Thomas Crofton Croker.
[A voluminous contributor to periodical literature. Author of the
Irish  Fairy Tales "—a standard work, published by Mr. Tegg.
Born at Cork, 1798 J died in London, 1854.]
Timothy Jarvis was a decent, honest, quiet, hard-working man,
as everybody knows that knows Balledehob.
Now Balledehob is a small place, about forty miles west of Cork.
It is situated on the summit of a hill, and yet it is in a deep valley;
38
Comic Recitations.
for on all sides there are lofty mountains that rise one above another
in barren grandeur, and seem to look down with scorn upon the
little busy village, which they surround with their idle and nnpro-
ductive magnificence. Man and beast have alike deserted them to
the dominion of the eagle, who soars majestically over them. On
the highest of those mountains there is a small and, as is commonly
believed, unfathomable lake, the only inhabitant of which is a huge
serpent, who has been sometimes seen to stretch its enormous head
above the waters, and frequently is heard to utter a noise which shakes
the very rocks to their foundation.
But, as I was saying, everybody knew Tim Jarvis to be a decent,
honest, quiet, hard-working man, who was thriving enough to be
able to give his daughter Nelly a fortune of ten pounds; and Tim
himself would have been snug enough besides, but that he loved
the drop sometimes. However, he was seldom backward on rent
day. His ground was never distrained but twice, and both times
through a small bit of a mistake; and his landlord had never but
once to say to him—"Tim Jarvis, you're all behind, Tim, like the
cow's tail. Now it so happened that, being heavy in himself, through
the drink, Tim took to sleeping, and the sleep set Tim dreaming, and
he dreamed all night, and night after night, about crocks full of gold
and other precious stones; so much so, that Norah Jarvis, his wife,
could get no good of him by day, and have little comfort with him
by night. The grey dawn of the morning would see Tim digging
away in a bog-hole, maybe, or rooting under some old stone walls
like a pig. At last he dreamt that he found a mighty great crock
of gold and silver—and where, do you think ? Every step of the
way upon London-bridge, itself! Twice Tim dreamt it, and three
times Tim dreamt the same thing; and at last he made up his
mind to transport himself, and go over to London, in Pat Mahoney's
coaster—and so he did!
Well, he got there, and found the bridge without much difficulty.
Every day he walked up and dowrf looking for the crock of gold,
but never the find did he find it. One day, however, as he was looking
over the bridge into the water, a man, or something like a man,
with great black whiskers, like a Hessian, and a black cloak that
reached down to the ground, taps him on the shoulder, and says he—
"Tim Jarvis, do you see me?
"Surely I do, sir, said Tim; wondering that anybody should
know him in the strange place.
"Tim, says he, "what is it brings you here in foreign parts, so
far away from your own cabin by the mine of grey copper at Bal-
ledehob ?
 Please your honour, says Tim,  I'm come to seek my fortune.
"You're a fool for your pains, Tim, if that's all, remarked the
stranger in the black cloak; "this is a big place to seek one's fortune
in to be sure, but it's not so easy to find it.
Now Tim. after debatinsr a lone: time with himself, and consi-
Dreaming Tim Jarvis.
39
dering, in the first place, that it might be the stranger who was to
find the crock of gold for him; and in the next, that the stranger
might direct him where to find it, came to the resolution of telling
him all.
 There's many a one like me comes here seeking their fortunes/'
said Tim.
 True, said the stranger.
"But, continued Tim, looking up, "the body and bones of the
cause for myself leaving the woman, and Nelly, and the boys, and
travelling so far, is to look for a crock of gold that I'm told is lying
somewhere hereabouts.
"And who told you that, Tim?
"Why, then, sir, that's what I can't tell myself rightly—only I
dreamt it.
 Ho, ho! is that all, Tim ? said the stranger, laughing;  I had
A dream myself; and I dreamed that I found a crock of gold in
the Fort field, on Jerry Driscoll's ground at Balledehob; and by
the same token, the pit where it iay was close to a large furze
bush, all full of yellow blossom.
Tim knew Jerry Driscoll's ground well; and, moreover, he knew
the Fort field as well as he knew his own potato garden; he was
certain, too, of the very furze bush at the north end of it—so, swear-
ing a bitter big oath, says he—
 By all the crosses in a yard of check I always thought there;
was money in that same field!
The moment he rapped out the oath the stranger disappeared,
and Tim Jarvis, wondering at all that had happened to him, made
the best of his way back to Ireland. Norah, as may well be sup-
posed, had no very warm welcome for her runaway husband—the
dreaming blackguard, as she called him—and so soon as she set
eyes upon him, all the blood of her body in one minute was into her
knuckles to be at him; but Tim, after his long journey, looked so
cheerful and so happy like, that she could not find in her heart
\o give him the first blow! He managed to pacify his wife by two
or three broad hints about a new cloak and a pair of shoes, that,
to speak honestly, were much wanting to her to go to chapel in;
and decent clothes for Nelly to go to the patron with her sweet-
heart, and brogues for the boys, and some corduroy for himself.
"It wasn't for nothing, says Tim, "I went to foreign parts all the
ways; and you'll see what'll come out of it—mind my words.
A few days afterwards Tim sold his cabin and his garden, and
bought the Fort field of Jerry Driscoll, that had nothing in it, bu -
was full of thistles, and old stones, and blackberry bushes; and all
the neighbours—as well they might—thought he was cracked!
The first night that Tim could summon courage to begin his
work he walked off to the field with his spade upon his shoulder
and away he dug all night by the side of the furze bush till he came
to a big stone. He struck his spade against it, and he heard a hollow
4°
Comic Recitations.
sound; but as the morning had begun to dawn, and the neighbours
would be going out to their work, Tim, not wishing to have the
thing talked about, went home to the little hovel, where Norah and
the children were huddled together under a heap of straw; for he
had sold everything he had in the world to purchase Driscoll's field,
that was said to be  the backbone of the world picked by the devil.
It is impossible to describe the epithets and reproaches bestowed
by the poor woman on her unlucky husband for bringing her
into such a way. Epithets and reproaches which Tim had but cue
mode of answering, as thus:—"Norah, did you see e'er a cow you'd
like?"—or, "Norah dear, hasn't Poll Deasy a feather-bed to sell?
—or,  Norah honey, wouldn't you like your silver buckles as big as
Mrs. Doyle's ?
As soon as night came Tim stood beside the furze bush spade in
hand. The moment he jumped down into the pit he heard a strange
rumbling noise under him, and so, putting his ear against the great
big stone, he listened, and overheard a discourse that made the hair
on his head stand up like bullrushes, and every limb tremble.
 How shall we bother Tim ? said one voice.
"Take him to the mountain, to be sure, and make him a toothful
for the old serpent; 'tis long since he has had a good meal, said
another voice.
Tim shook like a potato-blossom in a storm.
"No, said a third voice; "plunge him in the bog, neck and
heels.
Tim was a dead man, barring the breath.
"Stop! said a fourth; but Tim heard no more, for Tim was
dead entirely. In about an hour, however, the life came back into
him, and he crept home to Norah.
When the next night arrived the hopes of the crock of gold got
the better of his fears, and taking care to arm himself with a bottle
of potheen, away he went to the field. Jumping into the pit, he
took a little sup from the bottle to keep his heart up—he then took
a big one—and then, with a desperate wrench, he wrenched up the
stone. All at once, up rushed a blast of wind, wild and fierce, and
down fell Tim—down, down, and down he went—until he thumped
upon what seemed to be, for all the world, like a floor of sharp pins,
which made him bellow out in earnest. Then he heard a whisk and
a hurrah, and instantly voices beyond number cried out—
 Welcome, Tim Jarvis, dear!
Welcome, down here ! 
Though Tim's teeth chattered like magpies with the fright, he con-
tinued to make answer— I'm he-he-har-ti-ly ob-ob-liged to-to you
all, gen-gen-tlemen, fo-for your civility to-to a poor stranger like
myself. But though he had heard all the voices about him, he
could see nothing, the place was so dark and so lonesome in itself
for want of the light. Then something pulled Tim by the hair of
Dreaming Tim Jarvis.
41
his head, and dragged him, he did not know how far, but he knew
:ie was going faster than the wind, for he heard it behind him,
trying to keep up with him, and it could not. On, on, on he went,
till all at once, and suddenly, he was stopped, and somebody came
up to him, and said,  Well, Tim Jarvis, and how do you like your
ride ?
"Mighty well! I thank your honour, said Tim; "and 'twas 1
good beast I rode, surely !
There was a great laugh at Tim's answer; and then there was t
whispering, and a great cugger-mugger, and coshering; and at last a
pretty little bit of a voice said,  shut your eyes, and you'll see, Tim.
 By my word, then, said Tim,  that is the queer way of seeing,
but I'm not the man to gainsay you, so I'll do as you bid me, any
how. Presently he felt a small warm hand rubbed over his eyes
with an ointment, and in the next minute he saw himself in the
middle of thousands of little men and women, not half so high as
his brogue, that were pelting one another with golden guineas and
lily-white thirteens,* as if they were so much dirt. The finest
dressed and the biggest of them all went up to Tim, and says he,
"Tim Jarvis, because you are a decent, honest, quiet, civil, well-
spoken man, says he, "and know how to behave yourself in strange
company, we've altered our minds about you, and will find a neigh-
bour of yours that will do just as well to give to the old serpent.
"Oh, then, long life to you, sir! said Tim, "and there's no
doubt of that.
 But what will you say, Tim, inquired the little fellow,  if we
fill your pockets with these yellow boys ? What will you say, Tim,
and what will you do with them ?
"Your honour's honour, and your honour's glory, answered
Tim, "I'll not be able to say my prayers for one month with
thanking you—and indeed I've enough to do with them. I'd make
a grand lady, you see, at once of Norah—she has been a good wife
to me. We'll have a nice bit of pork for dinner; and, maybe, I'd
have a glass, or maybe two glasses; or sometimes, if 'twas with a
friend or acquaintance, or gossip, you know, three glasses everv
day; and I'd build a new cabin; and I'd have a fresh egg ever,'
morning, myself, for my breakfast; and I'd snap my fingers at the
squire, and beat his hounds if they'd come coursing through my
fields; and I'd have a new plough ; and Norah, your honour, should
have a new cloak, and the bovs should have shoes and stockings as
well as Biddy Peary's brats—that's my sister what was—and Nelly
should marry Bill Long of Affadown; and, your honour, I'd have
some corduroy for myself to make breeches, and a cow, and a beauti-
ful coat with shining buttons, and a horse to ride, or maybe two. I'd
have everything, said Tim, "in life, good or bad, that is to be got
for love or money—hurra-whoop !—and that's what I'd do.
* An English sh:lling was thirteen pence Irish currency
4 a
Comic Recitations.
"Take care, Tim, said the little fellow, "your money wou'A
not go faster than it came, with your hurra-whoop.
But Tim heeded not this speech : heaps of gold were around him,
and he filled and filled away as hard as he could, his coat and his
waistcoat and his breeches pockets; and he thought himself very
clever, moreover, because he stuffed some of the guineas into his
6rogues. When the little people perceived this, they cried out—
 Go home, Tim Jarvis, go home, and think yourself a lucky man.
 I hope, gentlemen, said he,  we wont part for good and all;
but maybe ye'll ask me to see you again, and to give you a fair and
square account of what I've done with your money.
To this there was no answer, only another shout— Go home,
Tim Jarvis—go home—fair play is a jewel; but shut your eyes, or
ye'll never see the light of day again.
Tim shut his eyes, knowing now that was the way to see clearly;
and away he was whisked as before—away, away he went, till he
again stopped all of a sudden.
He rubbed his eyes with his two thumbs—and where was he ?—
Where, but in the very pit in the field that was Jerry Driscoll's, and
his wife Norah above with a big stick ready to beat  her dreaming
blackguard. Tim roared out to the woman to leave the life in
him, and put his hands in his pockets to show her the gold; but he
pulled out nothing only a handful of small stones mixed with yellow
furze blossoms. The bush was under him, and the great flag-stone
that he had wrenched up, as he thought, was lying, as if it was
never stirred, by his side: the whisky bottle was drained to the
last drop; and the pit was just as his spade had made it.
Tim Jarvis, vexed, disappointed, and almost heart-broken, fol
.owed his wife home: and, strange to say, from that night he left
off drinking, and dreaming, and delving in bog-holes, and rooting
in old caves. He took again to his hard-working habits, and was
soon able to buy back his little cabin and former potato-garden, and
to get all the enjoyment he anticipated from the fairy gold.
CORNELIUS AGRIPPA.
Robert Southey, LL.D.
[The very celebrated poet, biographer, historian, critic, and scholar,
Author of  Thalaba, the Destroyer, and  The Curse of KehamSj '
"Life of Lord Nelson, &c. Born at Bristol 1774; died at Greta,
rich, but with a weakened intellect from over study, 1843. Was for
some time Poet Laureate.]
Cornelius Agrippa went out one day,
His Study he lock'd ere he went away,
And he gave the key of the door to his wife,
And charged her to keep it lock'd on her life.
Cornelius Agnppa.
 And if any one ask my Study to see,
I charge you to trust them not with the key;
Whoever may beg, and entreat, and implore,
On your life let nobody enter that door.'
There lived a young man in the house, who in vain
Access to that Study had sought to obtain;
And he begg'd and pray'd the books to see,
Till the foolish woman gave him the key.
On the Study-table a book there lay,
Which Agrippa himself had been reading that day;
The letters were written with blood therein,
And the leaves were made of dead men's skin;
And these horrible leaves of magic between
Were the ugliest pictures that ever were seen,
The likeness of things so foul to behold,
That what they were is not fit to be told.
The young man, he began to read
He knew not what, but he would proceed,
When there was heard a sound at the door,
Which as he read on, grew more and more.
And more and more the knocking grew,
The young man knew not what to do;
But trembling in fear he sat within,
Till the door was broke, and the Devil came in.
Two hideous horns cn his head he had got,
Like iron heated nine times red-hot;
The breath of his nostrils was brimstone blue,
And his tail like a fiery serpent grew.
 What wouldst thou with me ?'* .he wicked one cried,
But not a word the young man replied;
Every hair on his head was standing upright,
And his limbs like a palsy shook with affright.
"What wouldst thou with me? cried the author of ill,
But the wretched young man was silent still;
Not a word had his lips the power to say,
And his marrow seem'd to be melting away.
"What wouldst thou with me? the third time he cries
And a flash of lightning came from his eyes,
And he lifted his griffin claw in the air,
And the young man had not strength tor a prayer.
44
Comic &citations.
His eyes red fire end fury dart
As out he tore the young man's heart;
He grinn'd a horrible grin at his prey,
And in a clap of thunder vanish'd away.
Henceforth let all young men take heed
1 low in a conjuror's books they read.
HANDY ANDY'S LITTLE MISTAKES.
Samuel Lover.
[Known chiefly by his admirable Irish songs and ballads, but equally
successful as a novelist and dramatist. Author of  Rory O'More, &c.
Born 1797 ; still living.]
Andy Rooney was a fellow who had the most singularly ingenious
knack of doing everything the wrong way; disappointment waited
on all affairs in which he bore a part, and destruction was at his
fingers' ends: so the nickname the neighbours stuck upon him was
Handy Andy, and the jeering jingle pleased them.
When Andy grew up to be what in country parlance is called "a
brave lump of a boy, his mother thought he was old enough to do
something for himself; so she took him one day along with her to
the squire's, and waited outside the door, loitering up and down the
yard behind the house, among a crowd of beggars and great lazy
dogs, that were thrusting their heads into every iron pot that stood
outside the kitchen door, until chance might give her "a sight o'
the squire afort he wint out, or afore he wint in; and after spending
her entire day in this idle way, at last the squire made his appear-
ance, and Judy presented her son, who kept scraping his foot, and
pulling his forelock, that stuck out like a piece of ragged thatch from
his forehead, making his obeisance to the squire, while his mother
was sounding his praises for being the  handiest crayther alive—and
so wllln'—nothin' comes wrong to him.
 I suppose the English of all this is, you want me to take idm lJ>
said the squire.
"Throth, an' your honour, that's just it—if your honour would
be plazed.
 What can he do ?
 Anything, your honour.
"That means nothing, I suppose, said the squire.
 Oh, no, sir. Everything, I mane, that you would desire him
to do.
To every one of these assurances on his mother's part Andy made
a bow and a scrape.
Handy Andy's Little Mistakes.
4.5
 Can he take care of horses ?
"The best of care, sir, said the mother; while the miller, who
was standing behind the squire, waiting for orders, made a grimace
at Andy, who was obliged to cram his face into his hat to hide the
laugh, which he could hardly smother from being heard, as well as
seen.
 Let him come, then, and help in the stables, and we'll see what
we can do.
 May the Lord 
 That'll do—there, now go.
 Oh, sure, but I'll pray for you, and 
 Will you go ?
*'■ And may the angels make your honour's bed this blessed night,
I pray.
 If you don't go, your son shan't come.
Judy and her hopeful boy turned to the rightabout in double,
quick time, and hurried down the avenue.
The next day Andy was duly installed into his office of stable-
helper; and, as he was a good rider, he was soon made whipper-in
to the hounds, for there, was a want of such a functionary in the
establishment; and Andy's boldness in this capacity soon made him
a favourite with the squire, who was one of those rollicking boys on
the pattern of the old school, who scorned the attentions of a regular
valet, and let any one that chance threw in his way bring him his
boots, or his hot water for shaving, or his coat, whenever it was
brushed. One morning, Andy, who was very often the attendant
on such occasions, came to his room with hot water. He tapped at
the door.
"Who's that? said the squire, who had iust risen, and did not
know but it might be one of the women servants.
 It's me, sir.
 Oh—Andy! Come in.
 Here's the hot water, sir, said Andy, bearing an enormous tin
can.
 Why, what the d—1 brings that enormous tin can here ? You
might as well bring the stable bucket.
 I beg your pardon, sir, said Andy, retreating. In two minutes
more Andy came back, and, tapping at the door, put in his head
cautiously, and said,  The maids in the kitchen, your honour, says
there's not so much hot water ready.
 Did I not see it a moment since in your hand ?
"Yes, sir; but that's not nigh the full o the stable-bucket'
"Go along, you stupid thief! and get me some hot watct
directly.
 Will the can do, sir ?
"Ay, anything, so you make haste.
Off posted Andy, and back he came with the can.
 Whore'll I put it, sir ?
46
Comic Recitations.
"Throw this out, said the squire, handing Andy a jug con-
taining some cold water, meaning the jug to be replenished with
the hot.
Andy took the jug, and the window of the room being open, he
very deliberately threw the jug out. The squire stared with wonder,
and at last said—
 What did you do that for Y'
 Sure you towld me to throw it out, sir.
 Go out of this, you thick-headed villain! said the squire,
throwing his boots at Andy's head, along with some very heat
curses. Andy retreated, and thought himself a very ill-used
person.
The first time Andy was admitted into the mysteries of the
dining-room, great was his wonder. The butler took him in to
give him some previous instructions, and Andy was so lost in admi-
ration at the sight of the assembled glass and plate, that he stood
with his mouth and eyes wide open, and scarcely heard a word that
was said to him.
 What are you looking at ? said the butler.
"Them things, sir, said Andy, pointing to some silver forks.
 Is it the forks ? said the butler.
 Oh no, sir! I know what forks is very well; but I never seen
them things afore.
"What things do you mean?
 These things, sir, said Andy, taking up one of the silver forks,
and turning it round and round in his hand in utter astonishment,
while the butler grinned at his ignorance, and enjoyed his own
-uperior knowledge.
 Well, said Andy, after a long pause,  the devil be from me if
ever I seen a silver spoon split that way before!
The butler gave a horse laugh, and made a standing joke of
Andy's split spoon; but time and experience made Andy less im-
pressed with wonder at the show of plate and glass, and the split
spoons became familiar as "household words to him; yet still
there were things in the duties of table attendance beyond Andy's
comprehension—he used to hand cold plates for fish, and hot plates
for jelly, &c. But  one day, as Zanga says— one day he was
thrown off his centre in a remarkable degree by a bottle of soda-
water.
It was when that combustible was first introduced into Ireland as
a dinner beverage that the occurrence took place, and Andy had the
luck to be the person to whom a gentleman applied for some soda-
water.
 Sir ? said Andy.
 Soda-water, said the guest, in that subdued tone in which
people are apt to name their wants at a dinner-table.
Andy went to the butler.  Mr. Morgan, there's a gintleman ■
 Let me alone, will you ? said Mr. Morgan.
Handy Andy's Little Mistakes.
47
Andy manoeuvred round him a little longer, and again essayed to
be heard.
 Mr. Morgan 1
"Don't you see I'm as busy as I can be? Can't you do if
yourself?
 I dunna what he wants.
"Well, go and ax him, said Mr. Morgan.
Andy went off as he was bidden, and came behind the thirsty
gentleman's chair, with  I beg your pardon, sir.
 Well! said the gentleman.
"I beg your pardon, sir; but what's this you axed rnc for?
 Soda-water.
"What, sir?
 Soda-water; but perhaps you have not any.
 Oh, there's plenty in the house, sir! Would you like it hot,
sir ?
The gentleman laughed, and supposing the new fashion was not
understood in the present company, said, "Never mind.
But Andy was too anxious to please to be so satisfied, and again
applied to Mr. Morgan.
 Sir! said he.
 Bad luck to you!—can't you let me alone ?
 There's a gentleman wants some soap and wather.
 Some what ? '
 Soap and wather, sir.
"Divil sweep you!—Soda-wather, you mane. You'll get it under
the sideboard.
 Is it in the can, sir ?
 The curse o' Crum'll on you! in the bottles.
 Is this it, sir ? said Andy, producing a bottle of ale.
 No, bad cess to you!—the little bottles.
"Is it the little bottles with no bottoms, sir?
 I wish you wor in the bottom o' the say! said Mr, Morgan,
who was fuming and puffing, and rubbing down his face with a
napkin, as he was hurrying to all quarters of the room, or, as Andy
said, in praising his activity, that he was "like bad luck—every-
where.
"There they are! said Morgan at last.
 Oh! them bottles that wont stand, said Andy;  sure them's
what I said, with no bottoms to them. How'll I open it?—it's tied
down.
 Cut the cord, you fool!
Andy did as he was desired; and he happened at the time to hold
the bottle of soda-water on a level with the candles that shed light
over the festive board from a large silver branch, and the moment
he made the incision, bang went the bottle of soda, knocking out
two of the lights with the projected cork, which, performing its
parabola the length of the room, struck the squire himself in the
43
Comic Recitations,
eye at the foot of the table: while the hostess at the head had a cold
bath down her back. Andy, when he saw the soda-water jumping
out of the bottle, held it from him at arm's length; every fizz it
made, exclaiming,  Ow!—ow!—ow!— and, at last, when the
bottle was empty, he roared out,  Oh, Lord!—it's all gone !
Great was the commotion;—few could resist laughter except the
ladies, who all looked at their gowns, not liking the mixture of satin
and soda-water. The extinguished candles were re-Kghted—the
squive got his eye open again—and the next time he perceived the
butler sufficiently near to speak to him, he said in a low and hurried
tone of deep anger, while he knit his brow,  Send that fellow out
of the room! but, within the same instant, resumed the former
smile, that beamed on all around as if nothing had happened.
Andy was expelled the dining-room in disgrace, and for days kept
out of the master's and mistress's way: in the meantime the butler
made a good story of the thing in the servants' hall; and, when he
held up Andy's ignorance to ridicule, by telling how he asked for
 soap and water, Andy was given the name of  Suds, and was
called by no other for months after.
But, though Andy's functions in the interior were suspended, his
services in out-of-door affairs were occasionally put in requisition.
But here his evil genius still haunted him, and he put his foot in a
piece of business his master sent him upon one day, which was so
simple as to defy almost the chance of Andy making any mistake
about it; but Andy was very ingenious in his own particular line.
 Ride into the town and see if there's a letter for me, said the
squire one day to our hero.
 Yes, sir.
 You know where to go ?
"To the town, sir.
 But do you know where to go in the town ?'
 No, sir.
"And why don't you ask, you stupid thief?
 Sure I'd find out, sir.
 Didn't I often tell you to ask what you're to do, when you doc';
know?
 Yes, sir.
 And why don't you ?'
 I don't like to be throublesome, sir.
"Confound you! said the squire; though he could not help
laughing at Andy's excuse for remaining in ignorance. "Well,
continued he,  go to the post-office. You know the post-office, 1
suppose ?
 Yes, sir; where they sell gunpowder.
"You're right for once, said the squire; for his majesty's post-
master was the person who had the privilege of dealing in the afore-
said combustible.  Go then to the post-office and ask for a letter
for me. Remember—not gunpowder, but a letter.
Handy Andys Little Mistakes.
49
 Yis, sir, said Andy, who got astride of his hack, and trotted
away to the post-office. On arriving at the shop of the postmaster,
(for that person carried on a brisk trade in groceries, gimlets, broad-
cloth, and linen-drapery,) Andy presented himself at the counter,
and said,  I want a letther, sir, if you plaze.
 Who do you want it for? said the postmaster, in a tone which
Andy considered an aggression upon the sacredness of private life:
so Andy thought the coolest contempt he could throw upon the
prying impertinence of the postmaster was to repeat his question.
 I want a letther, sir, if you plaze.
 And who do you want it for ? repeated the postmaster.
 What's that to you ? said Andy.
The postmaster, laughing at his simplicity, told him he could n*.
tell what letter to give him unless he told him the direction.
"The directions I got was to get a letther here—that's the
directions.
 Who gave you those directions ?
"The masther.
"And who's your master?
 What consarn is that o' yours ?
"Why, you stupid rascal! if you don't tell xne his name, how
can I give you a letter ?
 You could give it if you liked, but you're fond of axin' irrpident
questions, bekase you think I'm simple.
 Go along out o' this! Your master must be as great a goose as
yourself, to send such a messenger.
"Bad luck to your impidence, said Andy; "is it Squire Egan
you dar to say goose to ?
 Oh, Squire Egan's your master, then ?'
 Yes; have you anything to say agin it ?
 Only that I never saw you before.
"Faith, then you'll never see me agin if I have my own
consint.
"I wont give you any letter for the squire, unless I know you're
his servant. Is there anyone in the town knows you?
 Plenty, said Andy; "it's net everyone is as ignorant as you.
Just at this moment a person to whom Andy was known entered
the house, who vouched to the postmaster that he might give Andy
the squire's letter.  Have you one for me ?
 Yes, sir, said the postmaster, producing one— fourpence.
The gentleman paid the fourpence postage, and left the shop with
his letter.
"Here's a letter for the squire, said the postmaster; "you've to
pay me elevenpence postage.
 What 'ud I pay elevenpence for ?
 For postage.
"To the devil wid you! Didn't I see you give Mr. Durfy a
letther for fourpence this minnit, and a bigger letther than 11-' '
E
Comic Recitations.
and now you want me to pay elevenpence for this scrap of a thing.
Do you think I'm a fool ?
"No: but I'm sure of it, said the postmaster.
 Well, you're welkim to be sure, sure;—but don't be delayin'
me now: here's fourpence for .you, and gi' me the letther.
"Go along, you stupid thief! said the postmaster, taking up the
letter, and going to serve a customer with a mousetrap.
While this person and many others were served, Andy lounged
tip and down the shop, every now and then putting in his head in
the middle of the customers, and saying, "Will ycu gi' me the
letther?
He \v;;ifed for above half an hour, in defiance of the anathemas
of the postmaster, and at last left, when he found it impossible to
get common justice for his master, which he thought he deseived as
well as another man; for, under this impression, Andy determined
to give no more than the fourpence.
The squire in the meantime was getting impatient lor his return,
and when Andy made his appearance asked if there was a letter for
him.
"There is, sir, said Andy.
 Then give it to me.
 I haven't it, sir.
 What do you mean ?
 He wouldn't give it to me, sir.
 Who wouldn't give it you ?
"That owld chate beyant in the town—wanting to charge double
for it.
 Maybe it's'a double letter. Why the devil didn't you pay what
he asked, sir ?
 Arrah, sir, why would I let you be chated? It's not a double
'etther at all: not above half the size o' one Mr. Durfy got before
my face for fourpence.
"You'll provoke me to break your neck some day, you vagabond!
Ride back for your life, you omadhaun; and pay whatever he asks,
and get me the letter.
 Why, sir, I tell you he was sellin' them before nvy face for fo&r-
pence a-piece.*'
 Go back, you scoundrel! or I'll horsewhip you; and if you're
longer than an hour, I'll have you ducked in the horsepond!
Andy vanished, and made a second visit to the post-office. When
he arrived, two other persons were getting letters, and the postmaster
was selecting the epistles for each, from a large parcel that lay before
Vim on the counter; at the same time many shop customers were
"Waiting to be served.
 I'm come for that letther, said Andy.
 I'll attend to you by-and-by.
 The masther's in a hurry.
"Let him wait till his hurry's over.
Richelieu; or, the Conspiracy. 51
 He'll murther me if I'm not back soon.
 I'm glad to hear it.
"While the postmaster went on with such provoking answers to
these appeals for dispatch, Andy's eye caught the heap of letters
which lay on the counter: so while certain weighing of soap and
tobacco was going forward, he contrived to become possessed of two
letters from the heap, and, having effected that, waited patiently
enough till it was the great manVpleasure to give him the missive
directed to his master.
Then did Andy bestride his hack, and in triumph at his trick on
the postmaster, rattle along the road homeward as fast as the beast
could carry him. He came into the squire's presence, his face
beaming with delight, and an air of self-satisfied superiority in his
manner, quite unaccountable to his master, until he pulled forth his
hand, which had been grubbing up his prizes from the bottom of
his pocket; and holding three letters over his head, while he said,
 Look at that! he next slapped them down under his broad fist
on the table before the squire, saying—
 Well! if he did make me pay elevenpence, by gor, I brought
your honour the worth o' your money anyhow!
RICHELIEU; OR, THE CONSPIRACY.
(From the  Bentley Ballads.")
Cardinal Richelieu was Premier of France;
He was keen as a fox, and you read at a glance,
In his phiz so expressive of malice and trick,
That he'd much of the nature ascribed to Old Nick j
If a noble e'er dared to oppose him, instead
Of confuting his lordship, he whipped off his head:
He fixed his grim paw
Upon church, state, and law,
With as much cool assurance as ever you saw;
With his satire's sharp sting
He badgered the King,
Bullied his brother,
Transported his mother,
And (what is a far more astonishing case)
Not only pronounced him an ass to his face,
But made love to his Queen, and because she declined
His advances, gave out she was wrong in her mind 1
Now the nobles of France, and still more, the poor King,
Disliked, as was natural, this sort of thing;
The former felt shocked that plebeian beholders
Should see a peer's head fly so oft from his shoulders,
E 3
Comic Recitations.
And the latter was constantly kept upon thorns
By the Cardinal's wish to endow him with horns;
Thus rankling with spite,
A party one night
Or noblemen met, and determined outright
(So enraged were the crew)
First to murder Richelieu,
And, if needful, despatch all his partisans ten) '
Next to league with the foes
Of the King, and depose
The fat-pated monarch himself, for a fooi
Rebellion ne'er uses, except as a tool.
On the night that Richelieu was thus m irked out foi siaugii'.CJ
He chanced to be tippling cold brandy and water
"With one Joseph, a Capuchin priest—a sly dog,
And by no means averse to the comforts of grog,
As you saw by his paunch, which seemed proud to reveal
How exactly .it looked like a fillet of veal.
They laughed and they quaffed, till the Capuchin's nose
(Twas a thorough bred snub), grew as red as a rose;
And, whenever it chanced that his patron, Richelieu,
Cracked a joke, even though it was not very new;
And pointed his smart conversational squibs,
By a slap on Joe's back, or a peg in his ribs;
The priest, who was wonderfully shrewd as a schemer,
Would bellow with ecstacy,  Gad, that's a screamer /
Thur they chatted away, a rare couple well met,
And were just tuning up for a pious duet,
When in rushed a spy,
With his wig all awry,
And a very equivocal drop in his eye,
Who cried (looking blue
As he turned to Richelieu)
 Oh, my lord, lack-a-day!
Here's the devil to pay,
For a dozen fierce nobles are coming this way j
One of whom, an old stager, as'sharp as a lizard,
Has threatened to stick a long knife in your gizzard >
While the rest of the traitors, I say it with pain,
Have already sent olF a despatch to Spain,
To state that his Majesty's ceased to reign,
And order the troops all home again.
When his Eminence heard these tidings,  Go,*
He said, in the blandest of tones, to Joe,
 And if you can catch
The traitor's despatch.
Richelieu; or, the Conspiracy.
I swear—no matter how rich it be—
You shall have, dear Joe, the very next see 1
(Nota bene, whenever Old Nick is wishing
To enjoy the prime sport of parson-fishmg,
He always, like Richelieu, cunning and quick,
Baits with a good fat bishoprick!)
No sooner had Joe turned his sanctified back—
I hardly need add he was off in a crack—
Than up the grand stairs rushed the murderous pack,
Whereon the sly Cardinal, tipping the wink
To the spy, who was helping himself to some drink
At a side-table, said,
"Tell 'em I'm dead !
Then flew to his chamber and popped into bed.
 What, dead ? roared the traitors.  I stuck him myself,
With a knife which I snatched from the back-kitchen shelf,'
Was the ready reply
Of the quick-witted spy,—
Who in matters of business ne'er stuck at a lie.
 Huzza, then, for office cried one, and cried all,
The government's ours by the Cardinal's fall,
And, so saying, the crew
Cut a caper or two,
Gave the spy a new four-penny piece and withdrew.
Next day all the papers were full of the news,
Little dreaming the Cardinal's death was a ruse ;
In Parliament, too, lots of speeches were made.
And poetical tropes by the bushel displayed;
The deceased was compared to Ulysses and Plato,
To a star, to a cherub, an eagle, and Cato;
And 'twas gravely proposed by some gents in committee
To erect him a statue of gold in the city;
But when an economist, caustic and witty,
Asked,  Gentlemen, pray,
Who is to pay ?
The committee, as if by a galvanic shock jolted,
Looked horrified, put on their castors, and bolted!
Meanwhile the shrewd traitors repaired in a bevy,
All buoyant with hope to his Majesty's levee,
When, lo! as the King with anxiety feigned,.
Was beginning to speak of the loss he sustained,
In strutted Richelieu,
And the Capuchin too,
Which made each conspirator shake in his shoe;
One whispered a by-stander, looking him through,
54
Comic Recitations.
 By Jove, I can scarcely believe it! can you ?
Another cried,  Dam'me, I thought'twas a do /'*
And a third muttered faintly, o'ercome by his fear,
"Talk of the devil and he's sure to appear ?
When the King, who at first hardly trusted his eyes,
Had somehow recovered the shock of surprise,
He shook his thick head
At the Cardinal, and said,
In tones in which something of anger still lurked,
 I low's this? Why God bless me, I thought you were burked!
 Had such been my fate, quickly answered Richelieu,
 Had they made me a subject, the rascally crew,
My liege, they'd have soon made another of you.
Look heie! and he pulled out the nobles' despatch,
Who felt that for once they had met with their match,
And exclaiming, "'Od rot 'em,
The scoundrels, I've got 'em !
Read it out to the King from the top to the bottom.
Next morning twelve scaffolds, with axes of steel,
Adorned the fore-court of the sprightly Bastille;
And at midnight twelve nobles, by way of a bed,
Lay snug in twelve coffins, each minus a head—
A thing not uncommon with nobles, 'tis said.
Priest Joe got his see,
And delighted was he,
For the bishoprick suited his taste to a T;
And Richelieu, the stern, unforgiving and clever,
Bullied King, Church and people more fiercely than ever!
And the moral is this—if conspiring in flocks,
Silly Geese will presume to play tricks with a fox,
And strive by finesse to get rid of the pest,
They must always expect to come off second best'
(ly permission nf Richard Bentley, Esq )
IUJLLUM ver-sus BOATUM.
George Alexander Stephens.
[A celebrated actor, in his day, who gave an entertainment entitled
u A Lecture on Heads, of which  Bullum -versus Boatum  and
"Daniel-wjaiDishclout formed portions. Hewrote the celebrated song
of  The Storm"—"Cease rude Boreas. Died, in poverty, 1784.]
Law is law—law is law; and as such and so forth and hereby, and
aforesaid, provided always, nevertheless, notwithstanding, taw is
BulLum versus Boatum.
55
like a country dance—people are led up and down m it till they are
tired. Law is like a book of surgery—there are a great many des-
perate cases in it. It is also like physic—they that take the least of
it are best off. Law is like a homely gentlewoman, very well to
follow. Law is also like a scolding wife—very bad when it follows
us. Law is like a new fashion—people are bewitched to get into it.
It is also likii bad weather—most people are glad when they get
out of it.
We shall now mention a cause,  Bullum versus Boatum <t was
a cause that came before me. The cause was as follows:—
There were two farmers: Farmer A. and Farmer B. Farmer A.
was seized or possessed of af bull: Farmer B. was seize! cr possessed
of a ferry-boat. Now, the owner of the ferry-boat, having made his
boat fast to a post on shore, with a piece of hay twisted rope-fashion
(or, as we say vulgo vocato, a hay-band), after he had made his boat
fast to a post on shore, as it was very natural for a hungry man to
do, he went up town to dinner; Farmer A.'s bull, as it was very
natural for a hungry bull to do, came down town to look for a dinner;
and, observing, discovering, seeing, and spying out some turnips in
the bottom of the ferry-boat, the bull scrambled into the ferry-boat;
he ate up the turnips, and, to make an end of his meal, fell to work
on the hay-band. The boat, being eaten from its moorings, floated
down the river, with the bull in it; it struck against a rock; beat a hole
in the bottom of the boat, and tossed the bull overboard: whereupon
the owner of the bull brought his action against the boat, for running
away with the bull; the owner of the boat brought his action against
the bull, for running away with the boat; and thus notice of trial
was given, Bullum versus Boatum—Boatum versus Bullum.
Now, the counsel for the bull began with saying,  My Lord, and
you, gentlemen of the jury, we are counsel in this cause for the bull.
We are indicted for running away with the boat. Now, my Lord,
we have heard of running horses, but never of running bulls before.
Now, my Lord, the bull could no more run away with the boat than
a man in a coach may be said to run away with the horses, therefore,
my Lord, how can we punish what is not punishable? How can
we eat what is not eatable? Or how can we drink what is not
drinkable? Therefore, my Lord, as we are counsel in this cause
lor the bull, if the jury should bring the bull in guilty, the jury
would be guilty of a bull.
Now, the counsel for the boat observed, that the bull should be
nonsuited; because in his declaration, he had not specified what
colour he was of? for thus wisely, and thus learnedly, spoke the
counsel—"My Lord, if the bull was of no colour, he must be of
some colour; and if he was not of any colour, what colour could the
bull be of? T overruled this motion myself, by observing, the bull
was a white bull, and that white is no colour; besides, as I told my
brethren, they should not trouble their heads to talk of colour in
the law, for the law can colour anything.
56
Comic Recitations.
This cause being afterwards left to a reference, upon the award,
both bull and boat were acquitted, it being proved that the tide of
the liver carried them both away; upon which I gave it as my
opinion, that as the tide of the river carried both bull and boat
away, both bull and boat had a good action against the water-bailiff.
My opinion being taken, an action was issued; and upon the
traverse, this point of law arose:— How, wherefore, and whether,
why, when, and what, whatsoever, whereas, and whereby, as the boat
was not a compos mentis evidence, how can an oath be administered ?
That point was soon settled by Boatum's attorney declaring, that, for
his client, he would swear anything.
The water-bailiff's charter was then read, taken out of the original
record, in true law Latin; which set forth, in their declaration, that
they vere carried away either by the tide of the flood, or the tide of the
ebb. The charter of the water-bailiff was as follows:—Aqua bailiffi
est magistratus in choisi super omnibus jishibus qui habuerunt
Jinnos et scalos, claws, shells, et lalos qui swimmare in Jreshibus,
vel saltibus riveris, lakis, pondis, canalibus, et well boats; sive
nysteri, prawni, whitini, shrimpi, turbutus, solus; that is, not
turbots alone, but turbots and soles both together.
But now comes the nicety of the law; the law is as nice as a
new-laid egg, and not to - be understood by addle-headed people.
Bullum and Boatum mentioned both ebb and flood, to avoid quib-
bling; but it being proved that they were carried away neither by
the tide of flood nor by the tide of ebb, nor exactly upon the
top of high water, they were nonsuited; but such was the lenity of
the court, upon their paying all costs, they were allowed to begin
again de novo.
THE COLD-WATER MAN.
J. G. Saxe.
It was an honest fisherman,
I knew him passing well,—
And he lived by a little pond,
Within a little dell.
A grave and quiet man was he,
Who loved his hook and rod,—
So even ran his line of life,
His neighbours thought it odd.
For science and for books, he said
He never had a wish,
Fb school to him was worth a fig,
Except a school of fish.
The Cold-Water Man.
He ne'er aspired to rank or wealth,
Nor cared about a name,—
For though much famed for fish was he,
He never fished for fame I
Let others bend their necks at sight
Of Fashion's gilded wheels,
He ne'er had learned the art to  bob
For anything but eels!
A cunning fisherman was he,
His angles were all right;
The smallest nibble at his bait
Was sure to prove a "bite!
All day this fisherman would sit
Upon an ancient log,
And gaze into the water, like
Some sedentary frog;
With all the seeming innocence,
And that unconscious look,
That other people often wear
When they intend to  hook !
To charm the fish he never spoke—
Although his voice was fine,
He found the most convenient way
Was just to drop a line.
And many a gudgeon of the pond,
If they could speak to-day,
Would own, with grief, this angler had
A mighty taking way.
Alas ! one day this fisherman
Had taken too much grog,
And being but a landsman, too,
He couldn't keep the log.
4Twas all in vain with might and main
He strove to reach the shore;
Down—down he went to feed the fish
He'd baited oft before.
The jury gave their verdict that
'Twas nothing else but gin
Had caused the fisherman to be
So sadly taken in j
Comic Recitations.
Though one stood out upon a whim,
And said the angler's slaughter,
To be exact about the fact,
Was, clearly, gin-and-tca/fr.'
The moral of this mournful talf
To all is plain and clear,
That drinking habits bring a mail
Too often to his bier;
And he who scorns to  take the pledge,
And keep the promise fast,
May be, in spite of fate, a stiff'
Cold-water man at last !
THE BRICK-LANF TEMPERANCE BRANCH.
Charles Dickens.
The monthly meetings of the Brick-Lane Branch of the United
Grand Junction Ebenezer Temperance Association, were held in a
large room, pleasantly and airily situated at the top of a safe and
commodious ladder. The president was the straight-walking Mr.
Anthony Humm, a converted fireman, now a schoolmaster, and
occasionally an itinerant preacher; and the secretary was Mr. Jonas
Mudge, chandler's shop-keeper, an enthusiastic and disinterested
vessel, who sold tea to the members. Previous to the commence-
ment of business, the ladies sat upon forms, and drank tea, till such
time as they considered it expedient to leave off; and a large wooden
money-box was conspicuously placed upon the green baize cloth of
the business table, behind which the secretary stood, and ackncw-
ledged, with a gracious smile, every addition to the rich vein of cop-
per which lay concealed within.
On this particular occasion the women drank tea to a most alarm-
ing extent; greatly to the horror of Mr. Weller, senior, who, utterly
regardless of all Sam's admonitory nudgings, stared about him in
every direction with the most undisguised astonishment.
 Sammy, whispered Mr. Weller,  if some o' these here people
don't want tappin' to-morrow mornin', I ain't your father, and that's
wot it is. Why, this here old lady next me is a drowndin' herself in tea.
 Be quiet, cant't you ? murmured Sam.
 Sam, whispered Mr. Weller, a moment afterwards, in a tone of
deep agitation, "mark my vords, my boy: if that 'ere secretary
feller keeps on for only five minutes more, he'll blow himself up
With toast and water.
"Well, let him, if he likes, replied Sam; "it ain't no business
o' vourn.
The Brick-lane Temperance Branch.
59
 If this here lasts much longer, Sammy, said Mr. Weller, in
the same low voice,  I shall feel it my duty, as a human bein', to
rise and address the cheer. There's a young 'ooman on the next
form but two, as has drank nine breakfast cups and a half; and she's
a swellin' wisibly before my werry eyes.
There is little doubt that Mr. Weller would have carried his
benevolent intention into immediate execution, if a great noise, occa-
sioned by putting up the cups and saucers, had not very fortunately
announced that the tea-drinking was over. The crockery having
been removed, the table with the green baize cover was carried out
into the centre of the room, and the business of the evening was
commenced by a little emphatic man, with a bald head and drab
shorts, who suddenly rushed up the ladder, at the imminent peril of
snapping the two little legs encased in the drab shorts, and said—
 Ladies and gentlemen, I move our excellent brother, Mr.
Anthony Humm, into the chair.
The ladies waved a choice collection of pocket-handkerchiefs at
this proposition : and the impetuous little man literally moved Mr.
Humm into the chair, by taking him by the shoulders and thrusting
him into a mahogany frame which had once represented that article
of furniture. The waving of handkerchiefs was renewed; and Mr.
Humm, who was a sleek, white-faced man, in a perpetual perspira-
tion, bowed meekly, to the great admiration of the females, and for-
nially took his seat. Silence was then proclaimed by the little man
in the drab shorts, and Mr. Humm rose and said—That, with the
permission of his Brick-Lane Branch brothers and sisters, then and
there present, the secretary would read the report of the Brick-Lane
Branch committee; a proposition which was again received with a
demonstration of pocket-handkerchiefs.
The secretary having sneezed in a very impressive manner, and
the cough which always seizes an assembly, when anything particular
is going to be done, having been duly performed, the following
document was read:—
■J REPORT OF THE COMMITTEE OF THE BRICK-I.ANE BRANCH OF
THE UNITED GRAND JUNCTION EBENEZER TEMib.R/lNCE
ASSOCIATION.
 Your committee have pursued their grateful labours during the
past month, and have the unspeakable pleasure of reporting the fol-
lowing additional cases of converts to Temperance:— .
 H. Walker, tailor, wife, and two children. When in better cir-
cumstances, owns to having been in the constant habit of drinking
ale and beer; says be is not certain whether he did not twice a week,
for twenty years, taste 'dog's nose,' which your committee find upon
inquiry, to be compounded of warm porter, moist sugar, gin, and
jutmeg. Is now out of work and pennyless; thinks it must be the
qorter or the loss of the use of his right hand; is not certain which,
But thinks it very likely that, if he had drank nothing but water all
6o
Comic Recitations.
his life, his fellow-workman would never have stuck a rusty needle
in him, and thereby occasioned his accident. Has nothing but cold
water to drink, and never feels thirsty.
 Betsy Martin, widow, one child, and one eye. Goes out charing
and washing, by the day; never had more than one eye, but knows
her mother drank bottled stout, and shouldn't wonder if that caused
it. Thinks it not impossible that if she had always abstained from
spirits she might have had two eyes by this time. Used, at every
place she went to, to have eighteen pence a day, a pint of porter, and
a glass of spirits; but since she became a member of the Brick-Lane
Branch, has always demanded three and sixpence instead (the an-
nouncement of this most interesting fact was received with deafening
enthusiasm).
 Henry Beller was for many years toast-master at various corpo-
ration dinners, during which time he drank a great deal of foreign
wine; may sometimes have carried a bottle or two home with him;
is not quite certain of that, but is sure if he did, that he drank the
contents. Feels very low and melancholy, is very feverish, and has
a constant thirst upon him; thinks it must be the wine he used to
drink. Is out of employ now; and never touches a drop of foreign
wine by any chance.
"Thomas Burton is purveyor of cat's-meat to the Lord Mayor
and Sheriffs, and several members of the Common Council (the an-
nouncement of this gentleman's name was received with breathless
interest). Has a wooden leg; finds a wooden leg expensive, going
over the stones; used to wear second-hand wooden legs, and drink
a glass of hot gin-and-water regularly every night—sometimes two.
Found the second-hand wooden legs split and rot very quickly; is
firmly persuaded that their constitution was undermined by the gin-
and-water. Buys new wooden legs now, and drinks nothing but
water and weak tea. The new legs last twice as long as the others
used to do, and he attributes this solely to his temperate habits.
Anthony Hurnm now moved that the assembly do regale itself
with a song. With a view to their rational and moral enjoyment,
brother Mordlin had adapted the beautiful words of  Who hasn't
heard of a Jolly Young Waterman ? to the tune of the Old Hun-
dredth, which he would request them to join him in singing. He
might take that opportunity of expressing his firm persuasion that
the late Mr. Dibdin, seeing the errors of his former life, had written
that song to show the advantages of abstinence. It was a Tempe-
ranee song. The neatness of the interesting young man's attire, the
dexterity of his feathering, the enviable state of mind which enabled
him, in the beautiful words of the poet, to
 Row along, thinking of nothing at all,
all combined to prove that he must have been a water-drinker. Oh,
what a state of virtuous jollity! And what was the young man'fl
reward ? Le1- all young men p -esen* mark this:—>
The Frenchman mil the Rats.
61
 The maidens all flock'd to his boat so readily.
What a bright example! The sisterhood, the maidens, flocking
round the young waterman, and urging him al-ong the stream of
duty and of temperance. But, was it the maidens of humble lite
Only, who soothed, consoled, and supported him ? No 1
 He was always first oars with the fine City ladies.
Tfe soft sex to a man—he begged pardon, to a female—rallied
round the young waterman, and turned with disgust from the
drinker of spirits. The Brick-Lane Branch brothers were watermen.
That room was their boat; that audience were the maidens; and he
(Mr. Anthony Humm), however unworthily, was "first oars.
{By permission of Messrs. Chapman and Hall.)
HOMOEOPATHIC SOUP.
Take a robin's leg (mind, the drumstick merely),
Put it in a tub filled with water nearly;
Set it out of doors in a place that's shady,
Let it stand a week (three days if for a lady);
Drop a spoonful of it in a five-pail kettle,
Which may be made of tin or any baser metal;
Fill the kettle up, set it on a bdiling,
Strain the liquor well, to prevent it oiling;
One atom add of salt, for the thickening one rice kernel,
And use to light the fire "The Homceopathic Journal;
Let the liquor boil half an hour—no longer,
(If'tis for a man of course you'll make it stronger.)
Should you now desire that the soup be flavoury,
Stir it once around with a stalk of savory.
When the broth is made, nothing can excel it:
Then three times a day let the patient swell it.
If he chance to die, say 'twas Nature did it;
Jf he chance to live—give the soup the credit.
THE FRENCHMAN AND THE RATS.
A Frenchman once, who was a merry wight,
Passing to town from Dover in the night,
Near the road side an ale-house chanced to spy ;
And being rather tired, as well as dry.
Comic Recitations.
Resolved to enter; but first he took a peep,
In hopes a supper he might get, and cheap.
He enters— Hollo! garcjon, if you please,
Bring me a little bit of bread and cheese !
And, hollo, gartjon, a pot of porter, too, he said,
 Which I shall take, and then myself to bed.
His supper done, some scraps of cheese were left,
Which our poor Frenchman, thinking it no theft,
Into his pocket put; then slowly crept
To wish'd-for bed. But not a wink he sle;;
For on the floor some sacks of flour were laid,
To which the rats a nightly visit paid.
Our hero, now undress'd, popp'd out the light,
Put on his cap, and bade the world good night;
But first his breeches, which contain'd the fare,
Under his pillow he had placed with care.
Sans ceremonie, soon the rats all ran,
And on the flour-sacks greedily began;
At which they gorged themselves; then smelling round,
Under the pillow soon the cheese they found;
And while at this they next regaling sat,
Their harpy jaws disturb'd the Frenchman's nap;
Who, half awake, cries out,  Hollo ! hollo !
What is dat nibble at my pillow so ?
Ah ! 'tis one great big monster rat!
What is it that he nibble, nibble at ?
In vain our little hero sought repose;
Sometimes the vermin gallopp'd o'er his nose;
And such the pranks they kept up all the night,
That he, on end antipodes, upright,
Bawling aloud, called stoutly for a light.
 Hollo ! maison, garpon ! I say !
Bring me de bill for what I have to pay!
The bill was brought, and, to his great surprise,
Ten shillings was the. charge—he scarce believes his eyes
With eager haste he runs it o'er and o'er,
And every time he viewed it thought it more.
 Vy, sare, O sare! he cries,  I shall no pay
What, ten shillings for what I have mange,
A leetle sup of porter,—dis vile bed,
Where all de rats do run about my head!
— Plague take those rats ! the landlord mutter1 d out;
"I wish to goodness I could make them scout;
I'd pay him well that can."— What's that you say?
 I'd pay him well that can."— Attend to me I pray:
Vill you dis charge forego, what I am at,
If from your house I drive away de rat?
The Musical Butcher.
63
— With all my heart, the jolly host replies ;
—"Ecoutez done, ami, the Frenchman ciies,
 First den—regardez, if you please;
Bring to dis spot a leetel bread and cheese;
Eh, bien, a half-filled pot of porter too;
And den invite de rats to sup vid you,
And after dat—no matter dey be willing—
For what dey eat, you charge dem just ten shilling;
And I am sure, when dey behold de score,
Dey'll quit your house, and never come no more.
THE MUSICAL BUTCHER.
A Mr. Jenkins, a well-known butcher in the vicinity of town, was
often in the habit of attending various convivial and harmonic
meetings; being what is termed a jolly fellow, he could crack his
joke and sing a tolerably good song. By this means he got
acquainted with several theatrical characters, and at length was
solicited to sing at one of their benefits; but this he at first declined,
on account of his having to sing to music, for he understood no
more about music than his chopping-block did; however, they
soon persuaded him over, by offering to instruct him a little, and
practise the tune over to him, and such like; so on the appointed
night, suffice it to say, Mr. Jenkins accordingly sung, and came off
with such wonderful eclat, that he was now downright music mad;
in short he could think or dream of nothing else; at last he bawls
out to his wife one day,  Veil, vife, I shan't have nothing more to do
vith this nasty greasy fat butchering line of business. "No, Thomas!
why what do you mean to turn to then ?  What else do I mean to
turn to ? why I mean to turn musical master to be sure, that's vat I
mean to turn to.  Oh, well, Thomas, that is a nice light genie;?
business to be sure. Accordingly the next day he sent for aiv
auctioneer, and had everything sold off that appeared any ways fat
or greasy; he then took another shop in a respectable part of the
neighbourhood, and had it well stocked with all the nr.V£5.t musical
productions, such as violins, flutes, &c.; he also put on a decent
suit of black, but so far forgot himself as to tie 011 his old blue apron
and §teel before him, and paraded about in front, of his new shop,
with the usual cry of "What do you buy, buy, buy. Some of the
neighbours at first thought he was foolish, others ihat he was out of
his mind, but all agreed that he was out of his element. At length
one of his old customers happened to pass that way, and being struck
by his singular appearance, accosts him with  Hollo, Jenkins ! why
what new freak is this of yours, eh? why you look a droll figure;
do you know I could hardly believe my eyes.  Vhy, yes, sir, I've
64
Comic Recitations.
got into another fresh line of business, you see, and if jou vants any-
thing in my vay now, I shall be werry happy to serve you, for I arn't
taken any hansel yet. What can I sarve you with? Music?—here,
Tom, hand us down the round of beef—no, I mean that round of
Bishop's. "Well, Jenkins! well, I suppose I must give you hansel
then; so what do you want for that old fiddle hanging up there,
eh? "Vy, sir, I can't take a farden less than fourpence ha'penny
a pound for it.  Ha, ha, ha—why, Jenkins you can't forget your
old tricks, eh ?  Vhy, ah, sir, I made a bit of a blunder there,
sure enough, but you see I arn't got the knack of it yet.  Oh, it's
very excusable, Jenkins !  Veil, come, sir, you shall have it for a
pound, now, and that's what it stood me in. "Ah, well, Jenkins,
I'll give you a pound for it; but what an ugly long neck it's got
here, eh—can't you do anything to that, Jenkins ?  Oh, ah, I'll
soon doctor thatso he bawls out to a boy that had served five
years to the butchering line, and was now to serve the other two to
the musical branch,  Here, you, Tom, take and chop off the chump
end of this here fiddle, and pop it in the tray, and carry it home for
the gentleman. Accordingly, Tom laid it upon a bran new piano-
forte, and not only chopped off the chump end of the fiddle, but
chopped clean through the pianoforte as well. "Vhy, hollo, Tom !
vhy, you've spoilt that large box of music; vhy, there's a pretty go,
now. Shortly after this, a gentleman came in, with  Pray, sir,
have you got the overture to Tamerlaine and Bajazet? "Eh?
vat ? the—oh, ah, I daresay it's somevhere about here.  Oh, and
let me have the catastrophe to it as well V  The vat, sir ? the—
the   Why, the catastrophe: that is, the climax—the wind
up—the finish—the finale.  Oh, werry well, sir, I'll see arter it.
So after pulling and mauling everything about, he at last found what
the gentleman wanted, and supplied him accordingly; he then bawls
out to his wife,  Here, vife, vhere's the day-book ? oh, I've got such
a lot of fine words for you to go to market vith; ve'll soon take the
shine out of 'em now, I warrant you. So the next time Mrs.
Jenkins went to market she happened to stop at the very shop they
had lately occupied, and began with "You butcher, what do you
ask for that bit of mutton, and cut off the catastrophe ?  The
what, marm ? why I never heard of such a part before. Here, mis-
tress, will you come and see if you can understand this woman, for
it's all Greek and Latin to me. "Veil, to be sure! these butcher-
ing people are the most wulgar, illiterate set on the whole face of the
universal yearth! vhy don't you know the catastrophe is the climax
—the wind up—the finish—the finale, and the tail.  Oh, the tail,
marm. Oh, now, if you had said that at first, I should have
known what you meant, and cut it off directly. Accordingly, on
cutting off the tail you must know—why there's an end to the
tale.
THE RIVAL BROOM MAKERS.
Dr. John Wolcot.
[Better known as  Peter Pindar. An unscrupulous satirist and
unpatriotic man ; redeemed only by his wit. He failed both as a
divine and a physician. Born 17385 died 1819.]
A thieving fellow, r.iturally sly,
 Cheaper than all the world, his, ware?, would cry,
And on a jack-ass's back such bargains brought'em;
All siz'd and sorted town-made brooms,
For sweeping stables, gardens, hearths, or rooms,
So cheap I as quite astonish'el all who bought 'em /
Thus, for a while, he drove a roaring trade,
And wisely thought a pretty purse to have made,
When on a dismal day, at every door,
Where oft he sold his dog-cheap goods before,
With freezing looks, his customers all told him,
Another broom-monger they'd found,
That travelled far and wide the country round
And in all sorts and sizes, under-sold him.
Scratching his wig he left 'em, musing deep,
With knitted brows—up to his ears in thought,
To guess, where in the deuce could brooms be bought,
That any mortal man could sell so cheap.
When lo 1 as through the street he slowly passes,
A voice as clear as raven's, owl's, or ass's,
And just as musical, rung in his ears, like thunder
(Half-splitting his thick head, and wig cramm'd full of wonder),
With roaring out  Cheap brooms ! O'erjoyed he meets
His brother brush, and thus the rascal greets:—
 How, how the devil, brother rogue, do I
Hear my old friends sing out a general cry
That I'm a knave! then growl like bears, and tell rae,
That you do more
Than all the world could ever do before,
And, in this self-same broom-trade, undersell me.
1 always thought I sold 'em cheap enough,
And well I might—for y.'^y ?
('Twist you and I),
I own, I now and then have stole Ine stuff J
 Ah! (quoth his brother thief, a dog far deeper)
 I see, my boy, you haven't half learnt your trader
I go a cheaper way to work than that. A cheaper f
 Why, ah—I always steals mine ready made 
Comic Recitations.
NOSE AND EYES.
William Cowper.
Between Nose and Eyes a strange contest arose,
The spectacles set them unhappily wrong;
The point in dispute was, as all the world knows,
To which the said spectacles ought to belong.
So the Tongue was the lawyer, and argued the cause
With a great deal of skill, and a wig full of learning;
While chief baron Ear sat to balance the laws,
So famed for his talent in nicely discerning.
' In behalf of the Nose, it will quickly appear,
And your lordship, said Tongue, "will undoubtedly find
That the Nose has had spectacles always in wear,
Which amounts to possession, time out of mind.
Then holding the spectacles up to the court—
"Your lordship observes they are made with a straddle,
As wide as the ridge of the nose is; in short,
Designed to sit to it, just like a saddle
 Again, would your lordship a moment suppose—
'Tis a case that has happened, and may be again—
That the visage or countenance had not a nose,
Pray who would, or who could, wear spectacles then ?
 On the whole it appears, and my argument shows,
With a reasoning the court will never condemn,
That the spectacles plainly were made for the Nose,
And the Nose was as plainly intended for them.
Then shifting his side, as the lawyer knows how,
He pleaded again in behalf of the Eyes;
But what were his arguments few people know,
For the world did not think they were equally wise.
So his lordship decreed, with grave solemn tone,
Decisive and clear, without one if or but—
That whenever the Nose put his spectacles on,
By daylight or candle-light-—Eyes should lie shut!
6 7
POOR RICHARD'S SAYINGS,
with annotations by lord dundreary,
A fellah once told me that another fellah wote a book before he
was born—I mean before the first fellah was born (of course the
fellah who wote it must have been born, else, how could he have
Written U ?)—that is, a long time ago—to pwove that a whole lot of
pwoverbs and things that fellahs are in the habit of c noting were all
jonsense.
I should vewy much like to get that book. 1—I think if I could
get it at one of those spherical—no—globular—no, that's not the
word—circle—circular—yes, that's it—circulating libwawies (I
knew it was something that went round)—I think if I could jusr
borrow that book from a circulating libwawy—I'd—yes, upon mi
word now—I'd twy and wead it. A doothed good sort of book that
I'm sure. I—I always did hate pwoverbs. In the first place, they,
they're so howwibly confusing—I—I always mix 'em up together—
somehow, when I twy to weckomember them. And besides, if
evewy fellah was to wegulate his life by a lot of pwoverbs, what—
what a beathly sort of uncomfortable life he would lead!
I remoleckt—I mean remember—when I was quite a little fellah—
in pinafores—and liked wasbewwy jam, and—and a lot of howwid
things for tea—there was a sort of collection of illustwated pwoverbs
hanging up in our nursery at home. They belonged to our old
nurse—Sarah—I think—and she had 'em fwamed and glazed.
' Poor—Richard's,' I think she called 'em—and she used to say—
poor dear—that if evewy fellah attended to evewything Poor Richard
wote, that he'd get vewy wich, and 1-live and die—happy ever after.
However—it—it's vewy clear to me that—he couldn't have attended
to them—himself, else, how did the fellah come to be called Poor
Richard ? I—I hate a fellah that pweaches what he doesn't pwactise.
Of courth, if what he said was twue, and he'd stuck to it—he—he'd
nave been called—Rich Richard—Stop a minute—how's that?
Rich Rich-ard ? Why that would have been too rich. Pwaps that's
the reason he pweferred being Poor. # How vewy wich!
But, as I was saying, these picture pwoverbs were all hung up m
our nursery, and a more uncomfortable set of makthims—you never
wead. For instance, there was
'•'Early to bed and early to rise
Makes a fellah healthy, and wealthy, and wise.
I don't b'iieve a word of that—I'll tell you why. To begin with
* healthy. When Sam and I were children we were all packed off
to bed abcY* ''jit or nine o'clock—just when a fellah ought to be
dining—and had to get up at six or seven—quite the middle of the
ight, you know—and pwaydid that keep us healthy? On the con-
v a
68
Comic Recitations,
twawy, we were always getting meathles, or whooping-cough, or
vaccinathion, or some howwid complaint or other. As for mental
impwovement, it's not the slightest use in that way, for I twied it at
Oxford. "When all the men of my time were sitting up weading for
modewations, with wet towels round their heads, and dwinking
gween tea—I—I went to bed—I did—and what was the conse-
quence ? I don't mind telling you now—but I—I was plucked.
And then about  wealthy. Look at my bwother Sam. He used
to be out shooting vewy early—I'm sure when he was home—and
you know he's not over flush just now. That weminds me—he—he
borrowed a couple of ponies of me just before he left England—and
stwange to say—he's forgotten all about it since. But I never could
make Sam out. He's such a—a doothid inconthequential fellah—
Sam is.
Then there was another of "Poor Richard's pwoverbs (con-
found him!)—
"Buy what thou hast no need of, and eke long thou
wilt sell thy necessaries/'
 Buy what thou hast no need of. Th-that's a vewy nice sort of
mowwal makthim—that is. Why, th-that's precisely what I do do.
I'm always buying something or other that I don't want But
I think Poor Richard was wong after all—to tell a fellah to buy
what he has no n-need of—and as for s-selling my necessawies—I—
I'm dash'd if I'll do anything of the kind—n-no—not for P-poor
Richard—nor—nor any other man.
But there's one vewy nonthensical pwoverb which says
"A b-bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.
Th-the man who invented that pwoverb must have been a b-born
idiot. How the dooth can he t-tell the welative v-value of poultry
in that pwomithcuous manner ? Suppothe I've got a wobbing-wed-
bweast in my hand—(I nearly had the other morning—but he flew
away—confound him !)—well—suppothe the two birds in the bush
are a b-wace of partwidges—you—you don't mean to t-tell me that
that wobbin-wed-bweast would fetch as m-much as a bwace of par-
twidges? Ahthurd! P-poor -Richard can't gammon me in that
sort of way.
Then there's another—
"The pitcher goes oft to the well, but the pitchep
at last may be broken.
Now this I take to be a sort of alle—What is that word now,
which m-means something diffewent to what it iveally means ?—
an alle—alligator ?—no—allicompane—alkali ?—all—no—allegory
—that's it. The pitcher is a sort of allegowy—and means, of courth,
a person. Well—if—if a person goes t-to the icell, it stands to all
weason th-tbat he can't go to the lad; and if he dothn't go to the
Poor Richard's Sayings.
69
b-bad—he can't be bwoken—so Poor Richard's out again there.
But if he weally means a pitcher—a thing for holding water, you
know—why, suppothing it is bwoken—(as any weal pitcher may
be—any day of the week), the only thing a fellah can do is to b-buy
another. They're not so vewy expensive, after all. I d-dare say
you could buy a stunner for half a crown—so what's the use
making such a jolly wow about it ?
This eccentwic old party then goes on to say, that
"Those who live in glass houses shouldn't throw
stones.
Now, considewing what a vewy small pwoportion of people occupy
tenements of this descwiption, I should have thought the best thing
to say would have been, "Th-those who d-don't live in glass houses
shouldn't throw stones. I—I'm sure it would have embwaced a
gweater n-number of the community—p-particularly th-those little
b-blackguards in the stweets, who can never even have been in the
Cwystal Palace in their lives—and yet are always shying things
about—b-beathly balls that hit you—and then webound back in a
mistewious sort of way into their hands—and playing at t-tip cat—
a howwid kind of game, in which a fellah strikes a bit of wood on
the ground that flies up into the air—and—and if it doesn't hit you,
he wins—that is, he gets it back again—and if—if it does hit you,
you lose—that is, you lose your temper—at least I know I do.
But the m-most widiculous makthim of all is—
"Take care of the pence, and the pounds will take care
of themselves.
Did you ever hear such nonthense ? If there's one thing I hate
to cawwy about with me it 'th coppers. Somehow or other—I
never had but vewy few pence in my life—and those—I—I gave
away to one of t-those organ fellahs in the stweet. Ha, ha !—I sup-
pose he bought m-monkeys or some howwid thing with it—I—I
don't care. I only hope I shall never see any more b-beathly cop-
pers again—howwid things ! Fancy!—I had to put them in my
pocket—I—I hate putting things in my pocket. Th-that's a sort of
thing no fellah should do—it spoils the shape of one's clothes so.
And then the muff says that the pounds will take care of themselves !
1 don't believe a word of it. Besides—I don't mind cawwying
vounds—I mean pounds thterlivg, not pounds weight, of course—
rather like pounds. They—they'd be pwetty little things—if it
wasn't for the change. But then a fellah can always give the
change away, if he likes.
Let me see—th-there's something more about money that Poor
Wichard says—Oh, I wemember:—-
"If you would know the value of money, try to borrow
some.
By Jove!—yes—he—he's wite </iere—he's wite at last—Poor
7°
Comic Recitations.
Richard is.—(If he'd been Rich Richard he wouldn't, have hit
that off so well.)—Yes—if you would know the value of money, twy
to lowwow some. Vewy twue—and I'll tell you another thing—
when you've found out how valuable it is—ha, ha!—nev tn len d it.
Th-that's my makthim.
(From "London SocietyBy permission of J. Hogg, Esq.)
THE BEST OE WIVES.
Anonymous.
A man had once a vicious wife
(A most uncommon thing in life),
His days and nights were spent in strife
Unceasing.
Her tongue went glibly all day long.
Sweet contradiction still her song,
And all the poor man did was wrong,
And ill done.
A truce without doors or within,
From speeches long as statesmen spin,
Or rest from her. eternal din,
He found not.
He ev'ry soothing art display'd,
Tried of what stuff her skin was made;
Failing in all, to Heav'n he pray'd;
To take he.
Once walking by a river side,
In mournful terms, "My dear, he cried,
"No more let feuds our peace divide;
I'll end them.
"Weary of life, and quite resign'd,
To drown I have made up my mind,
So tie my hands as fast behind
As can be;
 Or Nature may assert her reign,
'My arms assist, my will restrain,
And, swimming, I once more regain
My troubles.**
The Pilgrims and the Peas.
With eager haste the dame complies,
While joy stands glistening in her eyes,
Already in her thoughts he dies
Before her.
 Yet when I view the rolling tide,
Nature revolts, he said;  beside,
I would not be a suicide,
And die thus:
 It would be better far, I think,
While close I stand upon the brink,
You push me in—nay, never shrink,
But do it!
To give the blow the more effect,
Some twenty yards she ran direct,
And did what she could least expect
She should do:
He slips aside himself to save;
So souse she dashes in the wave,
And gave what ne'er before she gave—
Much pleasure.
 Dear husband, help ! I sink ! she cried.
 Thou lest oj wives ! the man replied,
"I would—but you my hands have tied:
Lord help ye!
THE PILGRIMS AND THE PEAS.
Dr. John Wolcot. ("Peter Pindar.")
A brace of sinners, for no good,
Were ordered to the Virgin Mary's shrine,
Who at Loretto dwelt, in wax, stone, wood,
And, in a fair white wig, looked wondrous fine.
Fifty long miles had these sad rogues to travel,
With something in their shoes much worse than gravel;
In short, their toes, so gentle, to amuse,
The priest had ordered peas into their shoes:
A nostrum famous in old Popish times,
For purifying souls when foul with crimes;
A sort of apostolic salt
That Popish priests did for its powers exalt,
Comic Recitations.
For keeping souls of sinners sweet,
Just as our kitchen-salt keeps meat.
The knaves set off on the same day,
Peas in their shoes, to go and pray;
But very different was their speed, I wot.
One of the sinners galloped on,
Light as a bullet from a gun;
The other limped as if he had been shot.
One saw the Virgin soon— peccavi cried—
Had his soul whitewashed all so clever;
Then home again he nimbly hied,
Made fit, with saints above, to live for ever.
In coming back, however, let me say,
He met his brother rogue about half way—
Hobbling, with outstretched neck and bending knees,
And muttering—not blessings—on the peas;
His eyes in tears, his weary limbs dead beat,
And sympathizing with his aching feet.—
"How now? the light-toe'd, whitewashed pilgrim broke—
 You lazy lubber ? 
 Oh! mercy! cried the other,  'tis no joke I
My feet, once hard as any rock,
Are now as soft as blubber!
Excuse me, Virgin Mary, if I swear—
As for Loretto, I shall not go there:
No ! though unshrived my sinful soul should go,
For, hang me, if I ha'nt lost every toe.
But, brother sinner, do explain
How 'tis that you are not in pain;
What power hath worked a wonder for your toes;
Whilst I just like a snail am crawling,
Now swearing, now on saints devoutly calling,
Whilst not a rascal comes to ease my woes ?
How is't that you can like a greyhound go,
Merry, as if that nought had happen'd, burn ye ?
 Why, said the other, grinning, "you must know,
That just before I ventured on my journey,
To walk a little mort at ease,
I took the liberty to boil my peas.
THE SPECTRE NO GHOST.
While chatting at a neighbour's door,
Paying my little gossip's score,
After my usual summer trip,
And ready charged with tongue and lip;
The Spectre no Ghost.
And what is most a traveller's glory,
With willing hearers to my story,
While all were more prepared to wonder,
Than to detect the traveller's blunder;
Each mouth was open'd more than half,
Just ready at my jokes to laugh,
When lo ! a momentary pause
Alter"d the structure of their jaws j
The eyes, too, look'd a little queer,
And gave a sidelong awkward leer;
My auditors now slunk away,
Like spectres at the dawn of day.
Alone—1 turn'd me half-way round,
And soon the dreaded cause I found;
And now I want a simile,
That with my purpose will agree.
Suppose, then, that you saw a ghost,
Or what you feafd, or hated most:
Or you, perhaps, have been at school,
And felt the rod, and fear'd the rule :
When giving way to sudden mirth,
You lent to thought too loud a birth:
And having caught the master's eye,
With double zeal your task you ply,
As if you memt to eat your book,
Scarce daring or to breathe or look.
Or, it may be you're a jolly fellow,
And take your ale till you are mellow;
And just when you have made a choice
Of what is good, you hear a voice:
I will not (for I hate all strife)
Hint that it might have been your wife;
Or something that is just as sore,
The landlord hoped you'd pay your score.
But not to lose in metaphor,
The pith, the marrow, and the core,
I tell you quickly—though it came
Neither in sulphur, smoke, nor flame;
No sprite from famed Jfuseli's shop,
In paralyzing, could o'ertop.
He—that will come as sure as fate;
He—who will never come too late;
'Twas he, whose custom ne'er relaxes;
'Twas he—who gathers in the taxes.
Comic Recitations.
A MERRY CHRISTMAS.
Anonymous.
Nobody wishes to be troublesome less than I do; but, if anybody
can give a satisfactory reason for what everybody does, perhaps some-
body will be so good as to tell me why the epithet  merry  is exclu-
sively applied to Christmas. Is it merry, when you put your feet out
of bed in the morning, to feel as if you put them into a pail of cold
water? Is it merry to have your backbone iced? Is it merry to
have raw steaks on your plate, and raw chaps on your hand? Is ic
merry to have rent and taxes to pay ? Is it merry, when you put
your nose out of doors, to encounter a north-east wind which you
could swear v/as made at Sheffield ? Is it merry to slip, to break a
button off your trousers, and then to be told that it's fine bracing
weather? Is it merry to meet with cold friends? Is half-melted
snow merry ? Is a fog merry ? Is sleet merry ? Assuredly, to my
thinking none of these things are in themselves merry—however
meritorious in us it may be to bear them patiently. But I antici-
pate; you shall hear my adventures, and then judge whether or not
my complaints are seasonable.
All sorts of people wish me  a merry Christmas, though most
of them do something to me at the same time which prevents the
-ossibility of its being so. I took possession of a new house. The
rain found its way through the ceiling in the night, and I awoke
next morning with an excruciating rheumatism. "A merry
Christmas to you, sir, said the servant, as she opened the shutters
and enlightened me as to the cause of my sufferings.  Thank you,
said I, as well as a fresh twinge would let me. I got up with plenty
of rheum in my head and plenty of smoke in my room, with one
pain more than I wanted in my body, and one pane less than I
wanted in my window. The water in my wash-hand stand was
frozen, and the water sent me to shave with scarcely warm. My
tooth-brushes were lumps of ice, and I cut my chin with my razor
just as my daughter tapped at my room door and called out  Merry
Christmas, Papa. At length, my dressing completed, I resolved to
give the servant one for sending me the luke-warm water, so I ran
downstairs and over the cook with the boiling kettle in her hand;
"you'll find this hotter, sir, said she, as she spilled some over me,
and wished me  a merry Christmas. Half an hour after my time,
I sat down to a hasty breakfast.  A merry Christmas to you, my
dear, said my wife; "and let me have some money, will you,
before you go out? "Thank you, said I. "What colour will
you have the parlour curtains? said she. "Any colour, said I,
 dun if you like."— Dun!  said she, and bang came a single
tnock at the street door— vou're wanted, sir, and out I went. A
A Merry Christmas.
75
bird of prey with a long bill stood on the iriai.  My master wishes
you a merry Christmas, sir, and says, tie wont wait any longer for
his money/' "Tell him he's one of those over polite people who
mistake pressing for kindness, said I, and, snatching my hat, I
rushed past him, and out of the house. This brought me into con-
tact with the baker's man, who half covered me with flour and
wished me a  merry Christmas, just as I put my foot on a slide
and tumbled on my back. I made him no answer, for J only caught
his words as I fell.
Cut, bruised, scalded, and too late, I took a cab.  f hope, salt
the waterman, "your honour will give me a trifle, to drink your
health this Christmas. I was about to do so— Ah, thank your
honour, said he;  and a merry Christmas to you. As if at t he
very sound of the words, the horse made a plunge, tripped, tell on his
side, threw me out, and scattered my silver in all directions. As I
lay sprawling, a malicious friend, who was driving past in his trap,
railed out,  a merry Christmas to you, Tom. The situation was
comical in spite of all; sol burst out laughing, and my lip burst
out bleeding. As the cab had dropped me, I drop'ped it—and
walked. Several friends whom I met, wished me "a merry Christ-
mas: but I had bitten the dust and swallowed the fog, and I
couldn't answer them for coughing. While at my office, nobody
called on me ivith money: but twenty people called on me for
some, in the shape of Christmas-boxes,— the only change I got, in
each case, being,  A merry Christmas to you, sir. Never mind,
thought I, I am engaged to a capital dinner, and shall meet a jolly
party.
The time approached, and I left the office. At the door I was
met by an urchin, who wished me  a merry Christmas, and asked
me for a Christmas-box. Out of all patience, I gave him a Christ-
mas-box on the ear—promising, if he came again, that I would give
him another, another year. Leaving him, I encountered a croaking
old neighbour, who drawled out, in a most dismal tone of voice,
"Merry Christmas to you, friend; the cholera's spreading fast, I per-
ceive. Arrived almost within a street's length of the promised
feast, I heard a strange voice behind me say,  Merry Christmas to
you, sir; at the same time, I felt a familiar tap on the shoulder,
and, turning round, beheld John Doe and Richard Roe. I was
marched off to a lock-up house; "A merry Christmas to you, said
the keeper, as he turned the key upon me, and left me in a room
without food or fire. I summoned, in succession, three supposed
friends, who, one after another, refused to bail me,—but each wished
me "a merry Christmas as he went away. Disappointed and
wretched, I sent for an attorney, who told me that, as soon as
I could let him have ten pounds to begin with, I might
send for him again. As he was going, I called after him, to
inquire how soon he thought I could get liberated. "About the
7 6
Comic Recitations.
end of March, he answered; and wishing me "a merry Christmas,
shut the door.
For the last fifteen years—that is to say, ever since I have been
married and rmsettled—such, or some such, has been my Merry
Christmas. What wonder, then, if I hate the sound of that which
is to me but a sound ?—If I begin to doubt whether there is, in
reality, any such thing as a merry Christmas—and if the one solitary
pleasure I felt last boxing-day, was not in giving sixpence to a me-
lancholy mendicant, in return for his reminding me that  it onlv
tame once a year.
THE TINKER AND MILLER'S DAUGHTER.
Dr. John Wolcot.
The. meanest creature somewhat may contain,
As Providence ne'er makes a thing in vain.
Upon a day, a poor and traveling tinker,
In Fortune's various tricks a constant thinker,
Pass'd in some village near a miller's door,
Where lo! his eye did most astonish'd catch
The miller's daughter peeping o'er the hatch,
Deform'd and monstrous ugly, to be sure.
Struck with the uncommon form, the tinker started,
Just like a frighten'd horse, or murd'rer carted,
Up gazing at the gibbet and the rope;
Turning his brain about, in a brown study
(For, as I've said, his brain was not so muddy),
 Zounds! quoth the tinker,  I have now some hope.
Fortune, the jade, is not for off, perchance,
And then began to rub his hands and dance.
Now, all so full of love, o'erjoyed he ran,
Embraced and squeezed Miss Grist, and thus began j
 My dear, my soul, my angel, sweet Miss Grist,
Now may I never mend a kettle more,
If ever I saw one like you before !
Then nothing loth, like Eve, the nymph he kiss'd.
Now, very sensibly, indeed, Miss Grist
Thought opportunity should not be miss'd;
Knowing that prudery oft let slip a joy;
Thus was Miss Grist too prudent to be coy.
The Tinker and Miller s Daughter.
For really 'tis with girls a dangerous farce,
To flout a swain when offers are but scarce.
She did not scream, and cry,  I'll not be woo'd;
Keep off", you dingy fellow—don't be rude;
I'm fit for your superiors, tinker."—No,
Indeed, she treated not the tinker so.
But lo! the damsel with her usual squint,
Suffered her tinker-lover to imprint
Sweet kisses on her lips, and squeeze her hand,
Hug her, and say the softest things unto her,
And in love's plain and pretty language woo her,
Without a frown, or even a reprimand.
Soon won, the nymph agreed to be his wife,
And, when the tinker chose, to be tied for life.
Now, to the father the brisk lover hied,
Who at his noisy mill so busy plied,
Grinding, and taking handsome toll of corn,
Sometimes, indeed, too handsome to be borne.
 Ho ! Master Miller, did the tinker say—
Forth from his cloud of flour the miller came;
 Nice weather, Master Miller—charming day—
Heaven's very kind."—The miller said the same.
 Now, miller, possibly you may not guess
At this same business I am come about:
'Tis this, then—know I love your daughter Bess:—
There Master Miller!—now the riddle's out.
I'm not for mincing matters, sir ! d'ye see—
I like your daughter Bess, and she likes me.
'' Poh! quoth the miller, grinning at the tinker,
 Thou dost not mean to marriage to persuade her;
Ugly as is old Nick, I needs must think her,
Though, to be sure, she is as heav'n has made her.
No, no, though she's my daughter, I'm not blind ;
But, tinker, what hath now possessed thy mind:
Thou'rt the first offer she has met, by dad—
But tell me, tinker, art thou drunk or mad ?
 No—I'm not drunk nor mad, the tinker cried,
 But Bet's the maid I wish to make my bride;
No girl in these two eyes doth Bet excel.
 Why, fool! the miller said,  Bet hath a hump !
And then her nose!—the nose of my old pump.
 I know it, quoth the tinker,  know it well.
 Her face, quoth Grist,  is freckled, wrinkled, flat;
Her mouth as wide as that of my torn cat;
Comic Recitations.
And then she squints a thousand ways at once—
Her waist a corkscrew; and her hair how red!
A downright bunch of carrots on her head—
Why, what the deuce is got into thy sconce ?
 No deuce is in my sconce, rejoined the tinker;
 But, sir, what's that to you, if fine I think her ?
"Why, man, quoth Grist, "she's fit to make a show.
And therefore sure I am that thou must banter.
 Miller, replied the tinker,  right, for know
'Tis for that very thing, a show, I want her.
THE FARMER'S BLENDER.
A Farmer once to London went
To pay the worthy Squire his rent;
He comes, he knocks, soon entrance gains—
Who at the door such guest detains ?
Forth struts the Squire exceeding smart;
"Farmer, you're welcome to my heart;
You've brought my rent, then."—"To a hair.
 The best of tenants, I declare.
The steward's call'd, accounts made even,
And money paid, receipt is given.
"Well, quoth the Squire, "you now shall stay
And dine with me, old friend, to-day:
I've here some ladies, wondrous pretty,
And pleasant sparks, too, that will fit theej
Hob scratched his ears, and held his hat,
And said, "No, zur, two words to that,
For look, d'ye zee, when I'ze to dine
With gentlefolk zo cruel fine,
I'ze use to make (and 'tis no wonder)
In deed or word some plaguy blunder;
Zo, if your honour will permit,
I'll with your zarvants pick a bit.
 Pho, says the Squire,  it shan't be does.
And to the parlour push'd him on.
To all around Hob nods and scrapes,
Not waiting-maid or butler 'scapes j
With often bidding takes his seat,
But at a distance mighty great:
The Farmer's Blundtr.
79
Tho* often ask'd to draw his chair,
He nods, nor comes an inch more near.
By Madam served with body bended,
With knife and fork, and arms extended,
Hf reached as far as he was able,
To plate that overhung the table:
W?dh little morsels cheats his chops,
And in the passage some he drops;
To show we.ve most his heart inclined,
He talked ar.d drank to John behind.
When drank to in the modish way,
 Your love's sufficient, zur, he'd say j
And to be thought a man of manners,
Still rose to make his awkward honours.
"Pish, says the Squire, "pray keep your sitting,,
 No, no, Hob cries,  zur, 'tis not fitting;
Tho' I'm no scholard, varsed in letters,
I knaws my duty to my betters.
Much mirth the Farmer's ways afford,
And hearty laughs go round the board.
Thus the first course was ended well,
But at the next, ah, what befel!
The dishes now were timely placed,
And table with fresn luxury graced.
When drank to by a neighb'ring charmer,
Up, as was usual, stands the Farmer.
A wag, to carry on the joke,
Thus to the servant softly spoke,—
 Come hither, Dick, step gently there,
And pull away the Farmer's chair.
'Tis done, his congee made, the clown
Draws back, and stoops to sit him down;
But by posteriors overweigh'd,
And of his trusty seat betray'd,
As men at twigs in river sprawling,
He seized the cloth to save his falling.
In vain: sad fortune! down he wallow'd,
And rattling, all the dishes followed.
The foplings lost their little wits,
The ladies squall'd, some fell in fits;
He: e tumbled turkeys, tarts, and widgeons,
An 1 there minced pies, and geese, and pigeons;
A i lear-pie on his breeches drops,
A custard pudding meets his chops.
Zounds, what ado 'twixt belles and beaux!
Some laugh, some cry, and wipe their clothes.
This lady raves, and that looks down,
And weeps and wails her spatter'd gown;
Comic Recitations.
One spark bemoans his greased waistcoat,
One  Rot him, cries,  he's spoil'd my laccd coat.
Amidst the rout, the Farmer long
The pudding suck'd and held his tongue,
At length he gets him on his breech,
And scrambles up to make his speech;
Scrapes, eyes, and mouth and nostril twangs,
Then smacks his fingers, and harangues,
 Plague tak't—I'ze told ye how 'twou'd be,
Luck, here's a pickle, zur, d'ye see ?
And zome, I'll warrant, that makes this chatter,
Have clothes bedaub'd with grease and batter
That cost"—He had gone on, but here
Was stopt at once in his career.
 Peace, brute ! begone, the ladies cry,
The beaux exclaim,  Fly, rascal, fly !
At this the Farmer, faint through fear,
And thinking 'twas ill tarrying here,
Steals off, and cries, "Ay, kill me, then,
Whene'er you catch me here again.
So home he jogs, and leaves the Squire
To cool the sparks' and ladies' ire.
Thus ends my tale, and now I'll try
A moral—something to apply.
This may teach rulers of a nation,
Ne'er to place men above their station;
And this may show the wanton wit,
That whilst he bites he may be bit.
SAYING, NOT MEANING.
William Basil Wake.
(Contributed to Hone's  Every-day Book.)
two gentlemen their appetite had fed,
When, opening his toothpick-case, one said—
 It was not until lately that I knew
That anchovies on terra Jirma grew.
 Grow! cried the other;  yes, they grow, indeed.
Like other fish, but not upon the land;
You might as well say grapes grow on a reed
Or in the Strand
Saying, not Meaning.
 Why, sir, returned the irritated other,
 My brother,
When at Calcutta
Beheld them bona fide growing;
He wouldn't utter
A lie for love or money, sir; and so in
This matter you are thoroughly mistaken.
 Nonsense, sir, nonsense! I can give no credit
To the assertion; none e'er saw or read it;
Your brother, like his evidence, should be shaken.'
 Be shaken, sir! let me observe, you are
Perverse. In short"—
 Sir, said the other, sucking his cigar,
And then his port,
 If you will say impossibles are true,
You may affirm just anything you please—
That swans are quadrupeds, and lions blue,
And elephants inhabit Stilton cheese;
Only you must not force me to believe
What's propagated merely to deceive.
 Then you force me to say, sir, you're a foci,
Returned the bragger.
Language like this no man can suffer cool:
It made the listener stagger.
So, thunder-stricken, he at once replied,
 The traveller lied
Who had the impudence to tell it you.
 Zounds! then, d'ye mean to swear before my face
That anchovies don't grow, like cloves and mace ?
 I do!
Disputants often, after hot debates,
heave the contention as they found it—bone,
And take to duelling, or thumping tetes,
Thinking by strength of artery to atone
For strength of argument; and he who winces
From force of worjq, with force of arms convinces
With pistols, powder, bullets, surgeons, lint,
Seconds, and smelling-bottles, and foreboding,
Oui friends advanced; and now portentous loading
(Their hearts already loaded) served to show
It might be better they shook hands—but no;
When each opines himself, though frightened right,
Each is, in courtesy, obliged to fight.
Comic Recitations.
And they did fight; from six full-measured paces
The unbeliever pulled his trigger first,
And fearing, from the braggart's ugly faces,
The whizzing lead had whizzed its very worst,
Ran up, and with a duelistic fear,
His ire evanishing like morning vapours,
Found him possessed of one remaining ear,
Who, in a manner sudden and uncouth,
Had given, not lent, the other ear to truth.
For while the surgeon was applying lint,
He, wriggling, cried— The deuce is in't—
Sir! I meant capers !
MARSHAL SAXE AND HIS PHYSICIAN.
Horace Smith.
Fever's a most audacious varlet;—
Now in a General's face he shakes
His all-defying fist, and makes
His visage like his jacket—scarlet;
Now o'er surrounding guards he throws
A somersault, and never squeaks
 An' please your Majesty, but tweaks
The Lord's anointed by the nose.
With his inflammatory finger
(Much like the heater of an urn)
He makes the pulses boil and burn,
Puts fur upon the tongue (not ermine),
And leaves his prey to die or linger,
Just as the doctors may determine.
Though this disorder sometimes seems
Mild and benignant,
It interferes so with our schemes,
Imparting to our heads a dizziness,
Just when we want them clear for business,
That it may well be called malignan3
Of these inoppntuue attacks,
One fiercely fell <, r. Marshal Saxe,
Just as his troops had opened trenches
Before a fortress; (what a pity !)
Not only did it make his heart ache
To be condemned to pill, cathartic,
Marshal Saxe and his Physician.
Bolus and blister, drugs and drenches,
But shocked his military notions,
To make him take unwished-for potions,
Instead of taking, as he wished,—the city.
Senac, however, his physician,
Soon gave our invalid permission
To be coached out an easy distance,
First stipulating one condition,—
That whatsoe'er the when and where,
The doctor should be then and there,
Lest any syncope, relapse,
Or other unforeseen mishaps,
Should call for medical assistance.
Saxe gives consent with all his heart,
Orders the carriage in a minute,
Whispers the coachman—mounts within it,
Senac the same, and off they start,
Joking, smiling, time beguiling,
In a facetious tete-a-tete.
The subject of their mutual chatter is
Nothing to us ; enough to state
That Marshal Saxe at length got out
To reconnoitre a redoubt,
Projecting from a range of batteries.
Left in the carriage, our physician
By no means relished his position,
When he discovered they had got
Nearly within half cannon shot;
Wherefore he bawled, with fear half melted,
 For God's sake move me from this spot!—
Doubtless they've noticed our approach,
And, when they recognize your coach,
Shan't I be fired at, peppered, pelted,
(When I can neither fly nor hide)
From some of yonder bristling masses?
"It's not unlikely, Saxe replied;
"And war I know is not your trade,
So if you feel the least afrt ii',
Pull up the glasiei I *r
84
Comic Recitations.
PRECEPTS OF POLITENESS.
Stirling Coyne.
[An eminent dramatic author, critic, and journalist; still living.]
On arriving at the house where you have received an invitation to
dine, be careful to ring the  Visitors' and the  Servants' bells ;
you should also knock loudly, and finish by kicking vigorously at
the door; this will impress the menials of the establishment with a
proper idea of your importance.
Never scrape your boots or wipe them on the door-mat. None
but persons afflicted with chronic pedestrianism do so. Umbrellas
should be invariably left at the nearest greengrocer's or coal-shed.
The billycock hat is the most elegant for dinner and evening
parties; gloves of any colour and material may be worn—in the
pocket; a bright blue or scarlet neck-tie is the correct card, and
nothing can be nobbier than an illustrated sporting shirt, fastened
with bull-dog's head studs; highlows and bluchers are still fashion-
able, but a velveteen shooting jacket is not considered "swell
amongst ladies.
A gentleman may be known by his tailor; let your garments be
unmistakeably from the hand of Moses.
Before entering a drawing-room blow your nose audibly; people
will be then aware that somebody is coming.
When the servant asks your name, refer him to the Commissioners
of Income Tax; the impertinent curiosity of this class of persons
should not be gratified.
On entering a drawing-room, take no notice of any one, but
walk directly to the hearth-rug, and take a classical pose there with
your hands in your trousers-pockets. It is considered ill-bred to
stand with your back to the fire; you should reverse that position,
and turn your back to the company.
On being introduced to a gentleman—don't bow; that'ridiculous
ceremony is now only performed by old-fashioned country people;
the right thing to do it, to poke your new acquaintance playfully iu
the ribs, and inform him you'll be  happy any day to do a drain
with him at the bar of the ' Red Lion.' 
During the mauvais quart d'heure which precedes the announce-
ment of dinner, conversation generally flags; this will be a favour-
able opportunity for you to ask the most sefious person present—a
bishop or archdeacon, if possible—if he would oblige the company
by singing  Kafoozelum, or giving his famous imitation of Toole
and Paul Bedford in the Quarrel Scene between Hamlet and Othello.
This will dispel ennui, and obtain for you the reputation of a wit for
the remainder of the day. If you have no other expedient, you may
fill up the ante-prandial "wait by paring your nails or arranging
your hair with your pocket-comb
Precepts of Politeness.
85
When the mistress or the master of the house introduces you to a
lady whom they wish you to conduct to table, you may politely
decline the honour (especially if she happens to be a fat old dowager),
playfully observing, that you prefer to  Paddle your own Canoe.
Carry your hat with you into the dining-room and place it under
your chair. This is a needful precaution, as the master of the house
is not legally bound to buy you a new hat should yours be exchanged
or lost.
Some people spread their table-napkin on their knees; this is
vulgar. Before taking your seat, spread it carefully on your chair—
ind sit on it.
If you happen to sit next a young lady at table, call her  My
deara married or elderly lady should be addressed as  Missus.
To sit gracefully at table requires considerable tact and some
skill. Place your chair at least two feet from the table, sit upon
the extreme edge of it, and keep your elbows squared, with your head
well down to your plate.
Peas should be eaten with a fish slice, and soup with a silver fork.
Gravy may be taken with a salt-spoon.
Asparagus should be helped with a soup-ladle, fish with a sugar-
tongs, and tarts and puddings with a nutmeg-grater.
Oysters should not be conveyed to the mouth with the fingers,
but asparagus may.
You should take soup three times, to correspond with the number
of the Graces; and champagne nine times, in honour of the Nine
Muses. This is a classical custom, and if introduced in the pre-
sence of ladies, you should either apologize for or translate it.
Speak in a loud voice; it commands attention.
Few people can speak with their mouth full; you should practise
this accomplishment until you are tolerably proficient in it.
When the servant comes round with wine, you would do well to
seize the decanter and keep hold of it. A good old proverb says "A
bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.
French is going out of fashion; I'm glad of it. If a foreigner
don't take the trouble of learning to speak English, he deserves to be
scouted from the best society in this free-and-easy land. Neverthe-
less, it may be as well to master a few phrases of the dialect of
Boulogne—to use at dinner. For instance, when you would ask a
lady if she prefers port or sherry, you may say,  Commong port-
eh-vous ma sherry vie ?
It is vulgar to pick your teeth with your fork, but you may borrow
a toothpick from any gentleman sitting near you.
If a Sutler be in attendance, you should propitiate him by a series
of comic telegrams; he will feel complimented if you call him
 Bottles.
It is ill-bred to whistle during dinner, but you may hum a popular
nigger melody between the courses.
Do not venture upon olives for the first time at a strange dinner-
86
Comic Recitations.
table; your offended palate may compel you to the awkward alter-
native of restoring them suddenly to your plate.
It is customary at the best tables to place a five-pound note under
each plate; when this is not done, it is expected that you should
pocket your silver fork and spoon. The substitution of German
silver for the genuine article, under these circumstances, would be
an insult to the guests.
When the fair portion of the company leave the room, the gentle-
men should all rise and give  Three cheers for the ladies.
(By permission of the Author.)
MRS. ROSE GROB.
Horace Smith. *
None would have known that Siegmund Grob
Lived foreman to a sugar-baker,
But that he died and left the job
Of tombstone making to an undertaker;
Who, being a mason, also was a poet,
So he engraved a skull upon the stone,
(The sexton of Whitechapel church will shew it),
Then carved the following couplet from his own:
 Stop, reader, stop, and give a sob
 For Siegmund Grob.
Two thousand pounds, besides her savings,
Was quite enough all care to drown;
No wonder then she soon felt cravings
To quit the melancholy city,
And take a cottage out of town,
And live genteel and pretty.
Accordingly, in Mile-end-roaa
She quickly chose a snug retreat;
'Twas quite a pastoral abode,
Its situation truly sweet!
Her cottage front was stuccoed white j
Before it two fine poplars grew,
Which nearly reached the roof or quite,
And in one corner painted blue,
Stood a large water-tub with wooden spout,
(She never put a rag of washing out).
Mrs. Rose Groh.
8?
Upon the house-top, on a plaster shell,
 Rose Cottage  was inscribed, its name to dub s
The green door looked particularly well,
Picked out with blue to match the tub;
The children round about were smitten
Whene'er they stopped to fix their eye on
The flaming knocker ('twas a lion) j
Beneath it was a large brass knob,
And on a plate above was written
 Mrs. Rose Grob.
Here she resided free from strife,
Except perpetual scolds with Betty,
For the main objects of her life
Were two—and formed her daily trade—
To cram herself and starve her maid,
For one no savings were too petty,
For t' other no tit-bit too nice.
After dinner, in a trice
She locked the fragments up in towels;
She weighed out bread, and cheese, and butter,
And in all cases shewed an utter
Disregard for Betty's bowels;
As if in penance for her sins,
She made her dine on shanks and shins ;
(Was ever such a stingy hussey) ?
And reckoned it a treat to give her
Half a pound of tripe or liver,—
First cutting off a slice for pussey;
Nay, of all perquisites the damsel stripping,
She wouldn't even let her sell the dripping.
The washing week approached; an awful question
Now agitated Rose, with pangs inhuman,
How to supply the Mammoth-like digestion
Of that carnivorous beast—a washer-woman.
A camel's paunch for ten days' drink is hollowed,
So theirs take in at once a ten days' munching;
A t twelve o'clock you hear them say they've swallowed
Nothing to speak of, since their second luncheon,
And as they will ~ot dine till one,
'Tis time their third lunch was begun.
At length provisions being got all proper,
And everything put out, starch, blue, soap, gin ;
A fire being duly laid beneath the copper,
The clothes in soak all ready to begin;
Up to her room the industrious Betty goes
IV fetch her sheets, and screams down stairs to Rose,
88
Comic Recitations.
c' La, goodness me! why here's a job S
 You han't put out a second pair.
 No more I have, said Mrs. Grob;
 Well, that's a good un, I declare!
 Sure I've the most forgetful head,
 And there's no time to air another,
 So take one sheet from off your bed,
 And make a shift, to-night, with t'other.
On Rose's part this was a ruse de guerre,
To save the expense of washing half a pair
But as the biter's sometimes bitten,
So, in this instance, it occurred.
For Betty took her at her word;
And, with the bright conception smitten,
Sat up all night, and, with good thrift,
Of needle, scissors, thimble, thread,
Cut up one sheet into a shift,
And took the other off the bed!
Next morn, when Mrs. Grob, at three o'clock,
Went up to call the maid,
And saw the mischief done by aid
Of scissors, thread, and needle,
There's no describing what a shock
It gave her to behold the sheet in tatters;
And so, by way of mending matters,
She called her cheat, and slut, and jade,
And talked of sending for the beadle!
 La, Ma'am! quoth Betty;  don't make such a pother j
 I've done exactly what you've said,
 Taken one sheet from off the bed,
 And made a shift to-night with t'other.
THE APPLE-DUMPLINGS AND THE KING.
Dr. John Wolcot. ( Peter Pindar.")
Once oh a time, a monarch, tir'd with whooping,
Whipping, and spurring,
Happy in worrying
A poor defenceless, harmless buck,
(The horse and rider wet as muck)
From his high consequence and wisdom stooping,
Enter'd, through curiosity, a cot,
Where sat an old woman and her pot.
The Half Hundred.
89
The wrinkled, blear-eyed, good old granny,
In this same cot, illum'd by many a cranny,
Had finish'd apple-dumplings for her pot;
In tempting row the naked dumplings lay,
When lo! the monarch, in his usual way,
Like lightning spoke—'What's this ? what's this ? what? what?'1
Then taking up a dumpling in his hand,
His eyes with admiration did expand!
And oft did Majesty with the dumpling grapple,
"'Tis monstrous, monstrous hard, indeed, he cry'd:
 What makes it, pray, so hard ?"—The dame replied,
Low curtsying— Please your majesty, the apple.
"Very astonishing indeed—strange thing!
(Turning the dumpling round, rejoin'd the king)
 'Tis most extraordinary then, all this is—
It beats Pinelli's conjuring all to pieces.
Strange, I should never of a dumpling dream !
But, goody, tell me where, where, where's the seam ?'
 Sir, there's no seam, quoth she; "I never knew
That folks did apple-dumplings sew!
 No ! cried the staring monarch, with a grin,
"Then how, how, how, how the devil got the apple in ?
On which the dame the curious scheme reveal'd
By which the apple lay so sly conceal'd;
Which made the Solomon of Britain start!
Who to the palace with full speed repair'd
And queen and princesses, so beauteous, scar'd;
All with the wonders of the dumpling art!
There did he labour one whole week, to show
The wisdom of an apple-dumpling maker;
And lo 1 so deep was majesty in dough,
The palace seem'd the lodging of a baker.
THE HALF-HUNDRED.
A parody on tennyson's  six hundred.
James Bruton.
[A popular comic song writer and humorist. Born 1806 ; died
1867.]
Up the stairs, up the stairs,
Up the stairs, onward !
Joe took, all out of breath,
Coals, half a hundred!
Comic Recitations.
Up he went, still as death,
Lest they had wonder'd
That I, with cellar large,
Bought by the "HundredI1®
 Forward! the light evade;
Let 'em not know, I said:
 Glide up as still as death
With the ' Half-hundred!'
Let them be gently laid!
No sound as by earthquakes made
When the ground's sunder'd 5
You here, if one should spy,
Wondering the reason why ?
I with the shame should die!
So crawl up still as death,
With the £ Half-hundred!'
A cat on the right of him!
Cat on the left of him !
Cat at the front of him !
What if he blunderM ?
Slipt his foot! clean he fell!
Came then a horrid yell!
Joe look'd as pale as death,
As down they came pell mell,
All the  Half-hundred!
Out popped the  party  there!
Wondering what meant that ere
Noise on the landing-stair!
All stood and wonder'd!
Dust-clouds of coal and coke!
0 ! such a dreadful smoke
Made them all nearly choke!
As from the second floor
Rolled the  Half-hundred !
Voices at right of him !
Voices at left of him !
Voices behind him!
Question'd and thundered!
Shrunk I into my shell;
Ah! how my grandeur fell!
Knowing that (thought a  swell **}
1 was thus found to buy
Coals by the  Hundred.
The Irish Schoolmaster. 91
How does one's glory fade,
When there an end is made
At what the world wondered I
Ne'er from my mind will fade
That awkward mess we made
Of the  Half-hundred!
THE IRISH SCHOOLMASTER
Anonymous.
Old Teddy O'Rourke kept a nice little school at a place called
Clarina, in the South of Ireland; he hadn't many scholars because
the folks in those parts were for the most part too poor to send their
children to school, and they picked up their learning as pigs do their
meat; still Teddy had some pupils, though they were a roughish
lot, in spite of their having to pay a penny a week extra to be taught
manners.
Teddy's school-room was a bit of a shed, and the boys couldn't
complain of bad ventilation, seeing that there was a hole in the roof
which left it open to the blue sky, and the rain too, for in those
parts when the rain does pour, it comes down mightily.
Well, one morning, says Ted,  My boys, since all of you are here,
I'll just call over your names to see that none of you are missing.
Gerald Mc Shaa? "I'm here, sir. "Paddy O'Shaughnessy.
 Here, but my brother Barney an't.  Where is your brother
Barney then ?  He's dead, sir, and they are going to wake him.
—"Are they; well, you go and sit down by the fire, and lam your
task, and don't be falling asleep, or I'll be waking you.—Paddy
Mac Shane, my darling, come here and bring your ugly face wid
you, and spell me Constantinople.  I can't, sir.  Can't you ?
then by the powers I'll teach you; first of all you see there's C."—
"C.  O."—"O. "N."—"N. "Con."—"Con. "That's
the Con."—"That's the Con. "S."—"S. "T."—"T.
"A."—"A. "N."—"N. "Stan."—"Stan. "That's the
Stan.  And the Constan."—"And theConstan. "T."—"T.
"I."—"I. "Ti."—"Ti. "That's the Ti."—"That's the Ti.
"And the Stand."—"And the Stand. "And the Constanti."—
"And the Constanti. "N."—"N. "O."—"O. "No."—
"No.  That's the No."— That's the No.  And the Tino."—
"And the Tino. "And the Stantino."—"And the Stantino.
 And the Constantino."— And the Constantino.  P."— P.
 L."— L.  E."— E.  Pie."— Pull.  That's the Pie.
■—"That's the Pull. "And the Nople."—"And the Nopull.
92
Comic Recitations.
"And the Tinople."—"And the Tinopull. "And the Stanti.
nople."—"And the Stantinopull. "And the Constantinople."—
 And the  Constantinopull.
"Now,"said Teddy to Felix O'Brian, "before you go down come
up and say your letters. What is the name of the first letter in the
Alphabet ?  X, sir.  No, sir; what does your father give the
donkey to eat, sir ? "Nothing, sir. "And what else, sir ? "Hay,
sir.  Aye, that's a good boy; and what's next to A ?"— Don't
know, sir.  What is the name of that great bird that flies about
the garden and stings the people? "a wasp, sir, "No, sir.
What is it that makes all the honey ?  Bee, sir.  B—that's
right; B A good boy, and mind what I say, and you'll be a beautiful
scholar. Now the next letter to B, what is it? "I don't know,
sir. "What do I do when I turn up my eyes ?  You squint, sir.
"And what else, sir? "You see. "C—that's right; now
what's next to C ?  W, sir.  What is your grandmother's
name ?  Judee, sir.  Arrah, can't you say D without the Ju ?"—
 Yes, sir, D and no Jew. "Well, sir?  E, F. "Well, what
do you stop for ?  Because I can't go no further.  What do the
waggoners say when they want their horses to go faster ?  Gee ho,
dobbin.  G, and no ho dobbin.  H."— Well, that's right,
and what follows H ?  Don't know.  What has your mother
got by the side of her nose? "A pimple, sir, "A pimple!
"Yes, sir, and one eye. "I—that's a good boy, you're my head
scholar, and will soon be a man ; well, go on.  J.  What's
next to J ?  I'm sure I don't know.  What does your mother
open the door with ?  A poker, sir.  And what besides ?
 A string, sir.  And what else ?  A kay, sir.  K—that's
right, to be sure—she opens the door with a key—now what's next
to K? "L. "Well, and what's next? "Don't know, sir.
 What does your mother do with her nightcaps when she makes
them ?  She pawns them, sir.  Stoopid booby—how does she
make them ?  She cuts them out and hems them.  Can't you
say M and no cut out ?  M and no cut out.  I'll cut out your
jacket—what's next? "Don't know, sir. "How does your
mother get her eggs ?  She buys 'em, sir.  Doesn't the hen
lay them ?  Father sold the hen to buy whisky.  Och the
ungrateful young scamp of an informer! take that!  Ob !
 Oh, right at last. I thought I'd make you say O.  Go on.  I
tan't, sir. "What does Biddy feed the pigs with? "Pays, sir,
and praties.  Say pay and no praties.  Pay and no praties.
"And it's no praties you shall have to-day, for you'll go and stand
in the corner—send up the next boy.
93
RABELAIS AND THE LAMPREYS.
Horace Smith.
When the eccentric Rabelais was physician
To Cardinal Lorraine, he sat at dinner
Beside that gormandizing sinner ;
Not like the medical magician
Who whisk'd from Sancho Panza's fauces
The evanescent meat and sauces,
But to protect his sacred master
Against such diet as obstructs
The action of the epigastre,
O'erloads the biliary ducts,
The peristaltic motion crosses,
And puzzles the digestive process.
The Cardinal, one hungry day,
First having with his eyes consumed
Some lampreys that before him fumed,
Had plunged his fork into the prey,
When Rabelais gravely shook his head,
Tapp'd on his plate three times and said—
 Pah !—hard digestion! hard digestion !
And his bile-dreading eminence,
Though sorely tempted, had the sense
To send it off without a question.
 Hip! hallo! bring the lampreys here!
Cried Rabelais, as the dish he snatch'd;
And gobbling up the dainty cheer,
The whole was instantly dispatched.
Redden'd with vain attempts at stifling
At once his wrath and appetite,
His patron cried, "Your conduct's rude,
This is no subject, sir, for trifling;
How dare you designate this food
As indigestible and crude,
Then swallow it before my sight ?
Quoth Rabelais, "It may be shown
That I don't merit this rebuff:
I tapp'd the plate, and that, you'll owi
Is indigestible enough;
But as to this unlucky fish,
With you so strangely out of favour,
Not only 'tis a wholesome dish,
But of most delicious flavour!
Comic Recitations.
THE SHEPHERD AND THE KING
or, the hoarded treasure.
In good old times, not in these sinful days,
(Folks then were vastly better, as I've heard)
A shepherd's flock did much a king amaze,
They were so fat and sleek, and nicely shear'd;
So num'rous, too, and healthy were their lambs,
Kill'd and cut up, how would they grace the spit!
In shoulders, legs, and loins, they and their dams
Seem'd so delightfully for eating fit!
The sage king, having ponder'd, wavM his hand;
A hundred courtiers, when he beckon'd, flew,
And humbly begg'd to hear his high command,
That they might show how much to majesty is due.
The king bade them remark the well-fed flock!
 Go ! tell the shepherd he must come to court.
They heard amaz'd, as mute as fish call'd stock !
The wink went round— His majesty's in sport.
They went, but, when they durst, they laugh'd aloud j
On countenance of each there sat a sneer;
They call'd the shepherd— Fellow! don't be proud,
But come to Court."— How! I at Court appear ?
To Court he goes, is honour'd by the king;
Plain sense and honesty are all his knowledge;
His acts of justice through the country ring,
Much more, mayhap, than had he come from college.
A good old hermit, erst the shepherd's friend,
Who heard these things, alarm'd more than amaz'd,
Though age had made his weary body bend,
Hasten'd to warn the man the king had rais'd.
His former shepherd comrade soon he sees,
Encircled by Court tribes of parasites,
Who worship, basking in the summer breeze,
The favour'd lord in whom the king delights.
 What do I see ? he cried;  Is it a dream ?
Can you, a man of sense, in Courts confide ?
Have you, although the waters flowing seem,
No apprehension of the turning tide ?
The Shepherd and the King.
95
 Have you the mute forgot ? the silken cor'' ?
The bow-string ? You! a man reputed wise 1
Why let your life depend upon a word ?
In danger, when so great, why shut your eves ?
"You're the blind traveller, whose whip was lost,
And groping for it, up a serpent took,
Harmless at first, because benumb'd by frost;
The blind man at his danger couid not look.
 Warn'd by a passenger, he did but laugh:
He wants it for himself, a cunning hound,
The blind man thought; but I'm too wise by half
To cast away the good thing I have found.
 Like this blind man, should you retain your treasure,
And cherish serpents, warm them with your breath,
Just at the moment when, secure in pleasure,
You hug them to your heart, they'll sting to death.
 I know they may, secure, his friend replied;
"Yet fear them not: mankind, oh, let them serve!
Oh, be that true ambition not denied!
I'll face the death which I shall not deserve.
In vain the hermit talk'd of turmoils, cares,
The restless day, the sleepless night, of state j
Your virtuous zealot always danger dares,
To foolish martyrdom he braves his fate.
Yes, yes, the man was virtuous. How might he,
Honest, yet first in office, be endur'd ?
Whispers, cabals, and calumnies agree,
The public wrongs can be but one way cur'd.
Whispers, cabals, and calumnies prevail;
The king defends his favourite with pride j
But land and palaces all tell a tale,
Say they, too public much to be denied.
 How, lands and palaces V— So says report.
Strict search was made, no palaces were found.
 Away! base minions! why to lies resort ?
 Ah, sire! not so! he builds them under ground.
"What mean you now? why with such envy sneer?
 We mean his strong box, and its rich contents.
"His strong box?"—"Yes, his strong box."— Bring it here*
"Sire, by the groans of men that box augments.
Comic Recitations.
The monarch comes, much fruitless search is made
Through private room, and, door with double lock j
In vain all eyes do evYy hole pervade;
Th' accused appears to stand firm as a rock.
At last, as 'twere by chance, hopeless almost,
Garrets to search one cunning wight propos'd:
A coffer there was found—the key was lost;
Strong proof of guilt, which soon would be disclos'd.
The monarch bit his lips, as monarchs do
When they are angry.  So, vile slave!
Are you at last discover* d ? All is true!
How have you dared thus far my wrath to brave ?
Hammer was brought; up flew the lid. Behold!
Nor gold, nor diamonds lay expos'd to view;
But shepherd jacket, rightly 'twas call'd old;
With clouted shoes, darn'd stockings, far from new.
 There lies my wealth; there lies my sinful store,
There lies the whole that simple men require;
There lies what nature wants: I ask no more,
There lies warm honesty: why more desire ?
"Thanks to my king; to courts farewell, for ever!
To quit their purlieus solemnly I vow!
Shall I again change peace for grandeur ? never!
Farewell, my enemies! be happy now!
THE ADVENTURES OF JOE HATCH,
(From one of the late Mr. Mathews' Entertainments.)
 Waterman ! said Mr. Barnacle, a Yorkshire gentleman—"water-
man! what is your strict fare to Battersea ?
 Half-a-crowin, your honour.
"Dear me! dear me'; why I thought it was only threepence
properly speaking; it was so once.
"Yes, sir; that's the wherry question I was litigating fore and
aft, last week, afore Sir Richard. ' It's wherry true, Sir Richard,
says I, ' and perfectly comprehensible too, that the strict fare is only
thruppence atwixt. bridge and bridge, but that only applies afore
bridges were built, and don't come within the meaning of the
stalue.' Now Sir Richard know'd the competency of this here
The Adventures of Joe Hatch.
97
remark, but then, you see, he said he didn't want to know it—(Back
water, boy ! Yes, yes, sir.) So says he to me, says he, 'Draw in
your jawing tackle a bit, will you, Mr. Joe Hatch,' or words equi-
verlent to that effect; but howsever that was the sinnification o?
'em. But howsever, I would insist on it; and though he bid me
pull in my oar two or three times, I carried the pint of law right in
the wherry teeth of the vind agin him.
 Oh! what, then, were you summoned, waterman ?
"No, sir, not exactly that, only synonimous; a brother water-
man. Jack Cox, was summoned by a gentleman for charging him a
shilling, sir, for taking him off to a steamer—and perfectly equitable
too, I think—for if a man's boat ain't his castle, it's wherry hard.
Don't you know me, sir? my name's Joe Hatch, sir. I settles all
the disputes and fights on the river from Battersea to Greenwich
(Easy there, boy. Ay, ay!)—everything's arbitrated to my refe-
rence. Bless ye, they calls me the Judge and the Boat-barrister,
and some of 'em says as how I'm the River-chancellor; but it's all
along of my being a chief abroad for so many years.
 A chief?
"Yes, sir, I married a princess. Look here, sir! look at mj
forehead, sir!
"Ay, dear me! seems all over in a crackling, and scored like a
piece of roast pork.
 Ay, sir, that's where I was tar too'd—all pricked in with a needle,
and coloured with bilberries; but I'll tell you how it was. I was
wreck'd about fifteen years ago, on the Tongo Island, in a whaler,
where I taught the natives, poor ignorant indiwhidduvals, the polite
arts; and so the King Kikankoreekike, for that was his name—(A
long pull there, boy) took a great notion on me, and made me what
they call a chief of six hatchets.
 Ay, and you seem to be throwing one of 'em now.
"No, sir, not exactly so; but that's tantamount to a duke in
these parts: and so he said to me one day, said he, ' Joe,' says he,
(for we were wherry familiar, and had larnt one another's lingo),
'Joe,' says he, 'you shall marry the Princess Pokikokihooki, my
darter.' So says I, ' Wherry well, your majesty, I'm agreeable, if
so be the young hooman is agreeable.' So upon that he called what
they call a palaver, that is similar to our parliament here, but at
first they could not agree (sit all on one side, gentlemen, if you
please), but at last, all parties being agreeable, the princess and /
stepped over a bamboo together, for that's the way they marry in
that country,—something like our custom of jumping over a broom-
stick here, you know, sir. She was a fine hooman, of a dark copper
colour, and wore a mat round her middle, by way of petticoat; she
was wherry accomplished too, and had killed upwards of sixty men
in battle with her own hand, and wore their double teeth round her
neck for a necklace. We lived in a deal of harmony, and used to
kill our own pigs; only there was another chief, you see, the king,'s
H
98
Comic Recitations.
nevy, one Abbeibeahbonocrisacrackafelto (another long pull there,
boy), and he got jealous on me, because you see, the accehsion was
in me, for there was a likelihood of a young Joe Hatch a coming;
a»d so he made a party agin me—but I smoked it, and so to prevent
being quilled and tomahawked some morning for their breakfasts, I
cot and run, and came off' by the first ship,—and so here I am, and
here we are at the Strand Stairs, and my fare is half-a-crown, sir, it
you please.'''
This Tale is supposed to be recited by the waterman to his fare,
while seated in the boat, on their transit from Battersea to I.ondon.
THE DRUMMER AND THE TURKEY.
When cut-throat war had spread alarms,
And Britain's sons were call'd to arms,
Invading forces to repel,
And fight, like Trojan boys, pell-mell,
A hopeful regiment—sans doute,
Received their orders, called a route;
To march with speed—and, bold as Mars,
Set off, to spoil Monsieur's droll farce.
Now at the drum and fife's shrill call,
The troops assembled, one and all,
With glitt'ring arms on glory bent,
And left feet foremost, off they went.
With march fatigu'd, and heat oppress'd,
A. halt was call'd, to give them rest,
And shelter too—for mid-day's blaze
Had burnt their brains out with its rays.
Now discipline's coercive hand
Relax'd—and now the band,
No more to rank and file confm'd,
Upon the verdant grass reclin'd—
A stream, meand'ring through the valf ,
Supplied these folks with Adam's ale,
And bread and cheese supplied their wallet,
And mother earth—'Chadnezzar's sallt
Scon came, with eager haste, to view,
Labour's stout sons, and daughters too 1
Eve's offspring all—from Lady frail,
To Doll, who bears the milking pail,
Enoug* 10 furnish a seraile!—
The Drummer and the Turkey.
99
Meanwhile, a drummer of the corps,
Who'd fought old soldier o'er and o'er,
A wily elf, more knave than fool,
Train'd up in ancient Pistol's school,
And who a happy knack could boast,
Of finding things before they're lost,
(Yet, as his panegyrists teach,
Ne'er took a thing beyond his reach,)
With hurried step, intent on pillage,
Hasten'd to the deserted, village !
Soon did our hero, in his furtive range,
Fspy the burnish'd champion of the grange,
With ruthless hand (unpitied by a tear),
Stopp'd the "shrill clarion of proud Chanticleer,
Nor here desisted!—nor can pen describe
The havoc made amongst the feather'd tribe!
This blade would steal a horse or mare, and mount hei,
Nor poultry spar'd, nor dreaded Poukry-compter j
Nor feared the wrath of day to come,
But slily stuff'd into his drum
The produce of his noon-tide ramble,
Fowls, ducks, and turkeys, tout ensemble.
Now did the modern Alexander
(I mean the gallant troop's commander,)
Give word to march. Rous'd at th' inspiring sound,
Soldiers, like Cadmians, started from the ground.
The road retiring from their constant beat,
Quickly the destin'd place their optics greet,
Where, smiling bland, the beauties press,
Allur'd by all-subduing dress!
Proceeding through the yair-throng'd street,
The drums, the accustomed march 'gan beat;
The comrades hollow drums beat loud and clear,
Our drum (so fully crammed) assail'd the ear
With noise like sound emitted from a tub,
For theirs went row-de-dow! but ours went rub-dub-ie&
The rest kept beating on—our cunning tyke
The motions flourish'd well, but did not strike!
By accident observ'd (though so sly)
An officer, who ne'er a fault pass'd by,
Call'd out, vocif'rous, in prodigious heat,
 Pray why, you rascal, why, sir, don't you beat?
Finding at once excuses for his tricks,
Thus whisper'd soft, the man of skin and stk^*.
H 3
loo
Comic Recitations.
 Your honour!—please, when we to quarters come,
I've got a turkey for you, in my drum 1
Incontinently, with the idea pleas'd,
He smooth'd his wrinkl'd brow, and wrath appeas'd,
And cry'd,  Well—very well—I pity yon—but pray,
If thee had'st the rheumatism got—why did'st not say I
DANIEL versus DISHCLOUT.
George Alexander Stephens.
We shall now consider the law, as our laws are very considerable
both in bulk and number, according as the Statutes declare,  con-
siderandi, considerando, considerandumand are not to be meddled
with by those that don't understand them. Law always expresses
tself with true grammatical precision; never confounding moods,
cases, or genders—except, indeed, when a woman happens acci-
dentally to be slain, then the verdict is always brought in man-
slaughter. The essence of the law is altercation, for the law can
altercate, fulminate, deprecate, irritate, and go on at any rate. Now,
the quintessence of the law has, according to its name, five parts r—
The first, is the beginning, or incipiendumthe second, the un.
certainty or dubitendum ; the third, delay or puzzliendum ; fourthly,
replication without endum ; and fifthly, monstrum and horrendum.
All which are exemplified in the following case:—
Daniel against Dishclout.
Daniel was groom in the same family wherein Dishclout was
cook-maid; and Daniel returning home one day fuddled, he stooped
down to take a sop out of the dripping-pan; Dishclout pushed him
into the dripping-pan, which spoiled his clothes, and he was advised
to bring his action against the cook-maid, the proceedings of which
were as follows. The first person who spoke was Mr. Serjeant
Snuffle: he began, saying,  Since I have the honour to be pitched
upon to open this cause to your Lordship, I shall not impertinently
presume to take up any of your Lordship's time by a roundabout
circumlocutory manner of speaking or talking, quite foreign to the
purpose, and not anywise relating to the matter in hand: I shall, I
will, I design to show what damages my client has sustained here-
upon, whereupon, and thereupon. Now, my Lord, my client being
a servant in the same family with Dishclout, and not being on board
wages, imagined he had a right to the fee-simple of the dripping-
pan, therefore he made an attachment on the sop with his light
hand, which the defendant replevied with her left hand, tripped us
up, and tumbled us into the dripping-pan. Now in Broughton's
Reports, Slack versus Smallyvood, it is said, that primus strokus
Daniel versus Dishclout.
101
sine jocns, alsolutus est provokus; now, who gave the piimus
strokus ? who gave the first offence? Why, the cook; she brought
the dripping-pan there; for, my Lord, though we will allow, if we
had not been there we could not have been thrown down there;
vet, my Lord, if tne dripping-pan had not been there, it is decidedly
clear we could not have tumbled down into the dripping-pan.
The next counsel, on the same side, began with,  My Lord, he
who makes use of many words to no purpose has not much to say
for himself, therefore I shall come to the point at once; at once and
immediately, I shall come to the point. My client was in liquor—
the liquor in him having served an ejectment upon his understand-
ing, common sense was nonsuited, and he was a man beside himself,
as Dr. Biblibus declares, in his Dissertation upon Bumpers; in the
139th folio volume of the Abridgment of the Statutes, page 1286,
he says that a drunken man is homo duplicans, or a double man,
not only because he sees things double, but also because he is not as
he should be, (perfiecto ipse he,' but is as he should not be, ' defccto
tipse he.'
The counsel on the other side rose up gracefully, playing with his
ruffles prettily, and tossing the ties of his wig about emphatically.
He began with,  My Lud, and you, Gentlemen of the Jury, I
humbly do conceive I have the authority to declare that I am counsel
in this case for the defendant; therefore, my Lud, I shall not flourish
away in words; words are no more than filagree work; some people
may think them an embellishment, but to me it is an utter asto-
nishment how anyone can be so impertinent, to the detriment of all
rudiment. But, my Lud, this is not to be looked at through the
medium of right and wrong: for the law knows no medium, and
right and wrong are but its shadows. Now, in the first place, they
have called a kitchen my client's premises. Now, a kitchen is
nobody's premises; a kitchen is not a warehouse, nor a washhouse
—an inn-house, nor an out-house—nor a dwelling-house—no, my
I ud, 'tis absolutely and bona fide neither more nor less than a
kitchen: or, as the law more classically expresses, a kitchen is—
cameria necssaria pro usus cookaree, cum saucepanis, stewpanni
scullerro, dresserro, coal-holo, stovis, smoakjacko, pr-~* rostanduw,
boilandum, fryandum, et plum-pudding mixandum, pro turtle-
soupes, calves'-head hashibus, cum calipash, et calipashibus. Now,
we shall not avail ourselves of an alibi; but admit of the existence
of a cook-maid. Now, my Lud, we shall take it upon a new
ground, and beg a new trial; for, as they have curtailed our names
fiom plain Mary into Moll, I hope the Court will not allow of this;
for if they were to allow of mistakes, what would the law do ?—for,
when the law don't find mistakes, it is the business of the law to
make them.
Therefore, the Court allowed them the liberty of a new trial; for
the law is our liberty, and it is happy for us we have th- liberty of
going to law.
Comic Recitations.
THE OYSTER.
Two comrades, as grave authors say,
(But in what chapter, page, or line,
Ye critics, if ye please, define)
Had (bund an oyster in their way.
Contest and foul debate arose,
Both viewed at once with greedy eyes,
Both challenged the delicious prize,
And high words socn improved to blows.
Actions on actions hence succeed,
Each hero's obstinately stout,
Green bags and parchment fly about,
Pleadings are drawn and counsel fee'd.
The lawyer of the place, good man !
Whose kind and charitable heart
In human ills still bore a part,
Thrice shook his head, and thus began:—
 Neighbours and friends, refer to me
This doughty matter in dispute,
I'll soon decide th' important suit,
And finish all without a fee.
"Give me the oyster, then—'tis well"—
He opens it, and at one sup
Gulps the contested trifle up,
And, smiling, gives to each a shell.
"Henceforth, let foolish discord cease,
Your oyster's good as e'er was eat;
I thank you for my dainty treat;
God bless you both 1 go live in peace!
Ye men of England and of Wales,
From this learn common sense;
Nor thrust your neighbours into jails
For every slight offence.
Banish those vermin of debate
That on your substance feed:
The knaves who now are served in plate,
Would starve if fools agreed.'
103
THE HONEST OLD HOSTESS OF ORANIENB A.UM.
In the little town of Oranienbaum lived a woman, bordering on
ninety, by name Christophorevna, a native of Holstein. A little
cottage was her sole possession, and the visits of a few shipmasters
coming over from Cronstadt to go to Petersburgh by land, when the
wind does not serve for sailing up, her only livelihood.
Several Dutch skippers having one evening supped at her house,
on their departure she found a sealed bag of money under the table.
Her surprise at this unexpected discovery was naturally very great:
some one of the company just gone must certainly have forgotten it:
but they had sailed over to Cronstadt, and perhaps at sea, the wind
being fair, and therefore no hope of the guest returning. The good
woman put up the bag in her cupboard, to keep it till called for.
However, nobody called for it.
Full seven years did she carefully keep this deposit; often tempted
by opportunities, still oftener pressed by want, to employ this gift of
chance. Her honesty, however, overcame every allurement of
opportunity, and every command of want.
Seven years had elapsed, when some shipmasters again stopped at
her house, to take what refreshment they could. Three of them
were Englishmen, the fourth a Dutchman. Conversing of various
matters, one of the former asked the Dutchman whether he had ever,
before been at Oranienbaum.
 Yes, sure I have, returned he,  I know the cursed place but
too well: my being here once cost me seven hundred roubles.
 How so ?  Why, in one of these wretched hovels here, I once
got rather tipsy, and left behind me a bag of roubles. "Was the
bag sealed ? asked old Christophorevna, who was sitting in one
corner of the room, and had been roused to attention by what she
had heard.  Yes, yes, it was sealed; and with this very seal here,
at my watch-chain.
The woman looked at the seal, and knew it directly.  Well,
•Ben, said she,  by that you may be able to recover what you
lost. "Recover it, mother! no, I am rather too old to expect
that. The world is not quite so honest as that comes to. Besides,
consider it is now seven years since. I wish I had not mentioned it
—it always makes me melancholy: let us have no more of it.
Give me another tumbler of punch, mother.
While the four gentlemen were engaged in drowning the remem-
brance of the doleful accident in punch, the good woman had slipped
out, and was now waddling in with her bag.  See here ! perhaps
you may be convinced that honesty is not so rare as you imagined!
said she, putting the bag on the table.
The guests were dumb with astonishment; and, on recollecting
themselves, the reader may represent to himself their several ex-
pressions of commendation and gratitude. The four captains were
104
Comic Recitations.
all'rather stricken in years, and had navigated the seas from Japan
to Newfoundland, and from the Cape of Good Hope to Archangel;
they had been in habit of dealing with black and brown faces, with
woolly-haired and powdered heads—therefore, that their amazement
was so great, is certainly no panegyric on our times.
Never weie such strong emotions excited in any human mind as
,n that of the Dutchman. From the firmest persuasion of his loss
to the completest certainty of its recovery—the transition was tod
sudden, and too great, not to set every fibre of his phlegmatic body
in vibration. One look at the honest woman to whom he was
indebted for this transport of joy, brought him to himself. A sudder
impulse cf magnanimity overpowered him, to which all other sen-
sations reverently gave way. He seized the bag, tore open the seat
and tool:—one rouble out, which he laid on the table, with a civil
thanksgiving for the trouble of his hostess !
If the astonishment of the other three was great before, it was now
effaced by a greater. They stood looking at one another for a
minute, as silent as the grave.
 Damme! at last exclaimed one of the Englishmen, striking his
fist on the table; "that bag, there, my lad, you shall not carry off
so. Devil fetch me, but the old woman shall have it.
His two countrymen, who had been mute till now, added their
hearty concurrence to this proposal. The Dutchman turned pale;
but endeavoured to console himself, by the reiterated protestations of
Christophorevna, that she required nothing at all, that she thought
she had done no more than her duty, and insisted that the Dutchman
should even take back his rouble.
However, the Britons could not so easily be brought to strike sail.
The conversation grew warm; the oaths followed rapidly on each
other; and the fisfc; of the Englishmen were doubling spontaneously,
and attitudes forming for putting an end to the dispute by force of
arms ; during all which time the Dutchman was striving to get the
bag into his custody.
After a long debate, conducted with various degrees of heat,
perceiving no possibility of success against the sturdy arguments
likely to be advanced, the skipper agreed to part with fifty roubles.
The Englishmen insisted on a hundred. This proposal seemed to
the Dutchman so unreasonable, that he declared he would sooner
encounter the whole weight of their fists than comply with it.
"Avast, my lads! cried the captain who had made the first
attack upon the Dutchman's generosity;  I have somewhat to say.
The bag does not belong to us, that is true; but a Briton will never
stand by and not see justice done; and, by Heaven, the woman has
acted nobly, and ought to be rewarded. Give me hold of the Lag; I
will count out the hundred roubles.
No sooner said than done. The Dutchman, thunderstruck at
this summary way of proceeding, had not time to recover himself,
before the hundred roubles were fairly counted on the table.
The Woman of Mind.
This brought on a truce! Where humanity, gratitude, gene-
rosity, and English fists had made the attack in vain, there now
conquered—national pride. The Dutchman insisted on it, that the
Britons should let him treat them; and, in perfect stoical resignation,
parted with a hundred of his beloved, long-lamented, and lately
recovered roubles.
THE WOMAN OF MIND.
Anonymous.
Mr wife is a woman of mind,
And Deville, who examined her bumps,
Vowed that never were found in a woman
Such large intellectual lumps.
"Ideality big as an egg,
With "Causality"—great—was combined;
He charged me ten shillings, and said,
 Sir, your wife is a woman of mind.
She's too clever to care how she looks,
And will horrid blue spectacles wear,
Not because she supposes they give her
A fine intellectual air;
No! she pays no regard to appearance,
And combs all her front hair behind,
Not because she is proud of her forehead,
But because she's a woman of mind.
She makes me a bushel of verses,
But never a pudding or tart,
If I hint I should like one, she vows
I'm an animal merely at heart;
Though I've noticed she spurns not the pastry.
Whene'er at a friend's we have din'd,
And lias always had two plates of pudding—
Such plates! for a woman of mind.
Not a stitch does she do but a distich,
Mends her pen, too, instead of my clothes;
I haven't a shirt with a button,
Nor a stocking that's sound at the toes 5
If I ask her to darn me a pair,
She replies she has work more refined j
Besides to be seen darning stockings 1
Is it fit for a woman of mind ?
Comic Recitations.
The children are squalling all day,
For they're left to the care of a maid;
My wife can't attend to  the units,
"The millions are wanting her aid,
And it's vulgar to care for one's offspring—
The mere brute has a love of its kind—
But she loves the whole human fam'ly,
For she is a woman of mind.
Everything is an inch thick in dust,
And the servants do just as they please;
The ceilings are covered with cobwebs,
The beds are all swarming with fleas;
The windows have never been clean'd,
And as black as your hat is each blind j
But my wife's nobler things to attend to,
For she is a woman of mind.
The nurse steals the tea and the sugar,
The cook sells the candles as grease,
And gives all the cold meat away
To her lover who's in the police;
When I hint that the housekeeping's heavy.
And hard is the money to find,
 Money's vile filthy dross! she declares,
And unworthy a woman of mind.
Whene'er she goes out to a dance,
She refuses to join in the measure,
For dancing she can't but regard
As an unintellectual pleasure.
So she gives herself up to enjoyments
Of a more philosophical kind,
And picks all the people to pieces,
Like a regular woman of mind.
She speaks of her favourite authors
In terms far from pleasant to hear;
 Charles Dickens she vows  is a darling,*®
 And Bulwer she says  is a dear;
 Wilkie Collins  with her  is an angel,
And I'm an "illiterate hind,
Upon whom her fine intellect's wasted,
I'm not fit for a woman of mind.
She goes not to church on a Sunday,
Church is all very well in its way,
But she is too highly informed
Not to know all the parson can sayj
Billy Dip the Dyer.
It does well enough for the servants,
And was for poor people design'd,
But bless you! it's no good to her,
For she is a woman of mind.
BILLY DIP THE DYER
Anonymous.
Chi.oe, a maid at fifty-five,
Was at her toilet dressing;
Her waiting-maid, with iron hot,
Each paperM curl was pressing.
The looking-glass her eyes engross,
While Betty humm'd a ditty;
She gaz'd so much upon her face,
She really thought it pretty.'
Her painted cheeks and pencil brows
She could not but approve;
Her thoughts on various subjects turn'd,
At length they fixed on love.
 And shall, said she, "a virgin life
Await these pleasing charms ?
And will no sighing blooming youth
Receive me to his arms ?
"Forbid it, love! She scarce had spoke,
When Cupid laid a trap,
For at the chamber door was heard
A soft and gentle rap.
Cried Betty,  Who is at the door ?
 Ay, tell, quoth Chloe,  true;
When straight a tender voice replied,
"Dear ma'am, I die for you.
 What's that ? she said;  O, Betty, say
A man ! and die for me !
And can I see the youth expire ?
Oh, no !—it must not be 1
Haste, Betty—open quick the door!
'Tis done; and, lo! to view,
A little man with bundle stood,
In sleeves and apron blue.
Comic Recitations.
 Ye powers ! cried Chloe,  what is this
What vision do I see ?
Ia this the man, O mighty Love—
The man that dies for me ?
"Yes, ma'am; your ladyship is right,''
The figure straight replied;
 And hard for me it would have been
If I had never dyed.
 La ! ma'am, you must have heard of me,
Although I'm no highflyer;
I live just by, at No. i,
I'm Billy Dip the dyer.
'Twas I, ma'am, Betty there employed
To dye your lustring gown ;
And I not only die for you,
But dye for all the town.
NO GRUMBLING.
An odd whim once possessed a country squire—that he wouid
not hire any servant whatever until ten pounds should be deposited
between master and servant, and the first that grumbled at anything
<vlet it be what it might) was to forfeit the money. Being in want
of a coachman, not one round the country would venture to go
dftet the place. Now, it happened that one Thomas Winterbourn,
a coachman of London, who had been discharged from a nobleman's
family, was in that part of the country on a visit, and being
acquainted with the oddity of the squire's whim, resolved to accept
the place; and, on application, was admitted into the family.
Thomas was greatly surprised, after living there for two months,
that nothing was allowed him for breakfast, dinner, or supper but
bread and cheese and small beer. Being heartily tired of this kind
of fare, he made complaint to the cook.  Cookee, says Thomas,
•'is it the standing rule of this family to keep their servants on
nothing but bread and cheese? "What, says the cook, "do you
grumble ?  No, no, by no means, cookee, replied Thomas—
being fearful of forfeiting the money. But recollecting his master's
park was stocked with fine deer, he took a rifle and shot a fawn,
skinned it, and brought it to the cook.  Here, cookee, said
Thomas,  take and roast this fawn for me immediately, for I have
an acquaintance or two coming down from London to pay me a
visit. The cook seemed to object to it, having some meat to dress
for her master.  What, says Thomas,  cookee, do you gram-
ble ?  No, replied the cook; so down to roast went the fawn.
The appointed time arrived that the master ordered dinner, and
No Grumbling.
no sign of any coming to his table, occasioned him to ring the belt
to know the reason of it. The cook acquainted the squire with all
Thomas's proceedings, who, in a great hurry, bolted down stairs
into the kitchen, where he found Thomas very busy basting the
fawn. "How got you that fawn? says the squire. "Shot it,
replied Thomas.  Where ? says the squire.  In your park, re.
plied Thomas.  By whose orders, quoth the squire.  Do you
grumble? said Thomas. "No, Thomas, says the squire; and
retired to his dining-room greatly perplexed at Thomas's pro-
ceedings.
He instantly wrote a letter to a gentleman who lived near six
miles from his house, and ordered that Thomas should carry it im-
mediately. Poor Thomas was obliged to comply, though with a
sorrowful heart, to leave the fawn. After his departure, the squire
ordered the fawn, when dressed, to be brought to his table, which
was done accordingly. On Thomas's return, he found himself
fairly tricked out of the fawn; and, instead of it (to his mortifica-
tion), bread and cheese and small beer, his old diet. However,
Thomas vowed within himself to revenge it the first opportunity.
A little while after, the squire (who was going to pay his ad-
dresses to a young lady) gave orders to Thomas to get the carriage,
together with the horses and harness, well cleaned. Thomas obeyed
the order; and on the road from the stable to the squire's house, he
met a man with a small sand-cart, drawn by two remarkably fine
jackasses. Thomas insisted on an exchange—the horses for the
asses; which, being obtained, he cut his master's fine harness to
pieces to fit these Arabian ponies, as he styled them. Matters being
completed, he drove up boldly to the squire's, and knocked at the
gate: the porter, perceiving the droll figure his master's equipage
cut, burst into an immoderate fit of laughter.  Come, come, says
Thomas, "what's the fool laughing at? Go and acquaint the squire
his carriage is ready.
Shortly after, the squire came; and seeing his carriage so beautw
fully adorned with cattle, was struck with astonishment.  Why,
what on earth, quoth the squire,  have you got harnessed, to my
carriage? "I will tell you, says Thomas. "As I was driving
from your stables to the gate, I met a fellow driving a sand-cart
drawn by these two fine Arabian ponies; and knowing you to be
fond of good cattle, I gave your horses for these two fine creatures-—
they draw well, and are ornaments to your carriage; only observe
what fine ears they have got. "Why, the fellow's mad!
 What I cried Thomas,  do you grumble ?  Grumble! *
quoth the squire; "I think it is high time to grumble; the next
idling, I suppose, my carriage is to be given away for a sand-cart!
On Thomas procuring the horses again, he paid him his wages
and forfeit-money, being heartily tired of the oddity of his whim;
and declared that Thomas, the London coachman, was the drollest
dog he had ever met with.
s to
Comic Recitations.
THE SPIRIT OF CONTRADICTION.
Robert Lloyd.
[Born 1733. Was son of the Rev. Dr. Lloyd, Second Master ot
Westminster School. Disliking the restraints imposed on him as
usher at Westminster, he turned actor. Died, in the Fleet (Debtors')
Prison, 1764.
The very silliest things in life
Create the most material strife 5
What scarce will suffer a debate,
Will oft produce the bitterest hate.
 It is, you say—I say,  'Tis not.
—Why you grow warm—and I am hot.
Thus each alike with passion glows,
And words come first, and after blows.
Friend Jerkin had an income clear,
Some twenty pounds, or more, a year;
And rented, on the farming plan,
Grounds at much greater sums per ann.
A man of consequence, no doubt,
'Mongst all his neighbours round about.
He was of frank, of open mind,
Too honest to be much refin'd;
Would smoke his pipe, and tell his tale,
Sing a good song, and drink his ale.
His wife was of another mould;
Her age was neither young nor old;
Her features strong, but somewhat plain ;
Her air not bad, but rather vain ;
Her temper neither new nor strange;
A woman's—very apt to change:
What she most hated was conviction ;
What she most lovM, fiat contradiction.
A charming housewife, ne'ertheless—
Tell me a thing she could not dress;
Soups, hashes, pickles, puddings, pies;
Nought came amiss—she was so wise;
For she, bred twenty miles from town,
Had brought a world of breeding down,
And Cumberland had seldom seen
A farmer's wife with such a mien.
She could not bear the sound of dame)
No—Mistress Jerkin was her name.
Trie Spirit of Contradiction.
She could harangue with wondrous grace,
On crinolines, and caps and lace;
But, though she only ruled the house,
She had a vast contempt for spouse;
As being one who took no pride,
And was a deal too countryfied.
Such were our couple, man and wife;
Such were their means and ways of life.
Once on a time, the season fair,
For exercise and cheerful air,
It happen'd, in his morning's roam,
He kill'd his birds and brought them home.
 Here, Cicely, take away my gun;
How shall we have these starlings done?
 Done! what, my love ?—your wits are wild;
Starlings, my dear! they're thrushes, child.
 Nay, now, but look—consider, wife,
They're starlings.  No, upon my life 1
Sure I can judge as well as you;
I know a thrush and starling too.
 Who was it shot them, you or I ?'
"They're starlings! "Thrushes! "Zounds, rva'am, he!5'
 Pray, sir, take back your angry word,
I scorn your language as your bird;
It ought to make a husband blush,
To treat a wife so 'bout a thrush.
"Thrush, Cicely! "Yes! "A starling! "No.
The lie again, and then a blow.
Blows carry strong and quick conviction,
And mar the powers of contradiction.
Peace soon ensued, and all was well;
It were imprudence to rebel,
Or keep the ball up for debate,
Against these arguments of weight.
A year roli'd on in perfect ease,
'Twas  As you like ! and  What you please!
Quoth Cicely—"Ah, this charming life 1
No tumults now, no blows, no strife 1
What fools we were this day last year;
Lord, how you beat me then, my dear I
Sure it was idle and absurd,
To wrangle so about a bird;
Com ic Recita tions.
A bird not worth a single rush—
A starling. "No, my love, a thrush!
That I'll maintain.  That I'll deny.—
You're wrong, good husband.  Wife, you lie!
Again the self-same wrangle rose,
Again the lie, again the blows.
Thus, every year (true man and wife)
Ensues the same domestic strife:
Thus every year their quarrel ends,
They argue, fight, and buss, and friends;
'Tis starling, thrush, and thrush and starling ;
 You dog!  You wretch!  My dear!"— My darlingl
EVENING—By a Tailor.
Oliver Wendell Holmes.
[An American physician, poet, and humorist of great repute.
Born 18095 still living.]
Day hath put on his jacket, and around
His burning bosom buttoned it with stars.
Here will I lay me on the velvet grass,
That is like padding to earth's meagre ribs,
Afld hold communion with the things about me.
Ah me ! how lovely is the golden braid,
That binds the skirt of night's descending robe!
The thin leaves, quivering on their silken threads,
Do make a music like to rustling satin,
As the light breezes smooth their downy nap.
Ha! what is this that rises to my touch,
So like a cushion ? Gan it be a cabbage ?
It is, it is that deeply injured flower
Which boys do flout us with;—but yet I love
Thou giant rose, wrapped in a green surtout.
Doubtless in Eden thou didst blush as bright
As these, thy puny brethren; and thy breath
Sweetened the fragrance of her spicy air;
But now thou seemest like a bankrupt beau,
Stripped of his gaudy hues and essences,
And growing portly in his sober garments.
Is that a swan that rides upon the water?
O no, it is that other gentle bird.
Mrs. Robinsons Evening Pa, iq.
Which is the patron of our noble calling.
I well remember, in my early years,
When these young hands first closed upon a goose)
I have a scar upon my thimble finger,
Which chronicles the hour of young ambition.
My father was a tailor, and his father,
And my sire's grandsire, all of them were tailors;
They had an ancient goose,—it was an heir-loom
From some remoter tailor of our race.
It happened I did see it on a time
When none was near, and I did deal with it,
And it did burn me,—oh, most fearfully!
It is a joy to straighten out one's limbs,
And leap elastic from the level counter,
Leaving the petty grievances of earth,
The breaking thread, the din of clashing shears,
And all the needles that do wound the spirit,
For such a pensive hour of soothing silence.
Kind Nature, shuffling in her loose undress,
Lays bare her shady bosom;—I can feel
With all around me;—I can hail the flowers
That sprig earth's mantle,—and yon quiet bird,
That rides the stream, is to me as a brother.
The vulgar know not all the hidden pockets,
Where Nature stows away her loveliness.
But this unnatural posture of the legs
Cramps my extended calves, and I must go
Where I can coil them in their wonted fashion.
MRS. ROBINSON'S EVENING PARTY.
[As rehted by Mr. J. E. Carpenter in his popular musical enter-
tainment,  The World and his Wife, all the fear round."]
 The World and his Wife are often not at home when they arc
 at home. They are not at home when the tradesman calls for
his quarterly account, but they are "at home when they have sue-
cecded in cramming a hundred and fifty people into a room not
large enough to contain fi/ty, comfortably; and where, in spite of
r.he hostess's  I beg you'll make yourself quite at home, you feel
that you can't do anything of the sort. Just imagine four ladies en-
aeavouring to sit on one sofa; it reminds me of being in an omni-
bus where there were six ladies on the seat opposite to me. I leave
you to guess how I got in. Well, shortly after seating myself one
I
Comic Recitations.
lady got out—still the seat was quite filled; in the course of Jt
hundred yards or so two more ladies alighted—there was a rustling
of silks, what the sailors call letting out a reef or two—and the re-
maining three quite filled up their vacant places. At length two
more were set down; the remaining lady heaved a long suppressed
sigh, exclaimed  Thank goodness! let go her hoops, and com-
pletely filled her side of the omnibus. Now, these evening parties
are as inconvenient to ladies as the omnibuses—they have not room
to expand.
I need scarcely describe these  at homes  to you; probably you
have been present at some of them, and wished yourself really at
home all the while. You have tea and coffee—very cold coffee—
and thin slices of bread and butter, rolled up; flavourless jellies,
purchased in bottles at the grocers' and made of hoiled bones; and
sawdust sandwiches—the sawdust sandwiches and the thin rolled-up
bread and butter are manipulated by the young ladies in the morn-
ing—I know they are, for 1 once got a slice of this thin rolled-up
bread and butter with a curl-paper inside; and then, later in the
evening, they give me port-wine negus—did I say port ?—well, per-
haps ! they do sell a description of port—-for negus.
One of the peculiarities of these  at homes is that you fre-
quently meet with some small literary man, generally a clerk in a
Government office, who earns his Government salary by writing
weak novels in the Government time, with Government pens and
on Government paper—who has been pressed into the service by
some friend of the host or hostess, in order to give a tone to the
party, and to keep the eldeily ladies amused. It is so nice to be able
to say, as a young lady said to me (imitate),  We were at the
Robinson's the other night—such a delightful party—quite a crush—
Sophy had her new silk dress completely spoiled—young Robinson
upset a custard all down the front—I don't know what we shall do,
for it is only seventeen breadths, so we. can't take one out, and we
can't match it anywhere—I don't mind telling you, but mamma
bought it a bargain—it was a remnant. What nice people the Robin-
sons know—Jones was there—not know Jones? — you surprise
me! Jones the author of  Seven years at Sydney; or, Tales of a
Ticket of Leave "—interesting creature—talked to me ail the evening
—rather satirical, though—said my diamonds were the best imita-
tion he had ever seen—I'm sure 1 always thought them real, but
then, you know, papa may have been taken in. Connexions ?—oil!
yes—Jones must have capital connexions—said he knew the Governor
of New South Wales quite well—indeed, he had the greatest difii-
culty in getting away from him—oh! did you hear? Such a mys-
terious affair happened that night at the Robinson's—they missed
seven silver tea-spoons and a cream-jug—the Smiths told me—they
lent them the spoons—and they told me that the Robinson's man-
servant was nul>r the greengrocer who lived round the corner, and
Mrs. Robinsons Evening Party. 11$
had been dressed up for the occasion—how I hate such shams'.—but
it serves them right, the shabby people—seven silver spoons and u
cream-jug!—it must have been the greengrocer.
"Well, I said, "it must—it could not possibly have been the
author of ' Seven Years at Sydney ?'  Oh dear no—he was such
a nice man—and we got quite intimate—quite intimate—and, now
don't you mention it again, for I know he was asked there for the
Robinson girls—he asked me if he might call.
I had not heard of Jones myself, so I told my young friend I
rather suspected he was a party she ought not exactly to encourage.
Perhaps a description of a few of the people I met at the Robin-
son's may amuse you; but don't think I wish to make game of that
class of oldish young ladies who sit on the rout seats as close to the
wall as possible, and whom the "World and his Wife have .called,
in derision,  wall flowers. I think they are much to be pitied—
was it their fault that nobody ever proposed to them ? Can you
doubt that every one of them has often tried to get married, but
couldn't ? It is too bad that they should be held up to public ridi-
cule, especially when there is a class of the opposite sex ten times
more objectionable, because a great deal more in the way.
The class I allude to, being a great deal more ornamental than
useful, may, I think, not inaptly, be called the  clothes' horses.
They seem to have been born merely as moving machines to hang
clothes on; they have no conversational powers, and they are not
given to thinking; you generally find them all together in the door-
way of the drawing-room, and a straggler or two is always to be
found upon the staircase. If you want to get a lady an ice you have
to squeeze through them, and then they close up again the instant
you have gone through, as though they were all hung on hinges and
had door-springs in their backbones. Nothing short of a cry of
 supper  induces them to move on, and they have been known to
remain stationary even after that. As a general rule the  clothes'
horses  don't dance. I recollect asking one the reason that he did
it, and he condescended to inform me that he thought  dawncirig
a baw, for it made one feel—aw! so sticky; and it—aw! dewanged
one's waistcoat. Another of their peculiarities is that they never
laugh; I suppose they consider it  wude to laugh, or a great
 twouble. If the best joke be cracked, and in some circles it is
considered very rude to crack jokes at all, the clothes' horse will
never do more than smile at it; indeed, his heartiest bit of laughter
can only be designated as a loud smile; they seem to bottle it up
somehow, and let it explode inwardly, like bad ginger beer. By-the-
by, one of the clothes' horses did tell me, confidentially, why he never
laughed—he said  it dewanged the curl of his moustache and took
the cosmetique out of his whiskers. If I were called upon to desig-
nate the clothes' horse other than by the name I have given him, I
should be inclined to call him the slow fast man. His dress is ex-
I 2
Comic Recitations.
ceedingly fast; he parts his hair down the middle like a gill, or gets
his sister's maid to do it for him—surely he couldn't do it himself;
he looks like an outof-place groom in the morning, and in the even-
ing like a picture cut out of a tailor's fashion-book.
Among the "characters I met at Mrs. Robinson's evening party,
there was a certain Mrs. Featherbrain, and as she was a  represen-
tative woman"—and a good specimen of her class—I will introduce
her to you. Mrs. Featherbrain is a regular attendant at Exeter Hall.
She is a very spiritual lady, but rather worldly-minded. She is a
capital hand at collecting money from her friends and neighbours
(but she never gives away any herself), and has established a mis-
sionary-box on her hall table as a permanent piece of furniture.
There are also a number of tracts hung over the door mat, with an
intimation that you are to "take one every time you go in or out.
The last time I saw Mrs. Featherbrain she was in some little trouble
about her pecuniary affairs.  I'm glad to see you, she said,  be-
cause gentlemen understand these things; you know poor dear
Featherbrain left all his property in houses, and the trouble I have
to get in the rents nobody knows—there's Knibb, the banker's
clerk, three quarters in arrear; yes, I know—sick wife and seven
children; but for all that he has no right to live in people's houses
if he can't pay. What a state they are in in the West Indies—thou-
sands of poor creatures who don't know how to read—they are so
ignorant that they won't even work—we are going to send them a
shipload of tracts, and poor dear Mr. Heavytile is to go out to them
—we shall build him a house, and he's to have five hundred a year
from the society—but—oh! dear—what was I saying ?—ah! Knibb,
yes—I suppose I must have a distress put in—I believe that's the
proper thing to do ?—what do you advise ?—give him time ?—oh!
but he's had time—what a glorious thing this is about China—do
you think we can convert China ?
"Well, I'm afraid not; China's a brittle subject—you might
break it, and mended china, you know—but why not bestow your
eharity at home ?
 I do, I do! I give five shillings a year to the ragged school;
iut it's all thrown away—there is no making an impression on the
dirty little rascals—all the fault of the parents, I'm sure—it was only
Ire other day I gave one little fellow twopence for saying his cate-
thism, when up jumps another and says, ' Please ma'am you gave
Bill Finch twopence for saying his catechism; I can do better than
that—I can turn head over heels six times for a penny!'
I could pursue this subject further; but these are delicate matters
to touch upon, and may safely be left to a platform differently dedi-
eatcd to the one I occupy to-night.
ii7
THE YORK SHIRE MAN AND THE JEWELLER.
Isaac Bass.
A Yorkshire Tyke, not blessed with too much ser.se,
Had safe arrived from Bradford by the rail,
To gratify his eyes with wonders rare,
And carry to his friends a London tale.
Soon from the train the joskin was put down,
Who quickly scuds new wonders to explore—
Which to the hero of my tale was new,
For he in London ne'er had been before.
A jeweller's shop soon met his clownish eye,
He oped his mouth with wonderment alive I
For in the window was displayed to view,
A silver watch marked  one pound five.
 One pound five! exclaimed he with surprise,
 Dang it, that's a bargain, if it's sound;
At any rate I'll buy the watch,
If he will take the value of a pound.
So, saying this, he soon was in the shop,
His business to the jeweller quickly told j
And bringing forth a purse long as my arm,
He offered for the watch one pound in gold.
 One pound! the tradesman cried,  'tis not enough 3
You one pound one, or two, must mak ;t
But finding  York was not inclined to givt
One shilling more, he said, "well, take it
 Take the watch! exclaimed he with delight,
 By gum, sir, but you are a friend indeed!
So without losing time—he left the shop,
And bolted with the watch at furious speed.
 Stop thief! stop thief! the jeweller loudly bawled.
Who kept the chase up at a furious rate—
Until they grabbed the Yorkshire wit,
Who soon was taken 'fore a magistrate.
"Well, said the justice—"as the case seems veiy clear,
Prisoner, what have you in defence to say,
Why you should not committed be—and sent
^or trial ? You've heard of Botany Bay V'
r 18
Comic Recitations.
 To Botany Bay ! the Yorkshireman replied,
"Dang it, for what, my lud, is this disgrace?
I steal the watch ! not I, and so you'll say
If you'll but give me leave to state the case.
 I saw the watch, my lud, marked one pound Lv.,
And on my life, my lud, I'll stake it,
If he did not, when I pulled out my purse,
Say,  never mind, well, take it /
KEMBLE AND THE ELEPHANT.
Once on a time when Reynolds was the host
And Kemble, the great  Black Jack, was there a guests
One General Bounceable (a dinner pest),
Whose talk was  sell? and every word a boast,
Averred, though he'd been fighting many a year,
But whether charging squares or storming breaches,
He'd never known a momentary fear—
When Kemble, tiring of these bragging speeches,
Declared he recollected an occasion,
When the white feather e'en himself had shown,
And then narrated (after brief persuasion)
The following incident (now, perhaps, well known).
 I once was playing Blue Beard—I'd to enter
Upon an elephant composed of wicker,
And when so seated proudly in the centre,
The hind legs with the fore began to bicker.
Fiercer and fiercer the intestine war
Raged as we marched around the spacious stage,
The fore legs swore the wickedest by far,
Which more and more the hind legs did enrage,
When these terrific words the ruffian said
;The recollection of them makes me tremble)—
 Shut up, you fore legs, cr I'll punch your head,
I will, though I capsizes Mr. Kemble.
NUX POSTCCENATICA.
Oliver Wendell Holmes.
I was sitting with my microscope, upon my parlour ru^,
With a very heavy quarto and a very lively bug j
Nux Postcoenatica.
The true bug had been organized with only two antenna.
But the humbug in the copperplate would have them twice as many.
And I thought like Dr. Faustus, of the emptiness of art,
How we take a fragment for the whole, and call the whole a part,
When I heard a heavy footstep that was loud enough for» two,
And a man of forty entered, exclaiming—"How d'ye do ?'
He was not a ghost, my visitor, but solid flesh and bone;
He wore a Palo Alto hat, his weight was twenty stone;
(It's odd how hats expand their brims as riper years invade,
As if when life had reached its noon, it wanted them for shadeI,
I lost my focus,—dropped my book,—the bug, who was a flea,
At once exploded, and commenced experiments on me.
They have a certain heartiness that frequently appals,—-
Those mediaeval gentlemen in semilunar smalls !
".My boy, he said—(colloquial ways—the vast, broad-hatted man)—
 Come dine with us on Thursday next,—you must, you know you
can;
We're going to have a roaring time, with lots of fun and noise,
Distinguished guests, et cetera, the Judge, and all the boys.
Not so,—I said,—my temporal bones are showing pretty clear
It's time to stop,—just look and see that hair above this ear;
My golden days are more than spent,—and, what is very strange,
If these are real silver hairs, I'm getting lots of change.
Besides—my prospects—don't you know that people won't employ
A. man that wrongs his manliness by laughing like a boy?
And suspect the azure blossom that unfolds upon a shoot,
As if wisdom's old potato could not flourish at its root!
ft's a very fine reflection, when you're etching out a smile
On a copper plate of faces that would stretch at least a mile,
That, what with sneers from enemies, and cheapening shrugs of
friends,
II will cost you all the earnings that a month of labour lends!
It's a vastly pleasing prospect, when you're screwing out a laugh,
That your very next year's income is diminished by a half)
And a little boy trips barefoot that Pegasus may go,
A nd the baby's milk is watered that your Helicon may flow I
No;—the joke has been a good one,—but /m getting fond of quiet,
And I don't like deviations from my customary diet;
120
Comic Recitations.
So 1 think I will not go with you to hear the toasts and speeches,
But stick to old Montgomery Place, and have some pig and peaches.
The fat man answered -.—Shut your mouth and hear the genuine
creed;
The true essentials of a feast are only fun and feed;
The force that wheels the planets round delights in spinning tops.
And that young earthquake t'other day was great at shaking props.
I tell you what, philosopher, if all the longest heads
That ever knocked their sinciputs in stretching on their beds
Were round one great mahogany, i'd beat those fine old folks
With twenty dishes, twenty fools, and twenty clever jokes !
Why, if Columbus should be there, the company would beg
He'd show that little trick of his of balancing the egg!
Milton to Stilton would give in, and Solomon to Salmon,
And Roger Bacon be a bore, and Francis Bacon gammon!
And as for all the  patronage  of all the clowns and boors
That squint their little narrow eyes at any freak of yours,
Do leave them to your prosier fiiends,—such fellows ought to die
When rhubarb is so very scarce and ipecac so high!
And so I come,—like Lochinvar, to tread a single measure,
To purchase with a loaf of bread a sugar-plum of pleasure,
To enter for the cup of glass that's run for after dinner,
Which yields a single sparkling draught, then breaks and cuts the
winner.
Ah, that's the way delusion comes,—a glass of old Madeira,
A pair of visual diaphragms revolved by Jane or Sarah,
And down go vows and promises without the slightest question.
If eating words wont compromise the organs of digestion 1
And yet. among my native shades, beside my nursing mother,
Where every stranger seems a friend, and every friend a brother,
I feel the old convivial glow (unaided) o'er me stealing,—
The warm, champagny, old particular, brandy-punchy feeling.
We're all alike;—Vesuvius flings the scoriae from his fountain,
But down they come in volleying rain back to the burning moun«
tain;
Wc leave, like those volcanic stones, our precious Alma Mater,
But will keep dropping in again to see the dear old crater.
121
POfiT GRUB AT BRIGHTON.
Horace Smith.
Edward Grub was a poet—an old puff provider
For Warren's Jet Blacking, and Rowland's Kalydor,
Though promoted at timis to be laureate fag
To that old woman's album, the Gentleman's Mag,,
His form was so lank, for he lived by his wit,
No bailiff could see him behind a stout spit;
And cash was to him an Ash Wednesday event,
Which never arrived except it was lent;
His garret, all scrawled with extempores quaint,
Though it needed the brush, I shall not try to paint J
'Twas a shivering room in the attic, more fit
For rheum-atic complaints, than to prompt attic wit—
Rheumatic he grew, caught the ague beside,
And shook till the bantering landlady cried—
"Them as thinks Poet Grub isn't any great shakes,
Could they but see him now wo-uld confess their mistakes.
Quoth the Bard,  I am going to Brighton."—( High times,
The dame interposed,  if you speak of your rhymes.")
 To pay Nature's debt I must quickly prepare."—
Cried the dame,  How prodigiously Nature will stare!
To Brighton he went, and secured a retreat
In the pebble-built house of a narrow back street,
With a staring bow-window, to let him explore
What was passing in either bow-window next door;
'Twas a scene for a poet; behind he would gaze
From morning till night on the Mews and the hays ;
But the mews was a stable which seldom inspired
A bard; though the bays in the fetlock were fired,
In baths of all sorts Grub was pickled and stewed,
And Mussulmen sharply his muscles shampooed;
While Mahomed rubbed, and such zeal did evince,
That the Turk has been black in the face ever since.
"Shampooing, cried Grub, "is of no real use;
Let me try what a long country-walk will produce;
'Tis a night for a poet—-just going to freeze,
So I'm sure of the rime on each leaf of the trees.
It is true, there was one shingle heach by the sea,
But elsewhere he hunted in vain for a tree;
For wherever at Brighton you chalk out a walk,
'Tis impossible ever to walk out of chalk.
The night it was black, and the winds, wairing high,
Seemed to shed Warren's blacking all over the sky;
122
Comic Recitations.
But Grub, in whose writings the moon brightly shone,
Made light of the daTkness, and boldly marched on.
In a well that was dry, there some smugglers that night
Some ankers of Hollands had put out of sight.
Grub soused in the hole, and exclaimed,  Well-a-day'
How shameful such man-traps to place in the way!
It chanced that he started a cask as he fell,
And being himself quite as dry as the well,
Me swilled till, like Neptune, he fell fast asleep,
Embracing an anker while piunged in the deep.
When they hoisted him up, he afforded a plea
For a coroner's inquest offelo de se:
For as soon as he came to himself he began
To find he had come to a different man ;
The gin, or the fright, or the heat he endured,
Rheumatics and ague had thoroughly cured;
And the late Poet Grub, such a poor sickly soul,
Was discharged from the hole of the well, well and whole.
MR. ROGERS AND MONSIEUR DENISE.
(Delivered by the late Mr. Mathews in his  Trip to Paris.")
At Abbeyville I resolved to pass the night; on entering the
public room I perceived two persons at the farther end quarrelling.
These were Mr. Rogers, a countryman of my own, in a sickly state
of health, and was travelling to Calais by easy stages, who was ad-
vised by his physicians by all means to avoid quarrels, and causes of
irritation and annoyance; the other was Mons. Denise, who, out of
pure friendship had accompanied him all the way from Paris, and
was to return the next day to deliver a course of lectures on England,
and its language. They had a sincere regard for each other, and
the only cause for disagreement between them was, Mr! Rogers's
entire disregard of the French language. Denise, whose ideas or
the delicacies of the French pronunciation led him continually to
correct the errors of his friend; and as he was continually at it, it
ad become a regular system. Mr. Rogers, from his bad state of
wealth, was so little able to bear an irritation of temper, or, as wc
/iy, a wearing of the spirits, that it had come to an open rupture;
jrul as I entered the room they were just on the point of reconcilia-
rion, after a suitable concession on the part of Mons. Denise. A
mutual friend had just brought about a reconciliation, but it was on
an understanding that Mons. Denise should not once more interrupt
his friend,—Rogers had given him his hand, and was addressing him
thus:—
Mr. Rogers and Monsieur Denise. 123
"There! it's all over now—don't be at it anymore—never mind
—what does it matter now whether I say u, or e.u ?—How can you
do so ?—why do you perpetually torment me with u and e-se.
 Mais Monsieur Rogere, my dear fren, Mons. Rogere, voulez
vous avoir la delicatesse de parler comme il faut—dites eus, pas use,
la delicatesse.
 Delicate fiddlestick ! now, how can you expect me to go about
all day rwisting my mouth up as if I was blowing in a fife? you'i!
be the death of me with your infernal ouse and ees. Now do you
drop the subject! or I will go out of the room.
The conversation continued about an hour, during which time
Mr. Rogers barbarously murdered several French words. Denise
sat riding on his chair, with most hero.ic fortitude, suppressing his
critical propensities ; at last, Mr. Rogers had occasion to mention a
person who was well known, which he pronounced Bane Cano: at
which Denise rising from his chair:—
 Oh, sacre! I bear great deal—but dat is too much. O 1 my
dear fren, Mons. Rogere, I promise not to correct you any more—
you say Cano. Ah, voulez vous, you should say Bien Connu'e—
euf, e-u-f. Monsieur Rogere, dat is forty-eight mistakes you make
since you leave Paris.
 Devil take it 1 there, you are at it again ! you are determined to
be the death of me—and if you come to that, you shouldn't call
me Rogere, when my name is Rogers.
Denise drew a paper from his pocket, and began to enumerate
and expatiate on the enormity of the other forty-seven. Rogers gain-
ing strength from despair, seized a candlestick in one hand, and his
friend's hand in the other, saying :— Aye, I see you are bent upon
killing me—good night, I am going to bed; you'll be on your
journey back to Paris in the morning before I rise—good-bye; we
shall not see each other a long time again—perhaps never. Let's
part good friends—good night!
 Ah, Monsieur Rogers, my dear friend, Ion voyage, Monsieur;
adieu, Monsieur Rogere.
 Adiu Denis !", replied Rogers, and immediately left the room.
Denise, at this pronunciation walked backwards and forwards,
groaning most piteously.
After supper, on inquiring for a bed, I was informed the only one
to spare was in a double-bedded room, occupied by my countryman,
Rogers. There was no alternative, and I was obliged to accept it.
About three in the morning I was awakened by a tremendous
knocking at the door.  Who is there ?
 Paniovnez not, Messieurs! Ah, ah, Monsieur Rogere /
(knocking.)
 Who's there ? What do you want?
"It is not you 1 want, sare, go to your sleep. (}•> to your sleep,
sare, it is my friend Monsieur Rogere I icant. Where de dcvL
thall I find him ? it. is as dark as de pitch. (Still knocking.)
t 24
Comic Recitations.
 Your friend, Mr. Rogers, is in this room, shall I wake him ?
 No, save, do not give yourself de trouble to wake, I shall wake
him myself. (Still knocking.) Go to your sleep : I had wake
seven gentlemen this night, not one of which shall be him.
At which Rogers got out of bed and opened the doer, saying,
'• Holloa! what's the matter ? who's there ?
 Ah, Monsieur Rogere !
"What, it's you, Denis, is it? what the devil can you want at
this time of night ? aye, you eternal torment, you wet blanket, you
croaking raven.
 Ah I Monsieur Roger e, my dear friend, last night you say to
me, Adiu Denis! Voulez-vous should say, Adi-e-it Denise? i-s-e,
z-d-i-e-u D-e-n-i-s-e /
 Oh, the devil! what, are you at it again ? Am I to be deprived
of my natural rest for your infernal o-u-s-e and e-s-e ?
 Ah, Monsieur Rogere, my dear friend, I promise not to correct
you any more ; but I could not get a wink of my sleep for fear you
should forget this is the 49th mistake you make since you left Paris.
Adieu, Monsieur Rogers, adieu, my dear friend ; bon voyage.
Poor Denise having eased his mind of the burden that had
oppressed him during the early part of the night, now took his
leave, and in the morning I followed his example.
HOW TO CURE A COUGH.
One Biddy Brown, a country dame,
As 'tis by many told,
Went to a doctor—Drench by name-—
For she had caught a cold.
And sad, indeed, was Biddy's pain,
The truth must be confest,
Which she to ease found all in vain,
For it was at her chest.
The doctor heard her case—and then,
Determined to assist her,
Prescribed—oh! tenderest of men,
Upon her chest a blister 1
Away went Biddy, and next day
She called on Drench again.
*' Well, have you used the blister, pray
And has it eased your pain ?
The Choice of a Wife hy Cheese.
"Ay, zur, the dame, with curtsey cries,
 Indeed, I never mocks;
But, bless ye! I'd no chest the size,
So I put it on a box.
But la! zur, it be little use,
It never rose a bit;
And you may see it if you choose,
For there it?s sticking yet 1
THE LIKENESS.
William was holding in his hand
The likeness of his wife,
Fresh as if touched by fairy hand,
With beauty, grace, and life.
He almost thought it spoke—he gazed
Upon the treasure still;
Absorbed, delighted, and amazed,
He viewed the artist's skill.
"This picture is yourself, dear Jane,
'Tis drawn to nature true;
I've kissed it o'er and o'er again,
It is so much like you.
 And has it kissed you back, my dear ? 
 Why, no, my love, said he.
 Then, William, it is very clear,
'Tis not at all like me.
THE CHOICE OF A WIFE BY CHEESE
There lived in York, an age ago,
A man whose name was Pimlico;
He lov'd three sisters passing well,
But which the best he could not tell.
These sisters three, divinely fair,
Showed Pimlico the tend'rest care;
For each was elegantly bred,
And all were much inclin'd to wed;
Comic Recitations.
And all made Pimlico their choice,
And praised him with their sweetest voice.
Young Pirn, the gallant and the gay,
Like ass divided 'tween the hay,
At last resolved to gain his ease,
And choose his wife by eating cheese.
He wrote his card, he seal'd it up,
And said that night with them he'd sup,
Desired that there might only be
Good Cheshire cheese, and but them three j
He was resolved to crown his life,
And by that means to fix his wife.
The girls were pleased at his conceit—■
Each dressed herself divinely neat;
With faces full of peace and plenty,
Blooming with roses, under twenty;
For surely Nancy, Betsy, Sally,
Were as sweet as lilies of the valley;
And singly, surely, buxom Bet
Was like new hay and mignionette.
But each surpassed a poet's fancy,
For that of truth was said of Nancy;
And as for Sal, she was a Donna,
As fair as those of old Cretona,
Who to Apelles lent their feces,
To make up Madame Helen's graces.
To those the gay, divided, Pim
Came elegantly smart and trim;
When every smiling maiden, certain,
Cut of the cheese to try her fortune.
Nancy at once, not fearing—caring
To show her saving, ate the paring;
And Bet, to show her gen'rous mind,
Cut and then threw away the rind;
While prudent Sarah, sure to please,
Like a clean maiden, scraped the cheese.
This done, young Pimlico replied—
 Sally I now declare my bride:
With Nan I can't my welfare put,
For she has proved a dirty slut;
And Betsy, who has pared the rind,
Would give my fortune to the wind.
Sally the happy medium chose,
And I with Sally will repose;
She's prudent, cleanly—and the man
Who fixes on a nuptial plan
Can never err, if he will choose
A wife by cheese—before he ties the noooc,
ta;
TALKING LATIN.
Sam Suck.
Feelin' a hand on my arm, I turns round, and who should I sec
but Marm Green. "Dear me, said she, "is that you, Mr. Slick?
I've been lookin' all about for you for ever so long. How do you
do ? I hope I see you quite well.
 Hearty as brandy, marm, says I,  tho' not qu'te so strong,
and a great deal heartier for a seein' of you. How be you ?
 Reasonable well, and stirrin', says she;  I .try to keep amovin';
but I shall give the charge of things soon to Arabella; have you
seen her yet ?
 No, says I,  I haven't had the pleasure since her return; but
I hear folks say she is a most splendid fine gall.
"Well, come, then, said she, atakin' my arm, "let me introduce
you to her. She is a fine gall, Mr. Slick, that's a fact; and tho' I
say it that shouldn't say it, she's a considerable of an accomplished
gall too. There is no touch to her in these parts: minister's
daughter that was all one winter to St. John can't hold a candle to
her.
 Can't she tho' ? said I.
"No, said she, "that she can't, the conceited minx, tho' she
does carry her head so high. One of the gentlemen that played at
the show of the wild beasts said to me, says he, ' I'll tell you what it
is, Marm Green,' said he, 'your darter has a beautiful touch—that's
a fact; most galls can play a little, but yours does the thing com-
plete.' And so she ought, says she,  takin' her five quarters into
view.
"Five quarters! said I; "well, if that don't beat all! well, I
never heerd tell of a gall havin' five quarters afore since I was raised !
The skin, said I, "I must say, is a most beautiful one; but as for
the tallow, who ever heerd of a gall's tallow ? The fifth quarter!
Oh! lor, said I, "marm, you'll kill me, and I haw-hawed right
out.
 Why, Mr. Slick, said she,  ain't you ashamed ? do, for gracious
sake, behave yourself; I meant five quarters' schoolin': what a droll
man you be.
 Oh ! five quarters' schoolin', says I;  now I understand.
"And, said she, "if she don't paint, it's a pity !
 Paint ? said I;  why, you don't say so ? I thought that are
beautiful colour was all nateral. Well, I never could kiss a gall that
painted. Mother used to say it was sailin' under false colours—1
'most wonder you could allow her to paint, for I'm sure there ain't
the least morsel of occasion for it in the world: you may say that—
it is a pitv!
128
Comic Recitations.
"Get out, said she, "you imperance: you know'd better not
that; I meant her pictures.
"Oh! her pictures, said I; "now I see; does she tho ? Well,
that is an accomplishment you don't often sec, I tell you.
"I take some credit, Mr. Slick, for that; she's throwed awaj
here; but I was detarmined to have her educated, and so I sent hei
to bordin' school, and you see the effect of her five quarters. Afore
she went, she was three years to the combined school in this district,
that includes both Dalhousie and Shanbrooke; you have combined
schools in the States, haven't you, Mr. Slick ?
 I guess we have, said I;  boys and girls combined; I was tu
one of 'em when I was considerable well grown up; lor, what fun
we had! It's a grand place to lam the multiplication table at, ain't
it ? I recollect once 
"Oh! fie, Mr. Slick; I mean a siminary for young gentlemen
and ladies, where they larn Latin and English combined.
 Oh! latten, said I;  they larn latten there, do they ? Well,
come, there is some sense in that: I didn't know there was a factory
of it in all Nova Scotia. I know how to make latten; father sent
me clean away to New York to learn it. You mix up calamine and
copper, and it makes a brass as near like gold as one pea is like
another; and then there is another kind o' latten, workin' tin ovei
iron,—it makes a most complete imitation of silver. Oh ! a know-
ledge of latten has been of great sarvice to me in the clock trade, you
may depend. It has helped me to a nation sight of the genutcine
metals—that's a fact.
"Why, what on airth are you atalkin' about? said Mrs. Green.
 I don't mean that latten at all; I mean the Latin they larn at
schools.
 Well, I don't know, said I;  I never seed any other kind of
latten, nor never heerd tell of any.—What is it ?
 Why, it's a—it's a—. Oh! you know well enough., said she;
 only you make as if you didn't, to poke fun at me. I believe
you've been abammin' of me the whole blessed time.
"I hope I'll be shot if I do, said I; "so do tell me what it is.
Is it anything in the silk factory line, or the straw plait, or the cotton
warp way ?
 Your head, said she, considerably miffy,  is always a runnin'
on a factory. Latin is a—. Nabal, said she,  do tell me what
Latin is.";
 Latin, says he,— why, Latin is,—ahem, it's—what they teach
at the combined school.
"Well, says she, "we all know that as well as you do, Mr.
Wisehead; but what is it ? Come here, Arabella dear, and tell me
what Latin is.
"Why, Latin, ma, said Arabella, "is,—am-o, I love; am-at, he
loves; am-amus, we love; that's Latin.
"Well,it does sound dreadful pretty, tho', don't it.' says I; "and
My Untie.
yet, if Latin is love and love is Latin, you hadn't no occasion,—
and I got up and slipt my hand into hers—you hadn't no occasion
to go to the combined school to lam it; for natur', says I,  teaches
that a—■—'' and I was whisperin' of the rest o* the sentence in her
ear, when her mother said,—
 Come, come, Mr. Slick, what's that you are a saying of?
"Talkin'Latin, says I, — awinkin' to Arabella;—"ain't we,
miss ? 
 Oh! yes, said she,—returnin' the squeeze of my hand, and
larfin';— oh ! yes, mother, arter all he understands it complete.
 Then take my seat here, says the old lady,  and both on you
sh down and talk it, for it will be a good practice for you;"—and
away she sailed to the end of the room, and left us a—talking Latin.
MY UNCLE.
John Taylor.
Who dwells at yonder three gold balls
Where Poverty so often calls,
To place her relics in his walls ?
My uncle.
Who cheers the heart with "money lent
When friends are cold, and all is spent,
Receiving only cent, per cent. ?
My uncle.
Who cares not what distress may bring,
If stolen from beggar or from King,
And, like the sea, takes everything ?
My uncle.
Who, wiser than each sage of yore,
Who alchemy would fain explore,
Can make whate'er he touches ore ?
My uncle.
Who, when the wretch is sunk in giief,
And none besides will yield relief,
Will aid the honest or the-thief?
My uin le.
Comic Recitations.
Who, when detection threatens law.
His secret stores will open draw,
That future rogues may stand in awe ?
My uncle.
Bought wisdom is the best, 'tis clear,
And since 'tis better as more dear,
We, for high usance, should revere
My uncle.
And though to make the heedless wise,
He cheats in all he sells or buys,
To work a moral purpose tries,
My uncle.
Who, when our friends are quite withdrawn,
And hypocrites no longer fawn,
Takes all but honour into pawn ?
My uncle.
THE OXFORD STUDENT TO HIS MOTHER.
Anonymous.
Dear Mother,—Your anger to soften,
At last I sit down to indite,—■
"Pis clear I am wrong very often,
Since 'tis true I so seldom do write.
But now I'll be silent no longer,
Pro and con, all my deeds I'll disclose,—
All the pros in my verse I'll make stronger
And hide all the cons in my pros!
You told me, on coming to college,
To dip into books, and excel;
Why, the tradesmen themselves must acknowledge
I've dipt into books pretty well!
The advice you took pleasure in giving
To direct me, is sure to succeed,
And think you'll confess I am living
With very gieat credit indeed 1
I wait on the reverend doctors
Whose friendship you told me to seek;
And as for the two learned proctors,
They've called for me twice in a week!
The Oxford Student to his Mother.
Indeed, we've got intimate lately,
And I seldom can pass down the street,
But their kindness sui prises me greatly,—
For they stop me whenever we meet!
My classics, with all their old stories,
I now very closely pursue,—
And ne'er read the Remedia Amoris
Without thinking, dear mother, of you!
Of Virgil I've more than a smatter,
And Horace I've nearly by heart;
But though famed for his smartness and satire,
He's not quite so easy as Smart.
English bards I admire every tittle,
And doat on poetical lore,
And though yet I have studied but Little,
I hope to be master of Moore!
You'll see, from the nonsense I've written,
That my devils are none of the Blues;
That I'm playful and gay as a kitten,
And nearly as fond of the Muse !
Bright puns (oh! how crossly you bore 'em!
I scatter, while logic I cram ;
For Euclid and Pons Asinorum,
We leave to the Johnians of Cam.
My pony, in spite of my chidings,
Is as skittish and shy as can be!
Not Yorkshire, with all its three ridings,
Is half such a shier as he!
I wish he were stronger and larger,
For, in truth I must candidly own,
He is far the most moderate charger
In this land of high chargers I've known I
My doubts of profession are vanish'd,
I'll tell you the cause when we meet;
Church, army, and bar, I have banish'd,
And now only look to the Fleet!
Come down, then, when summer is gildinft
Our gardens, our trees, and our founts,
I'll give you accounts of each building,—
How you'll wonder at all my accounts !
132
Comic Recitations.
Come down when the soft winds are sighing!
Come down—oh ! you shall and you must,—
Come down when the dust-clouds are flying,—
Dear mother,—come down with the dust I
RORY O'MORE'S PRESENT TO THE PRIEST.
Samuel Lover.
•< Why*, thin, I'll tell you, said Rory. "I promised my mother t(
bring a present to the priest from Dublin, and I could not make up
my mind rightly what to get all the time I was there. I thought of
a pair o' top-boots; for, indeed, his reverence's is none of the best,
and only you know them to be top-boots, you would not take them
to be top-boots, bekase the bottoms has been put in so often that the
tops is wore out intirely, and is no more like top-boots than my
brogues. So I wint to a shop in Dublin, and picked out the pur-
tiest pair o' top-boots I could see;—whin I say purty, I don't
mane a flourishin' taarin' pair, but sitch as was fit for a priest,
a respectable pair o' boots;—and with that, I pulled out my
good money to pay for thim, whin jist at that minit, remembering
the thricks o' the town, I bethought o' myself, and says I, ' I sup-
pose these are the right thing?' says I to the man.—'You can thry
them,' says he.—' How can I thry them ?' says I.—' Pull them
on you,' says he.—'Troth, an' I'd be sorry,' says I, 'to take sitch
a liberty with them,' says I.—' Why, aren't you goin' to ware
thim ?' says he.—' Is it me Y says I,' me ware top-boots ? Do you
think it's takin' lave of my sinsis I am ?' says I.—' Then what do
you want to buy them for ?' says he.—' For his reverence, Father
Kinshela,' says I. ' Are they the right sort for him ?'—' How
should I know Y says he.—' You're a purty bootmaker,' says I,
'not to know how to make a priest's boot!'—' How do I know his
size ?' says he.—' Oh, don't be comin' off that away,' says I.
' There's no sitch great differ betune priests and other min!'
 I think you were very right there, said the pale traveller.
"To be sure, sir, said Rory; "and it was only jist a come off
for his own ignorance.—' Tell me his size,' says the fellow, ' and
<'11 fit him.'—'He's betune five and six fut,'says I.—'Most men
are,' says he, laughin' at me. He was an impidint fellow.—' It's
not the five, nor six, but his two feet I want to know the size
of,' says he. So I persaived he was jeerin' me, and says I, ' Why,
thin, you respectful vagabone o' the world, you Dublin jackeen!
do you mane to insinivate that Father Kinshela ever wint barefutted
in his life, that I could know the size of his fut,' says I; and with
that I threw the boots in his face. 'Take that,' says I, 'you dirty
thief o' the world ! you impidint vagabone of the world? you igno.
rant citizen c' the world 1' And with that I left the place. * *
Rory 0'More s Present to the Priest. 133
 It is their usual practice, said the traveller, "to take measure of
their customers.
 Is it, thin
 It really is.
"See that, now! said Rory, with an air of triumph. "You
would think that they wor cleverer in the town than in tht
counthry; and they ought to be so, by all accounts;—but in th&
regard of what I towld you, you see, we're before them intirely.
 How so ? said the traveller.
 Arrah ! bekase they never throuble people in the counthry at all
with takin' their measure; but you jist go to a fair, and bring your
fut along with you, and somebody else dhrives a cartful o' brogues
into the place, and there you sarve yourself; and so the man gets
his money and you get your shoes, and every one's plazed. * *
 P'vt what I mane is—where did I leave off tellin' you about the
pres :nt for the priest ?—wasn't it at the bootmaker's shop ?—yes,
that was it. Well, sir, on laving the shop, as soon as I kem to my-
self afther the fellow's impidince, I begun to think what was the
next best thing I could get for his reverence; and with that, while
I was thinkin' about it, I seen a very respectable owld gintleman
goin' by, with the most beautiful stick in his hand I ever set my
eyes on, and a goolden head to it that was worth its weight in goold;
and it gev him such an iligant look altogether, that says I to myself,
'It's the very thing for Father Kinshela, if I could get sitch another.'
And so 1 wint lookin' about me every shop I seen as I wint by, and
at last, in a sthreet they call Dame-sthreet—and, by the same token,
I didn't know why they called it Dame-sthreet till I ax'd; and I was
towld they called it Dame-sthreet bekase the ladies were so fond o'
walkin' there;—and lovely craythurs they wor ! and I can't b'lieve
that the town is such an onwholesome place to live in, for most o'
the ladies I seen there had the most beautiful rosy cheeks I ever
clapt my eyes upon—and the beautiful rowlin' eyes o' them ! Well,
it was in Dame-sthreet, as I was sayin', that I kem to a shop where
there was a power o' sticks, and so I wint in and looked at thim ;
and a man in the place kem to me and ax'd me if I wanted a cane?
' No,' says I, ' I don't want a cane; it's a stick I want,' says I.
* A cane, you mane,' says he. ' No,' says I, ' it's a stick'—for I was
determined to have no cane, but to stick to the stick. ' Here's a
nate one,' says he. ' I don't want a nate one,' says I, ' but a respon-
sible one,'says I. 'Faith!' says he, 'if an Irishman's stick was
responsible, it would have a great dale to answer for'—and lie
laughed a power. I didn't know myself what he meant, but that's
what he said.
"It was because you asked for a responsible stick, said the
traveller.
 And why wouldn't I, said Rory, "when it was for his reve-
rcnce I wanted it ? Why wouldn't he have a nice-lookin', respec-
table, responsible stick ?
*34
Comic Recitations.
 Certainly, said the traveller.
 Well, I picked out one that looked to my likin —a good sub-
stantial stick, with an ivory top to it for I seen that the goold-
headed ones was so dear I couldn't come up to them; and so says
I, ' Give me a howld o' that,' says I—and I tuk a grip iv it. I never
was so surprised in my life. I thought to get a good, brave handful
of a solid stick, but, my dear, it was well it didn't fly out o' my
hand a'most, it was so light. ' Phew !' says I, ' what sort of a stick
is this ?' ' I tell you it's not a stick, but a cane,' says he. ' Faith!
I b'lieve you,' says I. ' You see how good and light it is,' says he.
Think o' that, sir!—to call a stick good and .light—as if there could
be any good in life in a stick that wasn't heavy, and could sthreck a
good blow! 'Is it jokin' you are,' says I? 'Don't you feel it
yourself?' says he. 'Throth, I can hardly feel it at all,'says i.
' Sure that's the beauty of it,' says he. Think o' the ignorant vaga-
bone!—to call a stick a beauty that was as light a'most as a bul-
rush ! ' And so you can hardly feel it!' says he, grinnin'. ' Yis,
indeed,' says I; 'and what's worse, I don't think I could make any
one else feel it either.' ' Oh! you want a stick to bate people
with!' says he. 'To be sure,'says I; 'sure that's the use of a
stick.' 'To knock the sinsis out o' people!' says he, grinnin'
again. ' Sartinly,' says I, ' if they're saucy1—lookin' hard at him at
the same time. 'Well, these is only walkin'-sticks,' says he.
' Throth, you may say runnin'-sticks,' says I, ' for you daren't stand
before any one with sich a thraneen as that in your fist.' ' Well,
pick out the heaviest o' them you plaze,' says he; 'take your
choice.' So I wint pokin' and rummagin' among thim, and, if you
believe me, there wasn't a stick in their whole shop worth a kick in
the shins—divil a one!
 But why did you require such a heavy stick for the priest?
 Bekase there is not a man in the parish wants it more, says
Rory.
 Is he so quarrelsome, then ?' said the traveller.
 No, but the greatest o' pacemakers, says Rory.
 Then what does he want the heavy stick for ?
 For wallopin' his flock, to be sure, said Rory.
 Walloping! said the traveller, choking with laughter.
 Oh! you may laugh, said Rory,  but 'pon my sowl! you
wouldn't laugh if you wor undher his hand, for he has a biave heavy
one, God bless him and spare him to us!
 And what is all this walloping for ?
 Why, sir, whin we have a bit of a fight, for fun, or the regular
faction one, at the fair, his reverence sometimes hears of it, and
comes av coorse.
 Good God! said the traveller, in real astonishment,  does the
priest join the battle ?
 No, no, no, sir! I see you're quite a sthranger in the counthry.
The priest join it!—Oh! by no manes. But he comes and stoDS
Rory O'More s Present to the Priest. 135
it; and, av coorse, the only way he can stop it is to ride into thim,
and wallop thim all round before him, and disparse thim—scattei
thim like chaff before the wind; and it's the best o' sticks he re-
quires for that same. .
 But might he not have his heavy stick for that purpose, and
make use of a lighter one on other occasions ?
"As for that matther, sir, said Rory, "there's no k no win' the
minit he might want it, for he is often necessitated to have recooise
to it. It might be, going through the village, the public-house is
loo full, and in he goes and dhrives thim out. Oh ! it would delight
your heart to see the style he clears a public-house in, in no time !
 But wouldn't his speaking to them answer the purpose as
well ?'
 Oh, no I he doesn't like to throw away his discoorse on thim ;
and why should he ?—he keeps that for the blessed althar on Sun-
day, which is a fitter place for it: besides, he does not like to be
sevare on us.
 Severe ! said the traveller, in surprise,  why, haven't you said
that he thrashes you round on all occasions ?
 Yis, sir; but what o' that ?—sure that's nothin' to his tongue—
his words is like swoords or razhors, I may say : we're used to a lick
of a stick every day, but not to sich language as his reverence some-
times murthers us with whin we displaze him. Oh ! it's terrible,
so it is, to have the weight of his tongue on you! Throth! I'd
rather let him bate me from this till to-morrow, than have one angry
word with him.
 I see, then, he must have a heavy stick, said the traveller.
 To be sure he must, sir, at all times; and that was the raison I
was so particular in the shop; and afther spendin' over an hour—
would you b'lieve it ?—divil a stick I could get in the place fit for a
child, much less a man. * *
 But about the gridiron ?
 Sure I'm tellin' you about it, said Rory;  only I'm not
come to it yet. You see, continued he,  I was so disgusted
with them shopkeepers in Dublin, that my heart was fairly broke
with their ignorance, and I seen they knew nothin' at all abov.t
what I wanted, and so I came away without anything for his
reverence, though it was on my mind all this day on the road; and
comin' through the last town in the middle o' the rain, I thought of
a gridiron.
 A very natural thing to think of in a shower of rain, said the
traveller.
 No, 'twasn't the rain made me think of it—I think it was God
put a gridiron in my heart, seein' that it was a present for the priest
I intended; and when I thought of it, it came into my head, afther,
that it would be a fine thing to sit on, for to keep one out of the
rain, that was ruinatin' my corderoys on the top o' the coach; so I
kept my eye out as we dhrove along up the sthreet, and sure enough
j,3 6
Comic Recitations.
what should I see at a shop half-way down the town but a gridiron
hanging up at the door ! and so I went back to get it.
 But isn't a gridiron an odd present?—hasn't his reverence one
already ?
 He had, sir, before it wa&Jbruk—but that's what I remembered,
for I happened to be up at his place one day, sittin' in the kitchen,
when Molly was brilin' some mate an it for his reverence; and
while she jist turned about to get a pinch o' salt to shake over it, th«
dog that was in the place made a dart at the gridiron on the fire, and
threwn it down, and up he whips the mate, before one of us could
stop him. With that Molly whips up the gridiron, and says she,
' Bad luck to you, you disrespectful baste! would nothin' sarve you-
but the priest's dinner ?' and she made a crack o' the gridiron at
him. 'As you have the mate, you shall have the gridiron too,' says
she; and with that she gave him such a rap on the head with it, that
the bars flew out of it, and his head went through it, and away he
pulled it out of her hands, and ran off with the gridiron hangin'
round his neck like a necklace; and he went mad a'most with it;
for though a kettle to a dog's tail is nath'rel, a gridiron round his
neck is very surprisin' to him; and away he tatthered over the
country, till there wasn't a taste o' the gridiron left together.
SCHOOL FOR POLITENESS.
Once on a time, as I've heard say,
(I neither know the year, nor day)
The rain distill'd from many a cloud,
The night was dark; the wind blew loud ;
A country squire, without a guide,
Where roads were bad, and heath was wide,
Attended by his servant Jerry,
Was travelling tow'rds the town of Bury.
The squire had ne'er been bred in courts;
But yet was held, as fame reports.
Tho' he to wit made no pretence,
A squire of more than common sense.
Jerry, who courage could not boast,
Thought every sheep he saw a ghost;
And most devoutly prayM he might
Escape the terrors of the night 1
As they approach'd the common's side,
A peasant's cottage they espied ;
There, riding up, our weary squire
Held it most prudent to inquire,
School for Politeness.
Being nothing less than wet to skin,
"Where he might find a welcome inn ?
"No inns there are, replied the clown,
"'Twixt this and yonder market town,
Seven miles, north-west, across the heath.
And wind and rain are in your teeth I
But if so be sir, you will go
To yon old hall upon the brow,
You'll find free entrance there—
Down beds; and rare old English fare,
Of beef and mutton, fowl and fish ;
As good as any man need wish;
Warm stabling, too; and corn and hay;
Yet not a penny have to pay!
It is true, sir, I have heard it said,
And here he grinn'd and scratch'd his head—
 The gentleman that keeps the house,
Tho' every freedom he allows,
And is, o'er night, so wondrous civil,
You'd swear he never dreamt of evil,
Orders, next morn, his servant John,
With cat-o'-nine-tails to lay on
Full twenty strokes, most duly counted,
On man and master ere they're mounted.
 With cat-o'-nine-tails !—Oh ! cried Jerry,
"That I were safe at Edmund Bury.
Our squire spurr'd on, as clown directed;
This offer might not be rejected:
Poor Jerry's prayers could not dissuade!
The squire more curious than afraid,
Arrives, and rings. The footman runs :
The master, with his wife and sons,
Descends the hall, and bid him enter;
Give him dry clothes ; and beg he'll venture
To take a glass of cognac brandy!
And he, who hated words to bandy,
In idle compliment'ry speeches,
The brandy took, and eke the breeches.
The liquor drank, the garments changed;
The family round the fire arranged ;
The mistress begg'd to know if he
Chose coffee, chocolate, or tea ?
The squire replied, sans hesitation,
Or teazing, trite expostulation—
 A dish of coffee, and a toast!
The mistress smiled; the enraptured host,
Comic Recitations.
Cried— Sir, I like your frankness much,
This house is yours ; pray think it such,
While here you stay; 'tis my request,
And you shall be a welcome guest!
Sans ceremony I would live;
And, what I have, I freely give.
Tea ended; once again, our host
Demanded— Sir, of boil'd or roast,
Fish, flesh, or fowl, do you prefer
For supper?"—"Why, indeed, good sir,
Roast duck I love "— With good green peas ?*
 Yes, dearest madam, if you please!
 Well said!—Now, while it's gettipg ready,
We two, my eldest son, and lady,
Will take a hand at whist ?"— Agreed j
And soon they cut for deal and lead.
But now, to crimp my lengthen'd tale—
Whether the squire drank wine, or ale;
Or how he slept; or what he said:
Or how much gave to man or maid ;
Or what, the while, became of Jerry,
'Mong footmen blithe, and maidens merry;
Description here we can't admit—
For  Brevity's the soul of wit.
Suffice to say—the morn arrived,
Jerry, of senses half deprived,
Horses from stable saw led out; ,
Trembled, and skulk'd, and peep'd about;
And felt, already, ev'ry thwack
Of cat-o'-nine-tails on his back ;
Each word, each action, was a blunder,
But O how great his joy and wonder!
The stirrups held, the horses cross'd ;
When forth the hostess, and the host,
With smiles, instead of lashes smarting,
Came out to take a cup at parting ;
Bestowing a thousand welcomes on 'em
Unfeign'd for all the honour done 'em;
Of thanks what language could afford;
Of cat-o'-nine-tails not one word.
Mutual civilities repaid,
The squire had turn'd his horse's head,
To gallop off; yet his desire
Grew, ev'ry moment, high'r and high'r»
School for Politeness,
139
While bidding thus his last adieu,
To ask,, if what he'd heard were true,
For not alone the clown had said
The reckoning must in stripes be paid:
But one o' th' footmen, whom he, slily.
O'er night, interrogated, drily
Confirm'd th' aforesaid peasant's tale;
And said, his master would not fail,
Next morn to bid, in furious passion,
Strong John lay twenty times the lash on.
Determined then, to ease his doubt,
E'en tho' it bred a flogging bout—
Of that, howe'er, to be sincere,
He was not very much in fear,
Once more he turn'd his horse's hea.l,
And to his host, thus smiling, said:—
 Last night, a peasant told me here,
As I have found, was noble cheer;
But added, ere this morn I went,
You'd drub me to my heart's content;
Yet this you have not put in act:
Is it a fiction, or a fact,
After such kindness you've express'd,
You thus take leave of ev'ry guest!
And how, if still a rule you've kept it,
Have I deserved to be excepted ?
 Sir, answered he,  'tis very true;
No stranger e'er went hence, but you.
Who bore not, on his well carved bark,
Of cat-o'-nine-tails many a mark ;
None yet deserved—or I'm mistaken—
That pity e'er should spare their bacon:
A set of tiresome, troublesome knaves !
Of bowing, fawning, lying slaves.
If a man ask'd what they'd prefer—
* Oh ! I love anything, good sir.'
* Would you choose coffee, sir, or tea ?
•Dear ma'am, it's all the same to me.'
'For beef, or mutton, give your voice?'
* Upon my honour I've no choice.'
'There's Cheshire, sir, and Glo'ster cheese;
Which shall I send you ?'—' Which you please.'
Plague on their cringing complaisance;
I've tutor"d some of them to dance
Such steps as they ne'er learn'd in France.
140
Comic Recitations.
But you, good sir, or I misdeem,
Deserve an honest man's esteem.
Your frankness, sir, I call polite;
I never spent a happier night.
And whensoe'er this road you come,
I hope you'll make my house your home;
Nay, more; I likewise hope, henceforth,
To rank a man of so much worth
Among my friends."—"Sir, said the squire^
"'Tis what I ardently desire:
Not twenty miles from hence, my house,
At which your sons, yourself, and spouse,
Shall find such hospitality
As kindly you have shown to me.
The bargain struck, our squire and Jerry
Again proceed for town of Bury.
And now my hearers may, with ease,
Extract this moral, if they please;
Politeness cannot e'er become
Impertinent and troublesome.
His breeding good he soonest proves,
Who soonest tells you what he loves!
And who, in rapid eloquence,
Their wordy compliments dispense,
Have more civility than sense.
WOMAN'S RIGHTS.
Artemus Ward.
I pitcht my tent in a small town in Injianny one day last seeson,
& while I was standin at the dore takin money, a deppytashun ov
ladies came up & sed they wos members of the Bunkumville Female
Moral Reformin & Wimin's Rite's Associashun, and they axed me
if they cood go in without payin.
 Not exactly, sez I,  but you can pay without goin in.
 Dew you know who we air ? said one of the wimin—a tall and
feroshus lookin critter, with a blew kotton umbreller under her arm
— do you know who we air, Sir ?
 My impreshun is, sed I,  frcr.l a kersery view, that you air
females.
 We air, Sir, said the feroshus woman— we belong to a Society
whitch beieeves wimin has rites—whitch beleeves in razin her to her
Woman s Rights.
proper speer—whitch beleeves she is indowed with as much intei-
leek as man is—whitch beleeves she is trampled on and aboozed—
& who will resist henso4th & forever the incroachments of proud
& domineering men.
Durin her discourse, the exsentric female grabed me by the coat-
kollor and was swinging her umbreller wildly over my hed.
"I hope, marm, sez I, starting back, "that your intensions is
honorable ? I'm a lone man hear in a strange place. Besides, I've
a wife to hum.
 Yes, cried the fgmale,  & she's a slave! Doth she never dream
of freedom—doth she never think of throwin of the yoke of tyrrinny
& thinkin & votin for herself?—Doth she never think of these here
things ?
 Not bein a natral born fool, sed I, by this time a little riled,
 I kin safely say that she dothunt.
 O whot, whot! screamed the female, swingin her umbreller
in the air.  O, what is the price that woman pays for her ex-
peeriunce!
 I don't know, sez I;  the price to my show is r 5 cents pur
individooal.
 & can't our Sosiety go in free ? asked the female.
 Not if I know it, sed I.
 Crooil, crooil man ! she cried, & bust into teers.
 Won't you let my darter in ? sed anuther of, the exsentric
wimin, taken me afeckshunitely by the hand.  O, please let my
darter in—shee's a sweet gushin child of natur.
 Let her gush ! roared I, as mad as I cood stick at their tarnal
nonsense;  let her gush ! Where upon they all sprung back with
the simultanious observashun that I was a Beest.
 My female frends, sed I,  be4 you lceve, Ive a few remarks to
remark; wa them well. The female woman is one of the greatest
institooshuns of which this land can boste. It's onpossible to get
along without her. Had there bin no female wimin in the world,
I should scarcely be here with my unparalleld show on this very
occashun. She is good in sickness—good in wellness—good all the
time. O, woman, woman ! I cried, my feelins worked up to a
hi poetick pitch,  you air a angle when you behave yourself; but
tvhen you take off your proper appairel & (mettyforically speaken)
—get into pantyloons—when you desert your firesides, & with your
heds full of wimin's rites noshuns go round like roarin lyons, seekin
whom you may devour, somboddy—in short, when you undertake
to play the man, you play the devil and air an emfatic noosance.
My female friends, I continnered, as they were indignantly departiiv
 wa well what A. Ward has sed !
Comic Recitations.
THE LONDON TAILOR.
A London tailor (as it's said),
By buckram, canvas, tape, and thread,
Sleeve linings, pockets, binding, twist,
And all the long extensive list
With which their uncouth bills abound,
Though rarely in the garment found;
By these, and other arts in trade,
Had soon a pretty fortune made,
And did what few had ever done,
Left thirty thousand pounds to his son ;
His son, a gay young swaggering blade,
Abhorr'd the very name of trade,
And, lest reflection should be thrown
On him, resolved to quit the town,
And travel where he was not known.
In gilded coach, and liveries gay,
To Oxford first he took his way,
There beaux and belles his taste admire,
His equipage, and rich attire;
But nothing was so much adored
As his fine silver-hilted sword,
Though short and small, 'twas vastly neats
The sight was deemed a perfect treat.
Beau Barber begg'd to have a look,
But when the sword in hand he took,
He swore, by gad, it was an odd thing,
And looked much like a tailor's bodkin.
His pride was hurt by this expression,
Thinking they knew his sire's profession {
Sheathing his sword, he sneak'd away,
And drove to Gloucester that same day.
There soon he found new cause for grief,
For dining on some fine roast beef,
One asked him which he did prefer,
Some cabbage or a cucumber.
The purse-proud coxcomb took the hint,
Though it reverse reflection meant;
His stomach turn'd, he could not eat,
So made an ungenteel retreat;
Next day left Gloucester in great wrath,
And bade his coachman drive to Bath.
There he suspected fresh abuse,
Because the dinner was roast goose.
And that he might no more be jeer'd,
Next day to Exeter he steer'H
The Quack Doctor.
'43
There with some bucks he drank about,
Until he fear'd they'd found him out;
His glass not fill'd, as was the rule,
They said 'twas not a thimbleful.
The name of thimble was enough,
He paid his reckoning, and went off.
He then to Plymouth took a trip,
And put up at the  Royal Ship,
Which then was kept by Sabel Snip.
 Snip, Snip, the host was often call'd,
At which his guest was so much gall'd,
That soon to Cambridge he removed.
There too he unsuccessful proved,
For though he fill'd his glass or cup,
He did not always drink it up ;
The scholars mark'd how he behaved,
And said no remnant should be made.
The name of remnant gall'd him so,
That he resolved to York to go;
There fill'd his bumper to the top,
And always fairly drank it up.
 Well done, says Jack, a buck of York,
 You go through stitch, sir, with your work.
The name of stitch was such reproach,
He rung the bell, and call'd his coach;
But first he the inquirp made,
By what strange means they knew his trade ?
 You've put the cap on, and it fits
(Replied one of the Yorkshire wits);
Our words in common acceptation,
Could not find out your occupation;
'Twas you yourself, gave us the clue,
To find out both your trade and you.
Vain coxcombs and fantastic beaux
In every place themselves expose,
To show their wealth and want of sense,
At every trifle take offence;
But learn this for a standing rule,
There's no disguise can screen a fool.
THE QUACK DOCTOR.
Anonymous.
A qiuck doctor and his mountebank associate were haranguing
the populace from a stage near the market cross of a country town,
to sell their quack medicines. .The Doctor said,—
144
Comic Recitations.
"1, Dr. "Waltho Von Blousterbourg, last from the Emporium of
the Universe, am just arrived in this city, and will give advice and
dispense my medicines every Saturday, for the benefit of my fe low
creatures. I am a native of Arabia Deserta, citizen and burgomaster
of the city of Brandinopolis—am the seventh son of a seventh son,
studied chemistry in Idigli Germany have made myself master of
the works of Galen, Hippocrates, Albumazar, and Paracelsus, and
am become the yEsculapius of the age. 1 have studied and was
educated in twelve universities, have travelled through fifty-two king-
doms, been counsellor to the counsellors of several monarchs, am
lately arrived from the farthest part of Utopia; have travelled
throughout all Europe, Asia, Africa, and America, from the sun's
oriental exaltation to his occidental declination; and have, out of
tnere pity to languishing mortals, by the entreaties of several dukes,
earls, lords, and honourable personages, been prevailed upon to
favour this kingdom with my notice. That all persons, young or
old, blind or lame, deaf or dumb, curable or incurable, may know
where to repair for cure in all cephalalgias, paralytic paroxysms, pal-
pitations of the pericardium, empyemas, and syncopes, arising either
from a plethora, or cacochimy, vertiginous vapours, hydrocepha-
lous diastasis, podagrical inflammations, iliac passions, icterical
effusions, the ascites, tympanites, anasarca, and the entire legion of
the lethiferous distempers. I have the true Carthamophra of the
triple kingdom, this never-fading Heliogenes being the tincture of
the sun, deriving vigour, influence, and dominion from the same
light. It causes all countenances and complexions to laugh or smile
at the very time of taking ; is seven years preparing, and being pre-
pared secundum, artem, by fermentation, cohobation, calcination,
sublimation, fixation, circulation, and quidlibitification, in balneo
mariae, crucible and fixatory, the athanor, cucurbita, and reverbera-
tory, is the only sovereign medicine in the world. This is nature's
palladium, health's magazine; and it works seven manner of ways,
as nature herself requires, for it scorns to be confined to any par-
ticular way of operation. If a man chance to have his brains beat
out, or head chopped off, two drops seasonably applied will recal the
fleeting spirits, reinthrone the deposed archeus, cement the discon-
tinuity of the parts, and in six minutes restore the lifeless trunk to
all its pristine functions, vital, natural, and animal. I have it under
the hands and seals of all the greatest sultans, sophys, bashaws,
viziers, chams, seraskiers, mufties, &c., in Christendom, to verificate
the truth of my operations; and that I have absolutely performed
such cures as are really beyond common human abilities, is also
attested by my aid and assistant.
 Ladies and Gentlemen,—I am the physician to the great and
mighty Kow Kane, Emperor of all the Chinas; I was converted to
Christianity during the embassy of the late Lord Elgin, and left that
there country to come to this here, which may be reckoned the
greatest blessing that ever happened to Europe, for I've brought with
The Quack Dociot
*45
ftie the following unparalleled, inestimable, and never-to-be-matched
medicines; the first is called the great Parry Mandyron Rapskianum,
from Wandy Whang Whang—one drop of which, poured into any
of your gums, if you should happen to have the misfortune to lose
your teeth, will cause a new set to sprout out like mushrooms from
a hot-bed; and if any lady should happen to be troubled with that
unpleasant and redundant exuberance called a beard, it will remove
it in three applications, and with greater ease than Mechi's razor
strops.
"I'm also very celebrated in the cure of the eyes. The late
Emperor of China had the misfortune to lose his eyes by a cataract.
I very dexterously took out the eyes of his majesty, and after
anointing the sockets with a particular glutinous happlication, I
placed in two eyes from the head of a living lion, which not only
restored his majesty's wision, but made him dreadful to all his ene-
mies and beholders. I beg leave to say, that I have eyes from
different hanimals, to suit all your different faces and professions.
 This here bottle, which I holds in my hand, is called the grand
elliptical, asiatical, panticurical, nervous cordial, which cures all
• diseases incident to humanity. I don't like to talk of myself,
Ladies and Gentlemen, because the man who talks of himself is a
Hegotist, but this I will venture to say of myself, that I am not onlv
the greatest physician and philosopher of the age, but the greatest
genius that ever illuminated mankind—but you know I don't like
to talk of myself; you should only read one or two of my lists of
cures, out of the many thousands I have by me; if you knew the
benefit so many people have received from my grand elliptical,
asiatical, panticurical, nervous cordial, that cures all diseases incident
to humanity, none of you would be such fools as to be sick: I'll
just read you one or two.
(Reads several letters.)— Sir, I was jammed to a jelly in a linseed
oil mill; cured with one bottle.—Sir, I was scalded to death in a soap
manufactory; cured with one bottle.—Sir, I was cut in half in a
saw-pit; cured with half a bottle.
 Now comes the most wonderful of all. Sir,—Venturing too
near the powder-mill, at Faversham, I was, by a sudden explosion,
blown into a million of atoms; by this unpleasant accident I was
rendered unfit for my business (a banker's clerk)—but hearing of
your grand elliptical, asiatical, panticurical, nervous cordial, I was
persuaded to make essay thereof: the first bottle united my strayed
particles, the secpnd animated my shattered frame, the third effected
a radical cure, the fourth sent me to Lombard Street to count
guineas, make out bills for acceptance, and recount the wonderful
effects of your grand elliptical, asiatical, panticurical, nervous cordial,
that cures all diseases incidental to humanity.
146 Comic Recitations.
THE CHRISTMAS PIE.
Near Bedford town, of ancient fame,
A red-hair'd ploughman, Dick by name,
Long lived, and long had been in love
With Kate, the cookmaid of the Grove.
At length, impatient of delay,
He bids her fix the nuptial day;
The blushing nymph, o'erspread with grease,
Cries,  E'en, dear Richard ! when you please.
This said, in raptures Richard flies
To kiss the maid, and warmly cries,
 Had you but said as much before;"—
When now Kate's master oped the door.
 For shame, quoth she, and rakes the fire—
 Richard, keep off—d'you see the Squire!
Dick turn'd, look'd silly, leer'd at Kate,
And crept up closer to the grate.
The squire, facetious, young, and gay,
Had Richard known before to-day!
And thus began, "Why, man, so sad?
What, does your Christmas prove so bad ?
 I don't know, sir, quoth Dick,  for that,
(Biting the corners of his hat,)
 Not quite as one might well desire.
 That's bad, indeed, replies the squire.—
 Here, Kitty, quickly take the key,
And fetch a large mince-pie to me;
 Ay, do so, Kate, quoth Dick behind,
' And bring the largest you can find.
But lo 1 the promised blessing comes,
Well stored with sweetmeats, spices, plums,
A'lruring sight! when thus the squire—
 Come, Dick, here's something I require,
To which if you will but comply,
Yours shall be all the Christmas pie.
"What, all?"' Yes, all, the squire's reply.
 Know, Richard, then, the case is this,
You must forbear our Kate to kiss;
Quite from her dripping-pan remove,
And never tell her more of love.
Kate stared at this, Dick cast an eye,
First on the wench, then on the pie;
But judgment not to form in haste,
Permission begs, that he might taste j
Dick tasted, and the taste approved,
Then doubted which he better loved (
The Christmas Pie.
 Women, 'tis said, are good, he crie%
 But are they half so good as pies?
To fix resolve he strove in vain,
So wisely ask'd to taste again.
Again he tastes, again approves,
Nor longer doubts which best he lovesj
The trial's past, the conflict's o'er,
And Kitty triumphs now no more.
But, fearing lest the slighted maid
Might lay the ladle o'er his head,
He to the squire makes quick reply:
"Sir, if you please, I'll take the pie.
"The pie, the squire repeats aloud,
"Well chosen, Dick, the pie was good.
At this enraged, the furious cook
Fast hold her powerful rival took.
Dick knew her strength, and bravely tried
To hold as fast the other side;
Each pull'd, nor pull'd at last in vain,
For oh! the platter split in twain.
Dick, mad at this, so sad disaster,
Now blamed the wench, and now her master;
Stamp'd, swore aloud, and cursed his fate,
Then view'd the pie, and scratch'd his pate;
But when he saw the luscious grease,
The fat and plums o'erspread the place,
To save it from the jaws of Tray,
Whose liquorish chops were fast at play,
In haste he kneels upon the floor,
And vows he'll court the maid no more!
The angry nymph, enraged anew,
With all her force at Richard flew.
The squire, well pleased, stood laughing by,
And cried,  Oh! Dick, you've spoil'd the pie.
He turn'd his head, and 'gan to rise,
When lo ! too filial to his eyes,
Kate, to complete his dire disgrace,
With pie all o'er besmear'd his face.
Tray, willing not a bit to lose,
Seizes fast hold his plaster'd nose;
Dick now began aloud to roar,
And drives directly to the door,
Nor sees the spatter'd pie, nor angry Kitty monu
148
Comic Recitations.
THE FOUR HUNCHBACKS.
(From the Italian.)
Not far from Thcssaly, there lived a knight,
Uglier than knight was ever seen before;
Indeed he seem'd more like some elfin sprite,
For scarce a human form the urchin bore.
His growth had been so miserably stinted,
That three-foot-five was all our knight could claim j
Hump-back'dto boot; besides all this he squinted,
And walk'd, or rather limp'd, most grievous lame.
But when you hear this man possess'd a wife,
The prettiest, too, of all the countiy round,
Perchance you'll wonder: but observe, through life,
Matches like this will frequently be found.
The secret was, the knight had lands and wealth,
And this is often reckon'd a great merit;
(At least in those not bless'd with too much health,
For then the widow never would inherit.)
But to our tale:—Before his gate one morn,
Three hump-back'd minstrels all appear'd in view;
And being weary, hungry, and forlorn,
Offer'd for meat and drink their skill to show.
The knight agreed. But when their song was o'er,
(Mayhap you'll say it was not very civil,)
He swore if e'er they came before him more,
He'd kick both harps and minstrels to the devil!
Then closed his gates. The harpers hied away,
E'en glad to find their bones were left them whole J
The knight then went (as usual every day)
Along the river side to take a stroll.
But spouse within, who'd watch'd all this proceeding,
Resolved herself to hear the minstrels play;
So call'd them back, and with another feeding,
Engaged them all again in roundelay.
Rut short, alas! the joys allow'd to mortal,
(At most indeed a miserable pittance,)
For soon was heard a knocking at the portal;
The husband back—and bawling for admittance.
What's to be done? A thought (which seem'd the Itest}
Was carried in effect most expeditiously;
This was to shut each minstrel in a chest,
And there to hide them under lock and ' ew
Goody Grim versus Laps torn. 140
There they remain'd until the coast was clear.
Which happen'd when the knight was gone to bed;
But on the morrow, guess the lady's fear
When she discover'd—that they were all dead.
A.gain the knight went out; and then a clown
At last some consolation seem'd to give her;
He promised, for a ducat, that he'd drown
The devil himself within th' adjoining river.
The clown (who had no great desire to thwart her)
Threw one poor hunchback o'er his shoulders broad,
And plunged him headlong in the rapid water;
Returning thence to handle his reward.
When straight before his wond'ring eyes she sLowM
Another hunchback 1—the image of his brother.
 What! here again! he cried. This time his load
He stuff'd with stones. "Now then, said he, "you'll smother.
Retuin'd again, once more the trick they play,
He flings the other in the foaming stream?
Just then the hunchback knight appear'd that way—
 The Devil! the clown now roar'd,  or else I dream.
Catching him up,  Come here, he cried,  Old Sin,
Thrice through my fingers you have slipped before !
Cudgell'd him well, then hurl'd him headlong in :
And sure enough, he ne'er was heard of more.
GOODY GRIM v. LAPSTONE.
James Smith.
[By profession a lawyer, elder brother of Horace, and joint author
of  The Rejected Addresses —he wrote portions of the entertain-
ments of the elder Mathews. Born 1775 i died 1839-]
What a profound study is the law, and how difficult to fathom;
your son follows the law, Sir Thomas ? Yes, ma'am, but I'm afraid
he'll never overtake it; a person following the law, and making
nothing of it, is like two boys running round a table—he follow-
the law, and the law follows him. If you take away the whereofs.
moreovers, forthwiths, aforesaids, and notwithstandings, the whole
fnystery vanishes; the law is then like Macheath without any song
—it's like a suit of clothes, you must pay well for them before you
can get into them—it's also like a pair of spectacles, you must pay
for it through the nose. I shall now proceed to relate a sketch of a
trial which took place in a town, which for obvious reasons shall be
nameless: Goody Grim inhabited an almshouse, Nol 2; Will Lap-
150
Comic Recitations.
stone, a superannuated old cobbler, No. 3; and a Jew pedlar who
was travelling along the road where these almshouses happened to
be erected, thought of nothing else but No. 1. Goody Grim was in
the act of killing one of her own proper pigs, when the animal, dis-
liking the ceremony, burst from her hold, and run through the
semi-circular legs of the aforesaid Jew, knocked him into the mud,
ran back again into Will Lapstone's the cobbler, upset a quart bottle
full of Hollands gin, belonging to said Lapstone, and took refuge in
Crispin's state bed. The parties being of course in the most opulent
circumstances, consulted counsel learned in the law; the result was
that Goody' Grim was determined to bring an action against Lap-
stone for the loss of her pig with the curly tail; and Lapstone to
bring an action against Goody for the loss of a quart bottle full of
Hollands gin; and Mordecai, to bring an action against them both,
for the loss of an ivory teetotum that fell out of his pocket in the
rencontre. They all delivered briefs to counsel before it suggested
itself to them they were all parties and no witnesses; but Goody
Grim, like a wise old lady as she was, now changed her battery, and
was determined to bring her action against Lapstone, and bind over
Mordecai to give evidence. The indictment set forth that he, Lap-
stone, not having the fear of the assizes before his eyes, but being
moved by pig, and instigated by pruin sauce, did on the first day of
April, a day sacred in the annals of the law, steal, pocket, hide, and
crib divers—to wit 5000 hogs, sows, boars, pigs, and porkers, with
curly tails, and did secrete the said 5000 hogs, sows, boars, pigs, and
porkers, with curly tails, in his, said Lapstone's bed, against the
peace of our Lady the Queen, her crown and dignity.
Mordecai was examined by Sergeant Puzzle.—Well, sir, what are
you ? Mor.—I sell old clothes, sealing-wax, and puckles. Serg.—
I didn't ask you what you sold, I ask you what you are ? Mor.—■
I'm about five-and-forty. Serg.—Man; don't be ridiculous; 1
didn't ask your age, I ask you what you are ? Mor.—I am a Jew.
Serg.—Well, why couldn't you say so at first; then, if you're a Jew,
tell me all you know of this affair. Mor. — As I vas valking
-tlong Serg.—So you will icalk, spite of all I can say. Mor.—
3lesh my heart, you vill frighten me out of my vits; I vas valking
along, I seed the unclean animal acoming attowards me, and so, says
I, Oh, Father Abraham, says I Serg.—Father Abraham,
man's, no evidence. Mor.—You must let me tell my story my
own way, or I cannot tell it at all; as I vas valking along I seed the
unclean animal acoming attowards me, and, oh, Father Abraham!
says I, here comes the unclean animal; so he run'd between my
legs, and upset me in the mud. Serg.—Now, do you mean to say,
on your oath, that that little animal had the power to upset you in
the mud ? Mor.—I vill take my oath he upset me in the mud.
Serg.—Pray, sir, on which side did you fall ? Mor.—On the muddy
side. Serg.—I mean on which of your own sides did you fell?
Mor.—I fell on my left side. Serg.—Now, on your oath, sir, was it
Goody Grim versus Lapstone. i
your left side ? Mor.—I vill take my oath it was my left side.
Serg.—And, pray, what did you do when you fell down? Mor.—
I did get up again. Serg.—Perhaps you can tell me whether the
pig had a curly tail ? Mor.—I'll take my oath it had a curly tail
like my peard. Serg.—And, pray, where was you going when this
happened ? Mor.—I was going to the sigrr of the Cock and Bottle.
Serg.—Now, on your oath, what had a cock to do with a bottle ?
Mor.—I don't know; but it was the sign of the house, and all more
I know of this affair is, that I lost an ivory teetotum out of my
pocket. Serg.—Oh, you lost a teetotum out of your pocket, did
you? I thought 1 should bring you to something at last. My
Lord (turning to the judge), I beg leave to take an exception to this
man's evidence; he does not come into court with clean hands.
Mor.—How should I when I have been polishing my goods all de
morning ? Serg.—Now, my Lord, your Lordship is aware that
teetotum is derived from the Latin terms te and tutum, which
means keep yourself safe; and this man, but for my profound
sagacity, observation, and so forth, would have kept himself safe;
Dut he has, as the learned Lord Verulam expresses it, let the cat out
of the bag. Mor.—I vill take my oath I had no cat in my bag.
Serg.—My Lord, by his own confession he was about to vend a
teetotum. Now, my Lord and gentlemen of the jury, it is my duty
to point out to you that a teetotum is an unlawful machine made of
ivory, with letters painted upon it, for the purposes of gambling, or as
the law books more elegantly express it—tetotum est macheni vorat,
cum letteress perpurcipus gamhlendi. Now, your Lordship is
aware that the Act, commonly known by the name of the Little-Go
Act, expressly forbids all games of chance whatever, whether put,
whist, marbles, swabs, teetotum, chuck-farthing, dumps, or what
not; and, therefore, I do contend, that this man's evidence is contra
bonus mares, and he is, consequently, non compos testamonia.
Serg. Botherum.—My Lord and gentlemen of the jury, my learned
friend Puzzle has, in a most facetious manner endeavoured to cast a
slur on the highly honourable evidence of the Jew merchant; and I
do contend, that he who buys and sells is bond fide inducted into all
the mysteries of merchandize; ergo, he who merchandizes is, to all
intents and purposes, a merchant. The learned Sergeant, in the
twisting and twining his argument in handling the teetotum, can
only be called oboto dictum—he is playing, my Lord, a losing game;
gentlemen of the jury, he has told you the origin, use, and abuse ot
teetotum—nay, more, he has quoted authority to back his argu-
ment; but the learned Sergeant, gentlemen, has forgot to tell ycu
what that great luminary of the law, the late learned Coke, has said
on the subject, in a case exactly similar to this. In the two hundred
and thirty-fourth folio volume of the Abridgement of the Statutes,
page one thousand three hundred and forty-nine, where he thus lays
down the law, in the case of Hazard versus Blacklegs—gamblendun
consistit enactum gamblendi, sed non avendum macheni placudi.
Comic Recitations.
My Lord, I beg leave to say, that if I prove that my client was in
the act of selling, and not playing with said instrument teetotum, I
humbly presume all my learned friend has said, falls to the ground.
Judge.—Certainly, Brother Botherum. There's no doubt the learned
Sergeant's incorrect; the law does not put'a man extralegium for
merely spinning a teetotum: it's entirely out of the question.
Serg.—My Lord, I beg your Lordship's pardon: Mr. Giblett, one
of the gentlemen of the jury, has fallen down in a swoon. Judge.
Then somebody must twig him by the nose, for he cannot leave
the court. Puzzle.—My Lord, one of the witnesses has sworn
that the pig had a curly tail; now, my Lord, I presume, if I
prove that this pig had a straight tail, I consider this objection
must be fatal. Judge.—Certainly. Order the pig into court.
(Here the pig was accordingly brought into court, and on exami-
nation was found to have a straight tail, which finished the trial).
Judge.—Gentlemen of the jury, it is really unnecessary to recapitu-
late the evidence, for the removal of this objection removes all
ground of action; and notwithstanding the ancient statute, which
says, sowem, virum, pigum, et bereum gigum, et vendi curlium
tailum, there is irrefragable proof by ocular demonstration, that
Goody Grim's grunter had a straight tail, and, therefore, the
prisoner must be acquitted; and really gentlemen, if the time of
the court is to be taken up with these frivolous actions, the
designs of justice will be entirely frustrated, and the attorney who
recommends this action should be punished, not in the ordinary,
but with the utmost vigour and severity of the law.—The affair
has since been thrown into Chancery, and is expected to be settled
about the year one thousand nine hundred and sixty-six.
THE OLD CHEESE.
Young Slouch the farmer had a jolly wife,
Who knew all the conveniences of life,
Whose diligence and cleverness supplied
The wit which Nature had to him denied:
But then she had a tongue that would be heard,
And make a better man than Slouch afeard.
This made censorious people of the town
Say, Slouch could hardly call his soul his own:
For, if he went abroad too much, she'd use
To give hirn slippers, and lock up his shoes.
Talking he loved, and ne'er was more afflicted
Than when he was disturb'd or contradicted:
Yet still into his story she would break,
With— 'Tis not so; pray give me leave to speak.
Hi's friends thought this was a tyrannic rule,
Not diff'ring much from calling of him fool;
The Old Cheese.
Told him he must exert himself, and be
In fact the master of his family.
He said, "That he next Tuesday soon would show
Whether he were the lord at home or no;
When their good company he would entreat
To well-brev?d ale, and clean, if homely meat.
With aching heart home to his wife he goes,
And on his knees does his rash act disclose:
And prays dear Sukey, that one day at least,
He might appear the master of the feast.
 I'll grant your wish, cries she,  that you mar «c
'Twere wisdom to be govern'd still by me.
The guests upon the day appointed came,
Each bowsy farmer with his simp'ring dame.
"Ho, Sue! cries Slouch, "why dost not thou appear ?
Are these thy manners when Aunt Snap is here?
"I pardon ask, says Sue; "I'd not offend
Any my dear invites, much less his friend.
Slouch, by his kinsman Gruffy had been taught
To entertain his friends by finding fault,
And made the main ingredient of his treat,
His saying—"There was nothing fit to eat:
The boil'd pork stinks, the roast beef's not enough,
The bacon's rusty, and the hens are tough !
The veal's all rags, the butter's turned to oil;
And thus I buy good meat for sluts to spoil.
'Tis we are the first Slouches ever sat
Down to a pudding without plums or fat.
What teeth or stomach's strong enough to feed
Upon a goose my grannam kept to breed ?
Why must old pigeons, and they stale, be dress'd,
When there's so many squab ones in the nest?
This beer is sour; 'tis musty, thick and stale,
And worse than anything, except the ale.
Sue all this while many excuses made:
Some things she own'd, at other times she laid
The fault on chance, but oftener on the maid.
The cheese was brought. Says Slouch—"This e'en shall
I'm sure 'tis hard enough to make a bowl:
This is skim-milk, and therefore it shall go;
And this, because 'tis Suffolk, follow too.
But now Sue's patience did begin to waste,
No longer could dissimulation last.
"Pray let me rise, says Sue; "my dear, I'll find
A cheese may be perhaps to Levey's mind.
Then in an entry standing close where he
Alone, and none of his good friends, might see,
And brandishing a cudgel he had felt,
And far enough for this occasion smelt—
Comic Recitations.
 I'll try, my joy, she cried,  if I can please
My dearest with a taste of his old cheese!
Slouch turn'd his head, saw his wife's vigorous hand
Wielding her oaken sapling of command,
Knew well the twang—"Js't the old cheese, my dear ?
No need, no need of cheese, cries Slouch,  I'll swear,
I think I've dined as well as my Lord Mayor!
THE TWO STAMMERERS.
While others fluent verse abuse
In flirting with the Comic muse,
In more respectful manner, I
Her Comic Ladyship will try.
0 let my prayer, bright maid, prevail 1
Grant inspiration to my tale!
A tale both comical and new,
And with a swinging moral, too!
In a small quiet country town
Lived Bob; a blunt but honest clown:
Who, spite of all the school could teach,
From habit stammer'd in his speech ;
And second nature, soon, we're sure,
Confirm'd the case beyond a cure.
Ask him to say,  Hot rolls and butter,'
A hag-a-gag, and splitter-splutter
Stopp'd every word he strove to utter.
It happen'd once upon a time—
1 word it thus to suit my rhyme;
For all our country neighbours know
It can't be twenty years ago—
Our sturdy ploughman, apt to strike,
Was busy delving at his dyke;
Which, let me not forget to say,
Stood close behind a public way s
And, as he leau'd upon his spade
Reviewing o'er the work he'd made,
A youth, a stranger in that place,
Stood right before him, face to face.
 P-p-p-p-pray, says he,
 How f-f-f-f-far may't be
To-o,"—the words would not come out,
"To-o Borough-Bridge, or thereabout?
Our clown took huff; thrice hemm'd upon '
Then smelt a kind of an affront.
The Two Stammerers.
Thought he—"This bluff, foolhardy fellow,
A little crack'd, perhaps, or mellow,
Knowing my tongue an inch too short,
Is come to fleer and make his sport:
Wauns ! if I thought he meant to quarrel,
I'd hoop the roynish rascal's barrel!
If me he means, or dares deride,
By all that's good, I'll tan his hide!
I'll dress his vile calf's skin in buff,
And thrash it tender where 'tis tough 1
Thus, full resolved, he stood aloof,
And waited mute, for farther proof.
While t'other, in a kind of pain,
Applied him to his tongue again—
 Speak, friend; c-c-c-c-can you, pray,
Sh-sh-sh-show me—on my—way ?
Nay, sp-e-eak !—I'll smoke thy bacon !
You have a t-ongue, or I'm mistaken.
"Yes—that, th-that I-I-I have;
But not for y-y-you—you knave! -
 What! cried the stranger,  wh-wh-whut!
D'ye mock me? T-t-take you that!
 Hugh ! you mock—me! quoth Hob, amain.
 So t-t-take you—that, again !
Then to't they fell, in furious plight,
While each one thought himself i' th' right;
4.nd, if you dare believe my song,
They likewise thought each other wrong.
The battle o'er, and somewhat cool—
Each half suspects himself a fool;
For, when to choler folks incline 'em,
Your argumentum baculinum
Administer'd in dose terrific,
Was ever held a grand specific.
Each word the combatants now utter'd,
Conviction brought, that both dolts stuttered 3
And each assumed a look as stupid,
As, after combat, looks Dan Cupid:
Each scratch'd his silly head, and thought
He'd argue ere again he fought.
Hence I this moral shall deduce—
Would Anger deign to sign a truce
Till Reason could discover truly,
Why this mad Madam were unruly,
So well she would xplain their words.
Men little use could find for swords.
Comic Recitations.
THE COLLEGIAN AND THE PORTER.
Horace Smith.
At Trin. Coll. Cam., which means in proper spelling,
Trinity College, Cambridge, there resided,
One Harry Dashington; a youth excelling
In all the learning commonly provided
For those who choose that classic station
For finishing their education;
That is, he understood computing
The odds at any race or match,
Was a dead hand at pigeon-shooting;
Could kick up rows, knock down the watch,
Play the truant, and the rake at random,
Drink, tie cravats, and drive a tandem.
Remonstrance, fine, or rustication,
So far from working reformation,
Only made his lapses greater:
Till he was warn'd, the next offence
Would have this certain consequence—
Expulsion from his Alma Mater.
One need not be a necromancer
To guess that, with so wild a wight,
The next offence occurred next night,
When our incurable came rolling
Home as the midnight chimes were tolling,
And rang the college bell—
No.answer;
The second peal was vain; the third
Made the street echo its alarum;
When to his great delight he heard
That sordid janitor, old Ben,
Rousing and growling in his den.
 Who's there ? I suppose young Harum Sea rum,*
 'Tis I, my worthy Ben—'tis Harry.
 Ay, I thought so, and there you'll tarry;
'Tis past the hour, the gates are closed;
You know my orders; I shall lose
My place, if I undo the door.
 And I, young hopeful interposed,
* Shall be expelled, if you refuse :
So prythee"—Ben began to snoie.
"4'm wet, cries Harry,  to the skin,
Hip, holloa, Ben ! don't be a ninny,
Beneath the gate I've thrust a guinea,
So tumble out and let me in.
The Collegian and the Porter.
 Humph, growl'd the greedy old curmudgeon,
Half overjoy'd, and half in dudgeon,
 Now, you may pass; but make no fuss,
On tiptoe walk, and hold your prate.
 Look on the stones, old Cerberus,
Cried Harry, as he passed the gate;
 I've dropt a shilling; take the light,
You'll find it just outside—good night.
Behold the Porter, in his shirt,
Chiding the rain, which never stopt,
Groping and raking in the dirt,
And all without success ; but that
Is hardly to be wondered at,
Because no shilling had been dropt.
So he gave o'er the search at last,
Regain'd the door, and found it fast!
With sundry oaths and growls and groans
He rang—once, twice, thrice; and then,
Mingled with giggling, heard the tones
Of Harry, mimicking old Ben :—
"Who's there? 'Tis really a disgrace
To ring so loud; I've closed the gate;
You know my orders—you're too late;
You would not have me lose my place ?
"Pshaw! Mr. Dashington, remember
This is the middle of November;
I'm stripp'd—'tis raining cats and dogs.
 Hush ! hush ! quoth Hal, "I'm fast asleep,r
And then he snored as loud and deep
As a whole company of hogs.
 But harkee, Ben, I'll grant admittance
At the same rate I paid myself.
 Nay, master, leave me half the pittance,
Replied the avaricious elf.
 No,—all or none; a full acquittance.
The terms, I own, are somewhat high,
But you have fixed the price—not I.
So, finding all his haggling vain,
Ben, with a grin and groan of pain,
Drew out the guinea and restored it,
 Surely you'll give me, cried the outwitted
Porter, when again admitted,
 Something, now you've done your joking,
For all this trouble, time, and soaking.
158
Comic Recitations.
"Oh ! surely, surely, Harry said;
 Since, as you urge, I broke your rest,
And you're half drown'd, and quite undrest,
I'll give you—leave to go to bed.
SERMON ON THE WORD MALT.
The Rev. Mr. Dodd, a very worthy minister, who lived a few miles
from Cambridge, had rendered himself obnoxious to many of tb-
Cantabs by frequently preaching against drunkenness; several of
whom meeting him on a journey, they determined to make him
preach in a hollow tree which was near the road side. Accordingly,
addressing him with great apparent politeness, they asked him if he
had not lately preached much against drunkenness. On his reply-
ing in the affirmative, they insisted he should now preach from a
text of their choosing. In vain did he remonstrate on the unreason-
ableness of expecting him to give them a discourse without study,
and in such a place; they were determined to take no denial, anC
the word MALT was given him by way of text, on which he im-
mediately delivered himself as follows:—•
 Beloved, let me crave your attention—I am a little man, come
at a short warning, to preach a short sermon, from a small subject,
in an unworthy pulpit, to a small congregation. Beloved, my text
is MALT—I cannot divide it into words, it being but one; nor into
syllables, it being but one; I must, therefore, of necessity divide it
into letters, which I find to be these four—
M, A, L, T.
My beloved,
M, is moral,
A, is allegorical,
L, is literal, and
T, is theological.
The moral is set forth to teach you drunkards good manners;
therefore,
M, masters,
A, all of you,
L, listen
T, to my text.
The allegorical is, when one thing is spoken and another thing is
meant. The thing spoken of is Malt; the thing meant is the iuice
of malt, which you drunkards make
Sermon on the Word Malt. 159
M, meat,
A, apparel,
L, little
T, treasure.
The literal is according to the letter»
M, much
A, ale,
L, little
T, thrift.
The theological is according to the effects that it works; ant.
these I find to be of two kinds:—First, in this world; Secondly, in
the world to come. The effects that it works in this world are,
M, murder,
A, adultery,
L, looseness of life,
T, treason;
And in the world to come,
M, misery,
A, anguish,
L, lamentation, and
T, torment.
And so much for this time and text.
I shall improve this, first, by way of exhortation:—
M, masters,
A, all of you,
L, leave off
T, tippling:
Or, secondly, by way of excommunication
M, masters,
A, all of you,
L, look for
T, torment.
Thirdly, by way of caution, take this:—"A drunkard is the
annoyance of modesty, the spoil of civility, the destruction of reaso,
the brewer's agent, the alehouse benefactor, his wife's sorrow, his
children's trouble, his own shame, his neighbour's scoff, a walking
swill-bowl, the picture of a beast, and the monster of a man.
He then concluded in the usual form; and the young men,
pleased with his ingenuity, not only sincerely thanked him, but
absolutely profited more by this snort and whimsical sermon than
by any serious discourse they had ever heard,
Covilc Rccilallofti,
THE CITIZEN AND THE THIEVES.
Anonymous.
A citizen, for recreation's sake,
To see the country would a journey take
Some dozen miles, or very little more;
Taking his leave with friends two months before,
With drinking healths and shaking by the hand,
As he had travelled to some new-found land.
Well, taking horse, with very much ado,
London he leaveth for a day or two :
And as he rideth, meets upon the way
Such as (what haste soever) bid men stay.
 Sirrah! says one,  stand and your purse deliver,
I am a taker, thou must be a giver
Unto a wood hard by, they haul him in,
And rifle him unto his very skin.
 Masters, quoth he,  pray hear me ere you go;
For you have robbed me more than you do know.
My horse, in truth, I borrow'd of my brother ;
The bridle and the saddle of another;
The jerkin and the bases be a tailor's;
The scarf, I do assure you, is a sailor's;
The falling band is likewise none of mine,
Nor cuffs, as true as this good light doth shine.
The satin doublet, and raised velvet hose,
Are our churchwarden's, all the parish knows.
The boots are John the grocer's at the Swan;
The spurs were lent me by a serving man.
One of my rings—that with the great red stone—
In sooth, I borrow'd of my neighbour Joan;
Her husband knows not of it. Gentlemen 1
Thus stands my case—I pray show favour then.
"Why, quoth the thieves, "thou needst not greatly care,
Since in thy loss so many bear a share;
The world goes hard, and many good folks lack,
Look not, at this time, for a penny back.
Go, tell in London thou didst meet with four,
That, rifling thee, have robbed at least a score.
lOi
LODGINGS FOR SINGLE GENTLEMEN.
George Colman the Younger.
Who has e'er been in Lor.-Ion, that over-grown place,
Has seen  Lodgings to Let stare him full in the face.
Some are good and let dearly; while some, 'tis well known,
Are so dear, and so bad, they are best let alone.
Will Waddle, whose temper was studious and lonely,
Hired lodgings that took single gentlemen only;
Rut Will was so fat, he appear'd like a tun,
Or like two single gentlemen roll'd into one.
He enterM his rooms, and to bed he retreated;
But all the night long he felt fever'd and l.eated;
And, though heavy to weigh, as a score of ut sheep,
He was not, by any means, heavy to sleep.
Next night 'twas the same ! and the next! and the next I
He perspired like an ox ; he was nervous and vex'd;
Week past after week, till by weekly succession,
His weakly condition was past all expression.
In six months his acquaintance began much to doubt him;
For his skin,  like a lady's loose gown, hung about him.
He sent for a doctor, and cried, like a ninny,
 I have lost many pounds—make me well, there's a guinea.
The doctor look'd wise:— A slow fever, he said;
Prescribed sudorifics, and going to bed.
 Sudorifics in bed, exclaimed Will,  are humbugs 1
i ve enough of them there, without paying for drugs!
Till kick'd out the doctor :—but when ill indeed,
C,"en dismissing the doctor don't always succeed ;
So, calling his host, he said,  Sir, do you know,
I'm the fat single gentleman, six months ago?
 Look ye, landlord, I think, argued Will with a grin,
"That with honest intentions you first took me in :
But from the first night—and to say it I'm bold—
I've been so very hot, that I'm sure I caught cold!
Quoth the landlord, "Till now, I ne'er had a dispute;
I've let lodgings ten years,—I'm a baker to boot;
In airing your sheets, sir, my wife is no sloven ;
And youi bed is immediately—over my oven.
M
162
Comic Recitations.
"The oven ! says Will;—says the host, "Why this passion?
In that excellent bed died three people of fashion.
Why so crusty, good sir ?"— Zounds ! cried Will, in a taking,
 Who wouldn't be crusty, with half a year's baking ?
Will paid for his rooms : v^ed the host, with a sneer,
 Well, I see you've been going away half a year.
 Friend, we can't well agree;—yet no quarrel, Will said:
 But I'd rather not perish, while you make' your bread.
PROFESSOR SNUFFLES' LECTURE ON ELECTRICITY.
(From the Entertainment, "The World and His Wife, as given at
the Royal Polytechnic Institution, &c. &c.)
Of all the risks run by people in the country who, unable to seek
their amusement, are obliged to put up with that which is brought
to them, none are greater than the faith they are apt to place in the
startling announcements put forth by travelling lectuiers. For in-
stance, there is the  descriptive lecturer, who announces a grartd
moving panorama, embracing a thousand miles of scenery, extend-
ing from the docks at Liverpool to the source of the Nile; the
said panorama generally turning out to be the slides of a sm»'l
magic lantern, shown on a large pocket-handkerchief. Then, again,
there are the  scientific lecturers, whose stronghold is the ladies'
schools in the neighbourhood, and who usually exhibit in the town-
hall of some small provincial town, when it can be obtained for
nothing,  by permission of his worship the mayor.
Phrenology was, in its day, a great card with these worthies.
Electro-biology and mesmerism was also a source of considerable
profit to them—-only the medical men took to sticking pins into
the calves of the mediums to see if they were really asleep, and the
mediums wouldn't stand it. Table-turning had its day, but the
tables are turned on that. Electricity and electric telegraphs is now
in the ascendant—a battery and a little superficial knowledge is all
that is required. Mind, I am only speaking of the pretenders, and
not the real scientific man, who would grace this platform far better
than I do.
I must introduce you to cne of tnese gentlemen—he called him-
self Professor Snuffles—he had taken the town-hall of I wont
say where, and, having an off-night, I went to hear him.
Our lecturer had looked up the various schools, and arranged
with them, so there was a tolerable attendance, chiefly of juveniles.
1 have no doubt they were amused, if not instructed, for I took
down a part of his lecture ; and here it is —
Professor Snuffles' Lecture un Electricity. 163
THE LECTURE.
 AhemAs my lecture is chiefly addressed to my young friends,
I shall endeavour to explain myself in terms as simple as possible,
merely demonstrating it by illustrative illustrations as I proceed.
My subject for to-night is electricity as applied to telegraphs. In
the first place, what is electricity? It is the preconceivable incor-
porative solution of an abstruse science, elucidated by conglomerated
locomotion, and the mutability of immutable matter; it is the per-
foration of impenetrable substances, uniting light and darkness in
one simple congestible mass, and reducing them to a calx by subli-
mation, or, in other words, for I like to be perspicuous, by friction!
Now what is friction? Why, the complex oscillation of rotary
motion producing heat. What does heat produce ? Fire! And
what is Fire? Why, life itself. And what is life? Why, elec-
tricity! Now, ladies and gentlemen, we are all electric and mag-
netic bodies—sometimes I attract—sometimes I don't!
 Let us take a young lady for example—granted she is attractive.
What does she attract? Why, sparks! Her head is the cylinder,
her brain the rubber, and her tongue the conductor of electric
fancy. Sometimes she fancies a love of a shawl, sometimes a duck
of a bonnet, and she can't get them—that is what we call negative
electricity!
 But we are speaking now of positive electricity, and that is to be
obtained only by a podological, pyramidical sensoriometer, or demon-
strated only by a gravitative, transvolving, pyramidical wheel appa-
ratus, which, I regret to say, I have not with me, otherwise my lecture
would have included a longitudinal, procreative digest of consolidating
the frigerated solution of the mixed metals, acted upon by alcoholic
acids, and showing the practicability of incorporating exhaustion and
repletion by assault and battery, rendering paucity and plenitude in
one indissoluble mass, inflating time and diluting vacuum, and
proving that the lucid fluids and opaque solids are one and the same
thing—which I hope you all understand.
"So much for electricity. We will next consider what is a tele-
graph, and then proceed to unite the two. A telegraph is a plan for
contracting the immeasurability of space, or dividing the decimals of
indivisibility; it is an electrical phenomenon, a magnetic prodigy;
it is a viaduct or an aqueduct, as the case may be—a viaduct
when propped up by the side of a railway, like a lot of clothes-lines
—I select a familiar illustration, for I like to be perspicuous—an
aqueduct when sunk fifty fathoms deep at the bottom of the sea.
It is in its social, political, and domestic character, the bond that
will bind England and America together through all future time—
that is, if the Americans don't some day send over such a strong
message that they will burst it up altogether—it is, in short"—heie
U 2
164
Comic Recitations.
the lecturer dived into politics for half an hour, and ceased to he in-
teresting. I have the rest by me, but will not trouble you with it-
Suffice it to say, that everybody was as much in the fog at the
end as at the beginning—if was a regular November lecture.
MRS. DOBBS AT HOME.
Horace Smith.
What ! shall the Morning Post proclaim
For every rich or high-born dame,
From Portman Square to Cleveland Row,
Each item—no one cares to know;
Print her minutest whereabouts,
Describe her concerts, balls, or routs,
Enumerate the lamps and lustres,
Show where the roses hung in clusters,
Tell how the floor was chalk'd, reveal
The partners in the first quadrille,
How long they danced, till, sharp as hunters,
They sat down to the feast from Gunter's;
How much a quart was paid for peas,
How much for pines and strawberries,
Taking especial care to fix
The hour of parting, half-past six ?
And shall no bard make proclamation
Of routs enjoyed in humble station ?
Rise, honest Muse, to Hackney roam,
And sing of Mrs. Dobbs at home.
He who knows Hackney needs must know
That spot enchanting, Prospect Row;
So call'd because a view it shows
Of Shoreditch Road, and when there blows
No dust, the folks may one and all get
A peep almost—to Norton Folgate.
Here Mrs. Dobbs, at Number Three,
Invited all her friends to tea;
The Row had never heard before
Such double knocks at any door,
The heads were popp'd from every casement
Counting the comers with amazement.
Some magnified them to eleven,
While others swore there were but seven,
A point that's keenly mooted still;
But certain't is that Mrs. Gill
Mrs. Dobbs at Home.
Told Mrs Grubb she reckon'd ten.
Fat Mrs. Hobbs came second; then
Came Mesdames Jinkins, Dump, and Spriggins,
Tapps, Jacks, Briggs, Hoggins, Crump, and Wiggins
Dizen'd in all her best array,
Our melting hostess said her say;
As the souchong repast proceeded,
And, curtseying and bobbing press'd
By turns each gormandizing guest,
To stuff as heartily as she did.
Dear Mrs. Hoggins, what! your cup
Turn'd in your saucer, bottom up !
Dear me, how soon you've had your fill!
Let me persuade you—one more cup,
'Twill do you good, indeed it will:—
Psha! now, you're only making game,
Or else you tea'd afore you came.
Stop, Mrs. Jenkins, let me stir it,
Before I pour out any more.—
No, ma'am, that's just as I prefer it.—
0 then, I'll make it as before.
Lawk! Mrs. Dump, that toast seems dry,
Do take and eat this middle bit;
The butter's fresh, you may rely,
And a fine price I paid for it.
No doubt, ma'am—what a shame it is 1
And Cambridge too again has riz !
You don't deal now with Mrs. Keats?
No, she's a bad one :—Ma'am, she cheats.
Hush ! Mrs. Crump's her aunt,—good lack I
How lucky, she's just turn'd her back !
Don't spare the toast, ma'am, don't say no,
I've got another round below;
1 give folks plenty when I ax 'em,
For cut and come again's my maxim ;
Nor should I deem it a misfortun,
if you demolishes the whole quart'n.
A charming garden, Mrs. Dobbs,
For drying—Ain't it, Mrs. Hobbs?
But though our water-tub runs o'er,
A heavy wash is such a bore,
Our smalls is all that we hang out.
Well, that's a luxury, no doubt.
La 1 Mrs. Tapps, do only look,
Those grouts can never be mistook;
Well, such a cup! it can't be worse,
See, here's six horses in a hearse;
Comic Recitations.
And there's the church and burying-place.
Plain as the nose upon your face:
Next dish may dissipate your doubts,
And give you less unlucky grouts;
One more you must—the pot has stood,
I warrant me it's strong and good.
There's Mrs. Spriggins in the garden;
What a fine gown ! but begging pardon,
It seems to me amazing dingy—
Do you think her shawl, ma'am's, real Ingy ?
Lord love you ! no,—well, give me clo'es
That's plain and good, ma'am, not like those
Though not so tawdry, Mrs. Jacks,
We do put clean things on our backs.
Meat, ma'am, is scand'lous dear.— Perhaps
You deal, ma'am, still with Mrs. Tapps.
Not I,—we know who's got to pay,
When butchers drive their one-horse sha^.
Well, I pay nine for rumps. At most
We pay but eight for boiled and roast,
And get our rumps from Leadenhall
At seven, taking shins and all.
.Yes, meat is monstrous dear all round;
But dripping brings a groat a pound.
Thus on swift wing the moments flew,
Until 'twas time to say adieu;
When each prepared to waddle back,
Warm'd with a sip of cognac ;
Which was with Mrs. Dobbs a law,
Whene'er the night was cold and raw.
Umbrellas, pattens, lanterns, clogs,
Were sought, away the party jogs,
And silent solitude again
O' er Prospect Row resumed its reign;
Just as the watchman crawl'd in sight,
To cry "Past ten—a cloudy night.
THE STAGE-STRUCK HERO.
A stage-struck hero while at home,
His Zanga oft would roar;
One day the servant-maid did come
And gently op'd the door.
The Stage-struck Hero
 Woman, away! aloud he cries,
 I wish to be alone.
 I beg your pardon, she replies,
 There's one below unknown.
He seized her hand, and that with speed,
 Oh, Isabella, dear!
In tears 1 thou fool!  Not I indeed I
I seldom shed, a tear.
 But what's the meaning of all this!
 I'll tell thee.  Well, sir, well!
 But! be thou plunged in hell's abyss
If it thou e'er shouldst tell I
"You terrify me, sir. Oh, Lord!
What can the secret be!
I'll never tell—upcn- my word!
No, never ! you shall see!
"What is it, sii ? I long to know.
 Know, then, I hate Alonzo !
"I understand—that man l elow;
How dare he trouble me so!
Away .he went, and in good truth
The man began to blame;
In the meantime our spouting youth
Richard the Third became.
 Here will I pitch my tent! he cries,
And on the sofa stretch'd;
The servant-maid again appearM,
For she his breakfast fetch'd.
 Give me a horse—bind up my wounds I*
He, jumping up, did call;
The woman, startled at the sounds,
Let all the tea-things fall 1
In came the man, who having said,
 Buckram, sir, I am;
 Off with his head ! he cries aloud?—
 So much for Buckingham !
The man jump'd back, the woman scream'd,
For both were sore afraid,
A bedlamite our spouter seem'd.
And like Octavian said—
Comic Recitations.
 I cannot sleep ! "And wherefore pray P*1
 The leaves are newly pull'd 1
This said, the woman walk'd away
Until his frenzy cocl'd.
But Buckram gave his bill, and so
He was resolved to stay >
 I'll hug on't, will glut on't !**
 Oh, no, I'd rather, sir, you'd pay Is
 Reptile 1"—the exclamation shocks
Great were the tailor's fears :
 I'll dash thy body o'er the rocks 1
The man pull'd out his shears.
 I'll grapple with thee thus, he cried—
And soon the shears he won;
The tailor was so terrified,
That he thought fit to run.
WAITING FOR DEAD MEN'S SHOES.
When hoarding Marcus on his death-bed lay,
And life's sure tide had nearly ebb'd away;
When all the joys on which his fancy fed,
Of present heaps, and future gains, were fled,
Away his darling gold must stay behind,
He heaved a sigh, and every doit resign'd;
When to the crowd (who daily round him wait
With seeming grief for his approaching fete,
Soothing his mind with hopes of num'rous years,
Though in that hope concentred all their fears)
He thus explain'd what he'd so long delay'd.
The distribution he by will had made:—
 I was an orphan, friendless and distress'd,
No parents' fondness ever rfiade me bless'd,
No anxious mother watch'd me while I slept,
Or fast beside my sickly pillow wept;
No father's voice, whilst youthful faults were rife,
Reproved each vice, and led me into life,;
Each infant want, their early death denied,
Was by the hand of Charity supplied;
Rough was the prospect which before me lay.
But industry soon clear'd the thorny way;
I mark'd the road which men for riches took,
Nor once the ever-pleasing path forsook.
IVaiting jor Dead. Men s Shoes.
And, whilst the anxious journey I endured,
What labour brought, frugality secured.
Fortune was kind; since, then, her smiles I share,
To rear each helpless orphan be my care,
For which I have five thousand pounds bestow'd—
Oh may it ease misfortune's heavy load!
 Through life what num'rous wretches I've belicid,
Imploring bitter alms, by want impell'd,
Still doom'd to ask, yet asking, are denied.
The smallest pittance from the hoards of pile's;
Spurn'd from the threshold where the giddy haste,
Where riot triumphs 'midst abundant waste;
Where wild profusion, in one thoughtless night,
On scenes that scarce a glimpse of joy excite,
Scatters around, to murder health and rest,
Sums that would make a thousand wretches blest.
From meagre want to shield the helpless poor,
I've given (so may they smile) five thousand more.
"Heaven knows that age, with iron hand, hath spread
Infirmities unnumber'd o'er my head;
My deafen'd ear forewarn'd me of decay,
My darken'd eye scarce caught the beam of day;
I th-erefore have (such sorrows to assuage,
And smooth the pillow of defenceless age)
Within my will an equal sum assign'd,
To raise a dwelling for the deaf and blind.
 This have I done, and now, my friends, for you
A recompense remains, so justly due,
For kindly have you watch'd my life's decline,
Neglecting rest to add an hour to mine;
You hear what sums to charity I've given,
And charity secures the smiles of Heaven ;
Yes, all concern'd to help the needy crowd,
May claim reward, and have the claim allow'd:
"I've therefore left you"—here a cough awhile
Obstructs his utt'ranee, whilst the inward smile
Of expectation gladden'd ev'ry one—
 I've left you all—Trustees to see it done.
Moral.
Who anxious waits for dead men's shoes,
Oft gets a pair—he cannot use.
Comic Recitations.
AN EVENING'S AMUSEMENT IN THE COUNTRY,
George Grossmith.
[A very popular lecturer and entertainer. Still living.]
The little town of Sandybank is described in the local handbook ai
one of the most  flourishing and salubrious on the southern coast
It is five miles only from the bounceable city of Crowfield, and it is
its special delight to show the Crowfieldites that it is fully equal to
them in public spirit. Once, when Crowfield indulged in "Private
Theatricals, under the d stinguished patronage of the High Sheriff,
Sandybank rushed into  Penny Readings, under the presidency of
their local chi'ef, who recited the last half-yearly report of the Acci-
dental Death Insurance Company, of which he happened, by a
singular coincidence, to be the district agent. On another occasion,
when Crowfield was honoured by a visit from the author of  Pick-
wick, Sandybank secured the services of Mr. Randolph Rowdy,
who read his own marvellous production, entitled "The Shadow of
the Night Light; or, the Jug on the Wall, which would have
been doubtless very effective, only half the audience couldn't hear it,
and the other half did not understand it. We, ourselves, were once
invited to lecture in this enterprising little town by the Secretary of
the Mutual Improvement Society, who obligingly assured us that
he was not particular as to the time selected, except that we must
 avoid Advent, Lent, and Passion Week, and fix upon the market-
day and a moonlight night. When we suggested that, for a trifling
consideration, we were prepared to hold forth on  The World
behind the Footlights, we were asked if "we had any experiments,
if they were of an explosive character, and if the cost of them would
be included in the sum named?
On one memorable occasion the walls of Sandybank announced
that the directors of the Institute, regardless of cost (about 30s., we
believe), had secured the services of Mr. Querulous Quaver, the
eminent composer and song-writer, to lecture on the  Street Ballad
Music of England. The eventful evening arrived, and when Mr. Q.
presented himself at the Town-hall an hour before the time of com-
mencement, to superintend the platform arrangements, he found the
audience already assembled. They had little to do at Sandybank,
and they went early. But although the room was full, the platiorm
was empty. There was the conventional shaky table, and the in«
evi table glass of water, which always spills over whenever the
lecturer betrays emotion. But there was no pianofor'e! Mr. Quaver
rushed into the committee-room in frantic despair, exclaiming
"Where's the instrument? "The instrument! exclaimed the
Rev. President. "What instrument? inquired the Vice-ditto (a
member of the Society of Friends).  My dear sir, said the Secre-
tary, "you did not say anything in your lettei about any instru-
An Evening s Amusement in the Country. 171
ment.  Good heavens! "rejoined Mr. Q.,  I mean the musical
instrument. I am nothing if not musical, and how can I be musical
without a pianoforte ? There was consternation depicted on the
countenances of the assembled committee. Not one pf them knew
where to put his hands upon a musical instrument. One of them
thought that Mrs. Pipkin had got one, but he was instantly re.
minded that it had been turned into a child's cot long ago, and
doubtless the young Pipkins had gone to bed upon the wires.
There was cne at the Red Lion, but the landlord had taken offence
and withdrawn his subscription from the soc'ptv (5s. per annum),
because they did not engage his public room for the lectures; so his
pianoforte was out of the question. Suddenly one of the committee
remembered that when he was apprenticed to Mr. Broadcloth, the
local tailor, there was a square piano in the cutting-room, which
had been used as a shop-board, till the legs wouldn't stand it any
longer, and then it was put aside. "Is it likely to be at all in tune?
inquired Mr. Q.. "Must be, was the reply, "for it has not been
touched for years. The prospect was not assuring, but time was
up, and something must be done! Already had commenced those
 manifestations of impatience so dear to the juvenile portion of the
audience, who would sooner have a  row than a  lecture at any
time. So away went four of the committee as a deputation, to
request the loan of Mr. Broadcloth's piano. Mr. B. was out. Had
gone to the Bull and Bullfinch (so said Mrs. B.) "to have his
usuals. And here, in the smoky, sandy parlour of the establish-
ment, they found Mr. B. enveloped in the fumes of tobacco, and
explaining to the sexton of the parish  how Washington might
have been took in three days by the Confederates, illustrating his
argument by means of a pictorial chart, sketched upon the flat
surface of the table by the skilful forefinger of Mr. B., dipped at
intervals into fourpenny beer. When Mr. B. found that a public
request was being made of him, by deputation, his dignity rose with
the occasion. "Gen'l'men, he said, "I've always been ready with
my mite (hie) in support of the Institute, waving his pipe in a
patronizing manner,  and I hope I never may. This was incon-
elusive, and the secretary repeated his request.  Exactly so. I
approve of Mechanics' Institutes (hie) on principle. Secretary,
again impatient, suggests that the people are waiting.  I b'lieve
they do a deal of good (hie), by keeping people away from public-
houses (puff), and from givin' way to drinking and smoking! (hie);
and if I can serve the Institute by lending them my old piano, they
shall have her. Armed with this authority, the deputation hurried
back to Mr. Broadcloth's residence, rescued the instrument from its
bed of rags and wax-ends, and the piano, raised upon the shoulders
of the four committee-men, and covered with green baize, was borne
through the area of the Town-hall to the platform. The whole
thing looked so like a funeral procession, that the audience were
somewhat awe-stricken at first; but this feeling soon gave way to a
17 2
Comic Recitations.
hearty roar when they saw the old-fashioned square being propped
up on three chairs and a desk turned up sideways. It is needless to
add that when Mr. Quaver touched the wretched piano, he found
that such of the notes as spoke at all, emitted precisely the same
sound, while the keys had acquired a habit of declining to get up,
without being pulled up. Under these circumstances, the instru-
ment was at once abandoned, and nothing more was heard of it till
the close of the lecture, when, from a sense of courtesy towards
Mr. Broadcloth, a vote of thanks was proposed, seconded, and
carried unanimously, "for the use of the pianofori '*
ADVICE TO YOUNG WOMEN.
Dr. John Wolcot.
Young women ! don't be fond of killing
Too well I know your heart's unwilling
To hide beneath the veil a charm;
Too pleased a sparkling eye to roll,
And with a neck to thrill the soul
Of every swain with love's alarm s
Yet, yet, if prudence be not near,
Its snow may melt into a tear.
The dimple smile and pouting lip,
Where little cupids nectar sip,
Are very pretty lures I own ;
But oh ! if prudence be not nigh,
Those lips where all the cupids lie
May give a passage to a groan.
A rose, in all the pride of bloom,
Flinging around her rich perfume;
Her form to public notice pushing,
Amid the summer's golden glow,
Peep'd on a strawberry below,
Beneath a leaf in secret blushing.
 Miss Strawberry, exclaimed the Rose,
 What's beauty that no mortal knows ?
What is a charm, if never seen ?
You really are a pretty creature:
Then wherefore hide each blooming feature?
Come up and show your modest mien.
Modern Logic.
1
 Miss Rose, the Strawberry replied,
 I never did possess a pride
That wish'd to dash the public eye;
Indeed, 1 own that I'm afraid;
I think there's safety in the shade;
Ambition causes many a sigh.
 Go, simple child, the Rose rejoin'd ;
 See how I wanton in the wind:
I feel no danger's dread alarms:
And then observe the God of day,
How amorous with his golden ray
To pay his visits to my charms !
No sooner said, but with a scream
She started from her favourite theme.
A clown had on her fix'd his pat!
In vain she screech'd—Hob did but smile;
Rubb'd with her leaves his nose awhile,
Then bluntly stuck her in his hat.
MODERN LOGIC; OR, THE CHESTNUT HORSE.
An Eton stripling, training for the law,
A dunce at syntax, but a dab at taw,
One happy Christmas, laid upon the shelf
His cap, his gown, and store of learned pelf,
"With all the deathless bards of Greece and Rome,
To spend a fortnight at his uncle's home.
Arrived, and pass'd the usual  How-d'ye-do's,
Inquiries of old friends, and college news,
"Well, Tom—the road, what saw you worth discerning,
And how goes study, boy—what is't you're learning ?
 Oh, logic, sir,—but not die worn-out rules
Of Locke and Bacon—antiquated fools!
'Tis wit and wranglers' logic—thus, d'ye see,
I'll prove to you as clear as A, B, C,
That an eel-pie's a pigeon; to deny it,
Were to swear black's white."—"Indeed!"— Let's tiy it
An eel-pie, is a pie of fish."— Well—agreed.
 A fish pie may be a Jack-pie."— Proceed.
"A Jack-pie must be a John-pie—Thus, 'tis done,
For every John-pie is pi-ge-on!
 Bravo! Sir Peter cries,  Logic for ever 1
It beats my grandmother—and she was clever-
Comic Recitations.
But zounds, my boy—it surely would be hard
That wit and learning should have no reward!
To-morrow, for a stroll, the park we'll cross,
And then I'll give you 1"—What ?"— My chestnut horse.
 A horse! cries Tom,  blood, pedigree, and paces,
Oh, what a dash I'll cut at Epsom races!
He went to bed and wept for downright sorrow
To think the night must pass before the morrow;
Dream'd of his boots, his cap, his spurs, and leather breeches,
Of leaping five-barr d gates, and crossing ditches
Left his warm bed an hour before the lark,
Dragg'd his old uncle fasting through the park.
Each craggy hill and dale in vain they cross,
To find out something like a chestnut horse 5
But no such auimal the meadows cropp'd.
At length, beneath a tree, Sir Peter stopp'd,
Took a bough—shook it—and down fell
A fine horse-chestnut in its prickly shell.
 There, Tom—take that."— Well, sir, and what beside?
 Why, since you're booted—saddle it and ride!
"Ride what? A chestnut!"—"Ay, come, get across,
I tell you, Tom, the chestnut is a horse,
And all the horse you'll get—for I can show
As clear as sunshine that 'tis really so—
Not by the musty, fusty, worn-out rules
Of Locke and Bacon, addle-headed fools!
All Logic but the wranglers' I disown,
And stick to one sound argument—your own.
Since you have proved to me, I don't deny
That a pie-John is the same as a John-pie !
What follows, then, but as a thing of course,
That a horse-chestnut is a chestnut horse?
THE FARMER'S WIFE AND THE GASCON.
Horace Smith.
At Neufchatel, in France, where they prepare
Cheeses that set us longing to be mites,
There dwelt a farmer's wife, famed for her rare
Skill in these small quadrangular delights.
Where they were made, they sold for the immense
Price of three sous a-piece:
But as salt water made their charms increase,
In England the fix'd rate was eighteenpence.
The Farmer s Wife and the Gascon
*75
1 his damsel had to help her in the farm,
To milk her cows and feed her hogs,
A Gascon peasant, with a sturdy arm
For digging ot for carrying logs;
But in his noddle weak as any baby,
In fact, a gaby,
And such a glutton, when you came to feed him,
That Wantley's dragon, who "ate barns and churches..
As if they were geese and turkeys,
(Vide the ballad) scarcely could exceed him.
One morn she had prepared a monstrous bowl
Of cream like nectar,
And wouldn't go to church (good careful soul!)
Till she had left it safe with a protector;
So she gave strict injunctions to the Gascon,,
To watch it while his mistress was to mass gone.
Watch it he did—he never took his eyes off,
But lick'd his upper, then his under lip,
And doubled up his fist to drive the flies off,
Begrudging them the smallest sip,
Which if they got,
Like my Lord Salisbury, he heaved a sigh,
And cried,  O happy, happy fly,
How I do envy you your lot!
Each moment did his appetite grow stronger;
His bowels yearn'd;
At length he could not bear it any longer,
But on all sides his looks he turn'd,
And finding that the coast was clear, he quaffd
The whole up at a draught.
Scudding from church, the farmer'S\wife
Flew to the dairy;
But stood aghast, and could not, for her life,
One sentence mutter,
Until she summon'd breath enough to utter
"Holy St. Mary!
And shortly, with a face of scarlet,
The vixen (for she was a vixen) flew
Upon the varlet,
Asking the when, and where, and how, and win.
Had gulp'd her cream, nor left an atom;
To which he gave not separate replies,
But with a look of excellent digestion
One answer made to every question,
"The flies!
Comic Recitations.
"The flies, you rpgue!—the flies, you guttling dog!
Behold, your whiskers still are cover'd thickly;
Thief—liar—villain—gormandizer—hog !
I'll make you tell another story quickly.
So out she bounced, and brought, with loud alarms,
Two stout gens-d'armes.
Who bore him to the judge—a little prig,
With angry bottle-nose,
Like a red cabbage rose,
While lots of whits ones flourish'd on his wig.
Looking at once both stern and wise,
He turn'd to the delinquent,
And 'gan to question him and catechize
As to which way the drink went r
Still the same dogged answers rise,
"The flies, my Lord—the flies, the flies !
 Psha ! quoth the judge, half peevish and half pompom
 Why, you're non compos.
You should have watch'd the bowl, as she desired,
And kill'd the flies, you stupid clown.
"What! is it lawful thm, the dolt inquired,
 To kill the flies in this here town ?
 You silly ass—a pretty question this !
Lawful, you booby! to be sure it is.
You've my authority, where'er you meet 'em,
To kill the rogues, and, if you like it, eat 'em.
 Zooks! cried the rustic,  I'm right glad to hear it;
Constable, catch that thief; may I go hang,
If yonder blue-bottle (I know his Lee)
Isn't the very leader of the gang
That stole the cream ;—let me come near it 1
This said, he started from his place,
And aiming one of h>s sledge-hammer blows
At a large fly upon the judge's nose,
The luckless blue-bottle he smash'd,
And gratified a double grudge;
For the same catapult completely smash'd
The bottle-nose belonging to the judge.
BROTHER JONATHAN IN THE VATICAN.
The following is a report of a conversation held a short time ago
between the writer and an American in the  Hall of Bigae, in
the Vatican, in front of the SardanapH*.* .
Helps to Read.
'77
Yankee, loq.—"I opine as there's a deal o' want o' the reel
Roman nose among them statuaries,—I do. What do you think,
stranger, as makes a reel, downright, upstanding, never-winking
sart of a facial frontispiece ?
"Why, I replied, "such a one as, for instance, one generally
sees given to Julius Csesar.
Yankee.— Wall, that is, I opine, an everlasting knuckleduster.
There's a deal in a face. Slip your eye down there on that bust
of the young Augustus—(along theere, I'm a indicating, where the
sublimely obscure's almost merged into eternal thick darkness)—
and I guess you'll find a surprisin fistful o' caution, as 'ull
whip a car-load o' blue foxes into million-power asphyxia. I
know somethin about countenances—I do! Wall! You think
Demosthenes was a kind of a sneezin porkypine of an orator.
Why, squashed pumpkin-Die! but we've had an orator as
'ud talk the sand from under his foot-falls, at a matter o'
twenty miles a distant. I'm aliudin to Clay—I am. Skunks,
and molasses 1 but I'm eternal nigh to bein sick in this here
Vatican, when I locate them two names in the same hemisphere.
They brag a deal o' the old grit. But, what I say is«—and what
the citizens of my country says—'old grit 'ull do for Britishers;'
and I would not give a busted Kentuck rifle for the bilin. But,
broken oystershells! and sneezing thunder!! I says, 'young grit
for young grit.' And what's more, I can say to them as likes it,
as they'd a made an almighty, colossal, peak-o'-Teneriffe, thousand-
power mistake, if they'd a fed that theere young Herc'les (pointing
to the statue of him) on skim-milk and baldcoots and 'tatur-
parings. And America aint a many chalks from being a teetotal,
thunder-weavin, airthquake-crimpin Herc'les, as 'ull skin and flay
into saffron-colour hysterics all them as come a creepin like snakes
and a meddlin with her. Wall! I opine Caesar scrat his head
with one finger, and Lincoln can comb a painter's (panther's) tail
with his left hand. Surprisin'! Wail!! [Exeunt.]
HELPS TO READ.
J. Britton.
Where gently swinging o'er the gate,
The royal lion hugs his chain,
Deck'd in a tawny hide and wig,
(Instead of mane)
As frizzled and as big
As that which clothes the wisest judge's pate.
The village club, inspired by beer-
Had met, the  Chronicle  to hear,
178
Comic Recitations.
Which, weekly, to the list'ning crowd,
Aaron, their clerk, proclaim'd aloud.
While talking over state affairs,
Each fault in politics discerning,
And praising Aaron's wondrous learning,
A hawker came to vend his wares;
The well-pack'd box his aged shoulders prest,
And his rough beard descended to his breast.
 Veil, shentelmen, vat you vant to puy •
Goot razors, knives, vate'er you choose;
Vatchkeys, or puckles for de shoes;
Or do you stand in need
Of spectacles, vich help to read ?
 Do you sell helps to read ? Hodge cries,
And yawns and rubs his drowsy eyes.
 Hand me a pair—at least I'll try;
Who knows but when the old man's dead,
I»may be clerk in Aaron's stead.
So said, he fix'd them on his snout,
And stared, and wink'd, and look'd about,
But all in vain.
 Perhaps the saight's too old, the Pedlar cried,
 Shir ! try another pair—
Dese, shir, will shute you to a hair.
Again the bumpkin tried;
His eyes ran o'er the page again,
But all was dark and puzzling as before.
 Veil, shir, cried Moses,  can you now see petter ?
u Not I, quoth Hodge, with angry roar,
 I cannot tell a letter.
Then madly stamp'd and raved,
Swearing he'd have the cheating Hebrew staved;
He'd dock his chin—he'd mow his grisly beard.
 Vhy, shir, cried Moses, striving to be heard,
 Perhaps you cannot read? and if'tis so,
Noting vill help you out, you know;
De spectacles are very goot inteed,
But den perhaps you never vent to school ?
 What! growl'd the clown, with fiery eye
And reddened face, where anger you might see,
 D'ye take me for a fool ?—
If I could say my A, B, C,
What need have I
For any Helps to Read P*
*79
THE CITY "FAST MAN.
Mr. Faddle is a distinguished member of the Stock Exchange,
tnd decidedly one of the  fastest men  in the City. He makes his
appearance in the City at about half-past eleven everyday; strolls
about the neighbourhood of the Bank, with his hands in the pockets
of his coat-tails; takes a sandwich at the A jction Mart, or oysters in
Finch-lane; and goes away about three, with the idea that he has
been very busy. I first met him at the Hanover-square Rooms.
His dress was rather peculiar; and at first glance I said to myself,
 This is no common man; and it is rather singular that the more
you knew of him, the more you became confirmed in that opinion.
His coat was very long in the waist, with singularly capacious
sleeves; his neckcloth very narrow; and his whiskers a triumph of
art in the curling line. His waistcoat was considerably larger
than any you ever saw, except on an ostler; his shirt was em-
broidered and very transparent, with some pink substance under-
neath, that made one fancy he had recently been using the flesh-
brush very vigorously. His trousers were tight about the legs; and
his boots very tight about the feet. The first remark he made was
on a young lady, who he said was  a good stepper. He next
stated that he had been at the  Corner all day; and on my
inquiring where that was, he said with a contemptuous look,
"Tattersall's, to be sure! He then told me that Lord Levant's
 Wide Awake  was a likely horse fbr the Leger; and said, if I was
doing anything on it, I had better not lay out my money on Captain
Spavin's "Flare Up. His next inquiry was if I knew Tom
Spraggs? and upon my answering in the negative, he ejaculated
quite loud, "Don't he drive cattle, that's all? I fancied at first
that Mr. Spraggs might be a drover, but abandoned the idea in
favour of its being some technical term I did not understand.
Here the conversation flagged, and to resuscitate it I made a remark
on Mr. Faddle's coat-studs, and asked what they were made of?
 Teeth, he said. "Teeth! I could not help exclaiming; "what
tectL ?  Why, foxes' teeth, to be sure, he said, turning away
with an air of infinite disgust, and never spoke tc me again.
I watched him at supper, and found he did not wait on wher
people much, but took great care of himself. I heard him offer to
get a spaniel of some extraordinary "breed fbr a young lady; but he
never thought of asking her if she would take anything, though he
was eating all the while himself. His appetite, in fact, was rather
extensive. He partook largely of the substantiate, then addressed
himself to the plovers' eggs and lobster salads, and finished with a
deep tankard of beer, which he called  malt. Later in the even-
ing I thought a strong odour of tobacco pervaded the hall, and on
going out I found the  fast man  with a  weed in his off-cheek,
N 2
i8o
Comic Recitations.
as lie elegantly expressed it, just preparing to stait, His dog-cart
was at the door, he jumped in, the small tiger (quite a portable
boy) climbed up behind, Mr. Faddle blew a few loud notes with
his post-horn} and I saw him no more.—Comic Almanac.
THE CASE ALTERED.
Hodge held a farm, and smiled content,
While one year paid another's rent j
But if he ran the least behind,
Vexa*ion stung his anxious mind :
For not an hour would landlord stay,
But seize the very quarter-day !
That cheap the market! scant the grain!
Though urged with truth, was urged in vain!
The same to him if false or true!
For rent must come, when rent was due!
Yet the same landlord's cows and steeds
Broke Hodge's fence, and cropp'd his meads:
In hunting, that same landlord's hounds,
See 1 how they spread his new-sown grounds;
Dog, horse, and man, alike o'erjoyM,
"While half the rising crop's destroy'd :
Yet tamely was the loss sustain'd—
'Tis said the suff'rer once complain'd;
The squire laugh'd loudly while he spoke,
And paid the bumpkin with a joke 1
But luckless still poor Hodge's fate,
His worship's bull had forced a gate;
And gored his cow, the last and best;
By sickness he had lost the rest.
Hodge felt at heart resentment strong;
The heart will feel that suffers long:
A thought that instant took his head,
And thus, within himself, he said :
 If Hodge for once don't fling the squire,
The village post him for a liar !
He said! across his shoulder throws
His fork, and to his landlord goes.
 I come, an' please ye, to unfold
What, soon or late, you must be told;
My bull (a creature tame till now),
My bull has gored your worship's cow 1
'Tis known what shifts I make to live,
Peihaps your honour may forgive.
The Razor-Seller.
 F-irgive! the squire replied, and swore,
 I'ray cant to me, forgive! no more;
The law my damage shall decide,
And, know, that I'll be satisfied."—
 Think, sir, I'm poor, poor as a rat
 Think, I'm a justice', think of that."—-
Hodge bow'd again, and scratch'd his head,
And recollecting, archly said,
'"Sir! I'm so struck, when here before ye,
I fear I've blunder'd in my story;
Fore George ! but I'll not blunder now;
Yours was the bull, sir, mine the cow.
His worship found his rage subside,
And with calm accent thus replied:
 I'll think upon your case to-night,
But, I perceive, 'tis alter'd quite !
Hodge shrugg'd, and made another bow,
 And, please you, where's the justice now ?
THE RAZOR-SELLER.
Dr. John Wolcot.
A fellow in a market-town,
Most musical cried  Razors, up and down,
And offered twelve for eighteen-pence;
Which certainly seem'd wondrous cheap,
And for the money quite a heap,
As every man should buy, with cash and sense.
A country bumpkin the great offer heard;
Poor Hodge! who sufferM by a thick black beard,
That seem'd a shoebrush stuck beneath his nose;
With cheerfulness the eighteenpence he paid,
And proudly to himself, in whispers, said,
"The rascal stole the razors, I suppose !
 No matter if the fellow be a knave,
Provided that the razors shave:
It sartiiily will be a monstrous pffzt.
So, home the clown, with his good fortune went,
Smiling, in heart and soul content,
And quickly soap'd himself to ears and eyes.
Being well lather'd from a dish or tub,
Hodge now began with grinning pain to grub,
Comic Recitations.
Just like a hedger cutting furze:
'Twas a vile razor !-j*-then the rest he tried —
All were impostors— Ah ! Hodge sigh'd,
 I wish my eighteenpence were in my purse,
In vain to'chase his beard, and bring the graces,
He cut, and dug, and winced, and stamp'd, and swore,
Brought blood, and danced, reviled, and made wry faces;
And cursed each razor's body o'er and o'er I
His muzzle form'd of opposition stuff,
Firm as a Foxite, would not lose its ruff;
So kept it—laughing at the steel and suds:
Hodge, in a passion, stretch'd his angry jaws,
Vowing the direst vengeance, with clench'd claws,
On the vile cheat that sold the goods.
 Razors! a base confounded dog,
Not fit to scrape a hog 1
Hodge sought the fellow—found him, and begun—
 Perhaps, Master Razor-rogue, to you 'tis fun,
That people flay themselves out of their lives;
You rascal 1 for an hour have I been grubbing,
Giving my whiskers here a scrubbing,
With razors just like oyster-knives.
Sirrah, I tell you, you're a knave,
To cry up razors that can't shave.
"Friend, quoth the razor-man, "I'm no knave;
As for the razors you have bought,
Upon my word, I never thought
That they would shave.
"Not think they'd shave! quoth Hodge, with wondering
eyes,
And voice not much unlike an Indian yell; ■
*' What were they made for then, you dog? he cries.
 Marie 1 quoth the fellow, with a smile—"to sell.
'I HE TOE.
Anonymous.
Once on a time—no matter when—
Whether of recent date, or long ago,—
A potentate, the pride of British men,
Felt, direful twinges in his royal toe;
The Toe.
And quick consulted his physicians
Upon the cause of the complaint,
Which certainly was bad enough to vex a saint,
Or make a ladv faint.
Ay, or a parson swear, if giv'n to wrathful ebullitions,
Not that I mean to say, this truly great
And all-accomplish'd potentate
Did ever swear—far be it from my tongue
To do such mildness and such virtue wrong;
Oh, no ! he merely said in accents mild,
(Nay, some assert that, while he spoke, he smiled,)
So very patiently he bore the pain,
 Dear Doctor 1 am very ill,
None ever suffered so, I do believe;
My toe! my toe!—exert your utmost skill,
And find out something that will quick relieve,
For, oh ! the gout has seized my toe again.
The doctor, as in duty bound, look'd sad,
And stooping low,
Peep'd at the toe,
Then felt the pulse of his right royal master :
 Indeed, said he, "your majesty is bad,
And pain, we know, will drive a wise man mad.
But your complaint is not the gout."—
 Indeed!"— Oh! no ; I've found it out,
And speedily I will apply a plaster.
Meanwhile, with your permission,
I'll show the cause of all yotir pain,
And trust it never can occur again,
If you'll be guided by your old physician.
Your shoes have been too tight—too tight by half,
So that you've quite compress'd your royal toes,
And giv'n a wrong direction
To the corneous substance call'd the nail;
Now, as your toes support so large a calf,
'Tis evident upon reflection,
That the corneous substance inward grows,
And must be rooted out, or else we fail—
The fact is, sire!
That men of goodly size and certain ages
Must not aspire
To pass for youths in ladies' eyes,—
It ne'er will do—therefore, be wise,
And leave such dandy tricks to boys and pages.
184
Comic Recitations.
THE HISTORICAL BUTCHER.
The late eminent actor, Mr. Mathews, father of the not less ce1e«
brated Charles Mathews, who has amused the public for so many
years, used, in one of his  At Homes  to tell a story of a butcher
he dealt with, and who came to be known throughout the town as
 The Historical Butcher.
This man was very ostentatious of his affected knowledge of the
 History of England, a book he was constantly reading from
morning to night, and which he so much admired that he never
served a customer but he related a part of the subject he had been
reading in the course of the day. You'll suppose a customer to be
standing there, and a friend seated with him behind the counter
tiere, which will account for the following curious jumble:—
 What d'ye buy, what d'ye buy—well, how are you ? How do
you do ? I am wery glad to see you; how are all the family ? this
is wery kind to call in this here way. I've been reading as usual
all this here blessed morning that favourite book of mine, Hume's
History in England ; what a book that are is ! how hinstructive
and hentertaining, Hume's History in England is—10d. a pound,
ma'am. I've been reading the 4th Wolum, it's a wery thick un,
wery thick indeed—make nice soup, ma'am. Queen Mary—make
nice Scotch collops, ma'am. Sir Isaac Newton was a great man,
he knew all about the pole-axe of the jixed stars, and how long it
would take a man to go in a taxed cart to the moon. Queen
Elizabeth went to St. Paul's on a pillion—that saddle of mutton's
just your weight, ma'am. I've been reading, dear me—I've been
reading King Charles; you've heard of him, ha'nt you? hid himself
in St. James's-park ever since; no, it warn't St. James's-park, war
it ? however, I know it was in some park ; but the wicked rascals
caught him and cut off his head—make a capital hash, with parsley
garnish, ma'am. Cardinal Wulsey's father was a butcher, so am I;
there's a curious coincidence, an't it ? and Henry the Eighth married
Queen Elizabeth; no, he didn't though, for she war his mother;
no, that couldn't be—she warn't his mother—but she war seme
relation. King Henry the Eighth—that's a nice fat bit, ma'am;
take it wi' you. This was the learned oration that issued from
this Socrates of the shambles, and drew a pretty numerous audience
round his shop.
i8 5
THE BACHELOR AND THE BRIDE.
Anonymous.
Frank Forethought was a very careful fellow.
In all his actions circumspect and wise;
Never quite fuddled, very seldom mellow,
Nor e'er for love heaved unavailing sighs;
For glances which all other hearts could gain,
On him bestowM, were still bestowed in vain.
And let not lovesick youths, with upcast eyes,
Nor reeling sots, or let such only blame;
To those who liberty and reason prize,
To be in love or liquor is the same:
Such follies we in either case commit,
As are for fools or madmen only fit.
Frank, though near forty, had (the observation
I made just now) both love and wine defied,
When, all at once, he felt a strange sensation—
A sort of throbbing at his larboard side,
(As sailors term it,) with a sudden flush,
As if the blood forth from his frame would rush.
His pulse, before so temperate, now grew quick,
And sighs (unknown before) he scarce could smother.
So as he felt inclining to be sick
He took a dram, another, and another:
This plan, though oft the best, as matters stood.
In his dilemma, did more harm than good.
What, in the sufferer, caused this state alarming
Scarce need I say; what but a woman could ?
And this was young and fair, resolved on charming;
And though he long her blandishments withstood,
Oft on her eyes incautious would he gaze,
Until at last they set him in a blaze.
Those eyes so fatal were to all beholders,
Like gas, at once could light and heat impart:
I'd have a sere of hazels at my shoulders,
Rather than two such hazels at my heart.
When glowing glances of fond feelings tell us,
How thrills but stop, I mustn't make spouse jealous.
i8 6
Comic Recitations.
So to proceed, our swain was like a tree,
Which sapless grown is easier made to fiame;
This fair assailant plied most dexterously
Her smiles and wiles, till quite secured her aim;
And these attacks, in ardour unabated,
Had brought him to the state before related.
He thought of nought but her who'd caused his pain
Sleeping or waking, and the charm grew stronger;
Therefore resolved, since struggling was in vain,
To marry—and to think of her no longer:
She, press'd to name the day, could scarcely speak,
But blushing, sighing, murmurM  Sunday week.
Frank had a mother, whom he much respected,
(For she'd a fortune at her own disposal:)
And much he fear'd that if by her detected
In marriage project, hopes of wealth would close all,
Since she had vov/d, if he inclined to wed,
To lead a second husband to her bed.
And it so chanced there was a strolling player
To whom she seem'd a willing ear to lend:
Frank knew not this—and yet with secret care
Procured a ring, a licence, and a friend
Who would act as father to his destined bride,
And keep the secret from the world beside.
The time arrived, and Forethought, with his friend,
Might snugly station'd in the porch be seen,
Expecting that the bride would thither bend
Her course; she came not—with impatience keen
The kind companion would no longer stay,
But went to know the cause of this delay.
I once was angling, and with great delight
Hook'd several fish, felt of my skill much vanity,
But when I couldn't get another bite,
Began to feel a vast deal of humanity;
And 'gainst the barbarous sport my anger rising,
Put up and went away philosophizing.
In this state were Frank's feelings: he began
To think 'twould prove a fortunate miscarriage,
And that for him, perhaps, the wisest plan
Was to go home, and think no more of marriage.
But while these thoughts in his suspense oppress*d him
A man of smart appearance thus address'd him
Going to a Public Dinner. 187
*' Sir, I came here hoping to wed in private—
I wish'd to keep some persons in the dark,
So meant, lest they the knowledge should arrive at,
To take my mate from no one but the clerk:
Since he refuses, I make free to ask,
If you in kindness will perform the task.
But for a few short moments-'twill detain you—
The minister and bride are waiting there.
Says Frank,  By a refusal I'll not pain you,
Though 'pon my word this is a strange affair:
I meant to take a wife myself to-day!
And never dreamt of giving one away!
The clergyman look'd grave—the knot was tied—
The fees were paid; his smiles were then benign:
With curious eye our hero viewM the bride,
But still she hid her countenance divine;
And e'en her natural tones contrived to smother;
At length he caught a glimpse, and—'twas his mother !!
The rest is plain—she who had Frank decoy'd,
Was sister to this fortune-hunting swain:
Who had her fascinating arts employ'd,
To banish any scruples might remain,
Her son respecting, in the matron's mind,
By proving him to wedlock's joys inclined-
Now-all you single gentlemen of forty,.
Take warning by Frank Forethought's piteous case;
How happy I should this, my tale, have taught ye,
By his example to avoid disgrace.
Moist spring, and glowing summer, having past
Do not in autumn catch love's plague at last.
GOING TO A PUBLIC DINNER.
(Adaptedfor Recitation.)
J. A. Hard wick.
Mr. Skinner, a respectable middle-aged gentleman, but of a
somewhat convivial turn, was very fond of attending public dinners,
whether at the Freemasons' Hall, or at a smaller hostelry, where, as
he said, he only went  to support the chair ! Mrs. Skinner was
of a Caudle-like turn of mind, and was in the habit of cautioning
her lord and—no 1 not exactly, her master, by a few words at part-
iS8
Comic Recitations.
ing; such as "Now mind, dear, don't get worse for the wine, ami
 Pray take care of your purse, and  Pray don't stop after the
dinner; to all of which Mr. S. would promise to be particularly
attentive, although he would venture upon a mild remonstrance:—
(This is the highly respectable, staid, middle-aged, prudent Mr.
Skinner, before going to the dinner.)
 Really, Mrs. Skinner, these remarks are entirely uncalled-for. 1
should imagine, Mrs. S., that by this time you were fully aware of
my strength of mind, and firmness of resolution. Charity—blessed
charity, Mrs. S., prompts me to go; but rest assured, I shall not
give more than what is necessary to maintain the integrity of my
name. I never allow my heart to get the better of my head, Mrs.
Skinner. If I go to a public dinner, it's as much a matter of busi-
ness as pleasure; I never over-do it. Prudence, Mrs. S., prudence
is my watchword and motto. I'm not to be betrayed into over-
indulgence, nor late hours; oh, dear, no ! other men may have
these failings, but I have not. My position in society, and well-
known respectability, is a sufficient guarantee against anything of
that kind. I'm proud—Caroline—proud, I may say, of my in-
flexible determination; when I have once made up my mind,
nothing can alter or influence me; I wouldn't deviate from my
fixed purpose, not even for my own brother, Mrs. S.; you under-
value my strength of mind, and insult me, by supposing me—me,
Ebenezer Skinner, capable of such vacillation and impropriety.
What do you say ?—' Think of the Last time.' Now, Caroline, you
know the last time, as I told you, I was taken suddenly ill, and was
sent to the hospital in a cab, where they detained me two or three
hours; you know I was perfectly sober when I arrived at home.
What do you say.' • That was owing to the stomach-pump.' Mrs.
Skinner, may you niver be suddenly indisposed at a party. 'The
time before that, too, I didn't come home till morning ?' That's too
bad, Caroline; you know perfectly well, the policeman who brought
me home told you, as I did myself, that the crowd at the fire was
so great I couldn't get through it, and was forced, against my will,
into a tavern opposite, where the fumes of the liquors the firemen
yank overpowered my finely-strung nerves. But I dare say nothing
of that kind will occur to-night, and you may rely upon it, that I
shall be guilty of no approach to inebriation—it's what 1 detest
and abhor. Of course I must—like others—respond to the usual
loyal toasts; but beyond that, Mrs. S., don't "think, tor a moment,
I shall go. In fact, the truth is, I would rather not go at all:
but you see, I am one of the stewards, and duty—religious duty—
Caroline, towards the truly excellent objects of the society, calls
upon me, in the sacred names of benevolence and humanity, to
contribute my humble aid to the good cause, and to partake of
the annual dinner; and I cannot, without self-reproach, neglect it;
but, upon the word of a man, who's valued possession is his
strength of mind, and power to resist temptation, / shall be at hmnt
Going to a Public Dinner.
by twelve o'clock. You smile—why so?—you know my determina-
tion of character, Mrs. S., why doubt me? Mind, I don't say it
may not be five minutes after twelve, but not later. By-the-bye,
I might as well take a key, and then neither you nor the servant
need wait up. You say, 'Oh, no; you're not going to risk the
house being set on fire, with my filthy cigar left burning in the
passage again.' Now, Caroline, dearest! that's not right; you
know I don't smoke. ' How came it there, then ?' How should
I know ? I suppose some one threw it in when I opened the
door. However, time presses, it's now nearly five, and I've got to
walk to the rank to get a cab; I must be off. ' I'm to remember
that you'll sit up for me ? Certainly, my dear, prudence and
punctuality was always my motto, and punctually at twelve will I
be home. Mrs. Skinner—ta-ta.
Mr. Skinner goes to the dinner, and now you will please to sup-
pose he is returning home just as the grey light of daybreak is
dawning—somebody has taken (by mistake, of course) his new silk
umbrella and has left him an old gingham—he has lost his own
hat., and has to put up with one too big for him—he does not go
straight home, for the reason that his legs tremble under him and
compel him to walk in a zigzag direction.
(This is the highly respectable, staid, prudent, &c. &c., Mr.
Skinner, returning from the dinner.)
(Singing.)  We're nae that fou, we're nae that fou, but just a wee
drap in our ee.  Why, dear me ! dear me! whatever is the time ?
Everybody is gone home; I wish I was at home. Here—cab, cab,
cab! Why, even all the cabs are gone home. All the people's
gone to bed, except my wife, she ain't, I know; she'll wait up for
me, to let me in, instead of the girl,—what a fool she is ! I wish
she'd let Mary Ann sit up to open the door; it would do just as
well, and she wouldn't break her rest. Nice girl, that Mary Ann—■
very nice girl. Let me see, let me see; how old's my wife?—
Why—forty—forty—ay, forty-four: and she's as well as ever. Ah !
there's no chance yet / Now, when I do get home, I shall catch
it—I know I shall; I've given all the money away, doubled my
subscription, and become a life subscriber. Well, well—' Charity
covers a'—what is it?—(hiccup) what is it? 'a multitude of' some-
thing. Beautiful song that, the man sung—very touching: some-
thing about 'drying up the Orphan's Beer!'—I forget the rest—
cost me five guineas tho'—never mind. (Singing thickly)
"'Non, Nobis, Dominoes.' Non, no, no, no!—hang it, I don't
know; which the deuce is my house? I can't see it. Why,
(hiccup), this isn't my street; my street's a terrace, that goes up
steps, with a brass knocker, and a letter-box. What does it say ?
—Long—Long—Long Acre! Why, this ain't the way to Islington
Grove!—that's where I live. (As if addressing a compa?iy.)
"Skinner, gentlemen,,will be most happy and delighted to see you
all there, gentlemen, come when you will; Mrs. Skinner will be
igo
Comic Recitations,
proud to receive vou; she's a good woman, gentlemen, though I
say it; a better creature than Mrs. S. never breathed, gentlemen;
she will make you all comfortable for a week, if you like, gentle-
men. (Suddenly waking up.) "Hallo! hallo! What am I
Talking about ? Catch her at it. Why, it was only yesterday she
snubbed my City friend, Biffins. She don't like conviv-viv-viv-i-ality,
does my wife. I wonder what she'll say to me, being so late?
She'll think I've been drinking; she's wrong, though, very wrong!
How could I -miss my way I can't make out! Why, here's a
bridge; I don't go over any bridge to Islington, do I ? Certainly
not. How the fog gets in one's eyes ! I know these fogs will do
a deal o' mischief; if it hadn't been for the fog, I should a' been
home hours ago—but she wont believe it—not a bit of it. She be
bothered; she should a' let me have the key; next time I will
have it. {Hiccup.) Now I feel as happy as possih-ib-ble. I
wonder how people can grumble, and notbecharit-a'b-a'b-able ?—they
ain't like me. Now, there's Bunkins, I'll lend him five pounds
to-morrow! And there's Swivell, his business is rather shaky;
I'll keep him afloat awhile. Then there's Boozle, he asked me to
do a bill for twenty, yesterday, and I refused him,—how unkind !
—I'll do one for fifty, if he likes, in the morning. There's old
John, my clerk, too; he's a good old faithful servant; I'll raise his
salary, directly. Then there's my poor brother Tom, in the work-
house. Tom, my boy, you shall come out and be my partner.
What a good thing it is to have a kind heart! How I feel for the
poor creatures that's badly off! I'll make Mrs. Skinner give away
soup in the morning, to all the wretched, starving, poor things
that ain't got a bed to eat, and not a bit o' bread to lie down upon !
I'll fetch in all the ragged boys that tumble after the omnibuses,
and clothe 'em, that I will. I'll subscribe to the hospital, for a
man don't know what he may come to; and I'll give a poor cab-
man more than sixpence a mile! I feels for 'em,—out in all
weathers, and all hours. {With energy.)  Where are they all!
I shan't get home at all! Ah, there's one at last. Here, my man;
cab! cab!—home! What do you say ?—' Where to ?' Why,
home—Islington Grove;—drive on, and charge what you like-
Mrs. Skinner must pay it. Wont she like that? Well, nevei
mind, I shall sleep like a top while she talks. I'm all right now
I've got a cab—in I go! {Singing.)  ' Old Simon the Cellarer
keeps a—a'—oh, I don't know; that's what the man sung. All
right, cabby, I'm ready; help me in, old boy; here's % cigar, and
drive oa!
i9i
VAT YOU FLEASE.
J. R. PlanchIs, F.S.A.
[A highly successful dramatist, and author of many of the most
elegant burlesques known to the modern stage. Commenced writing
for Drury Lane Theatre 1818. Holds the appointment of Rouge
Croix Pursuivant. Born 1796; still living.]
Some years ago, when civil faction
Raged like a fury through the fields of Gaul,
And children, in the general distraction,
Were taught to curse as soon as they could squall;
When common-sense in common folks was dead,
And murder showed a love of nationality,
And France, determined not to have a head,
Decapitated all the higher class,
To put folks more on an equality ;
When coronets were not worth half-a-crown,
And liberty, in bonnet-rouge, might pass
For Mother Red-cap up at Camden Town;
Full many a Frenchman then took wing
Bidding soupe-maigre an abrupt farewell,
And hither came, pell-mell,
Sans cash, sans clothes, and almost sans everything t
Two Messieurs who about this time came over,
Half-starved, but toujours gai
(No weasels e'er were thinner),
Trudged up to town from Dover;
Their slender store exhausted in the way,
Extremely puzzled how to get a dinner.
From morn till noon, from noon till dewy eve,
Our Frenchmen wander'd on their expedition;
Great was their need, and sorely did they grieve^
Stomach and pocket in the same condition!
At length by mutual consent they parted,
And different ways on the same errand started.
This happen'd on a day most dear
To epicures, when general use
Sanctions the roasting of the sav'ry goose.
Towards night, one Frenchman, at a tavern near,
Stopp'd, and beheld the glorious cheer;
While greedily he snuff'd the luscious gale in,
That from the kitchen window was exhaling.
He instant set to work his busy brain,
Andsnuff'd and long'd, and long'd andsnufi'd again.
Necessity's the mother of invention.
Comic Recitations.
(A pro\ efb I've heard many mention);
So now one moment saw his plan completed,
And our sly Frenchman at a table seated.
The ready waiter at his elbow stands—
 Sir, will you favour me with your commands ?
"We've roast and boil'd, sir; choose you those or these?*
 Sare ! you are very good, sare! Fat yov, please .
Quick at the word,
Upon the table smokes the wish'd-for bird.
No time in talking did he waste,
But pounced pell-mell upon it;
Drum-stick and merry-thought he pick'd in haste,
Exulting in the merry thought that won it.
Pie follows goose, and after pie comes cheese—■
 Stilton or Cheshire, sir ?"— Ah ! vat you please.
And now our Frenchman, having ta'en his fill,
Prepares to go, when— Sir, your little bill.
"Ah, vat you're Bill ! Veil, Mr. Bill, good day!
Bon jour, good Villiam."—"No, sir, stay;
My riamt is Tom, sir—you've this bill to pay.
"Pay, pay, ma foil
I call for noting, sare—pardonnex moi !
You bring me vat you call your goose, your cheese,
You ask-a-me to eat; I tell you, Vat you please !
Down came the master, each explain'd the case,
The one with cufs'sig, t'other with grimace;
But Boniface, who dearly loved a jest
(Although sometimes he dearly paid for it),
And finding nothing could be done (you know,
That when a man has got no money,
To make him pay some would be rather funny),
Of a bad bargain made the best,
Acknowledged much was to be said for it;
Took pity on the Frenchman's meagre facej
And, Briton-like, forgave a fallen foe,
Laugh'd heartily, and let him go.
Our Frenchman's hunger, thus subdued,
Away he trotted in a merry mood;
When, turning round the corner of a street,
Who but his countryman he chanced to meet!
To him, with many a shrug and many a grin,
He told him how he'd taken Jean Bull in!
Fired with the tale, the other licks his chops,
Makes his congee, and seeks the shop of shops.
Entering, he seats himself, just at his ease,
 What will vou take sir  Fat you please.**
The Whiskers.
The waiter turned as pale as Paris plastei,
And, upstairs running, thus address'd his master:
"These vile mounseers come over sure in pairs;
Sir, there's another 'vat you please !' downstairs.
This made the landlord rather crusty,
Too much of one thing—the proverb's somewhat must» .
Once to be done, his anger didn't touch,
But when a second time they tried the treason,
It made him crusty, sir, and with good reason,
You would be crusty were you done so much.
There is a kind of instrument
Which greatly helps a serious argument,
And which, when properly applied, occasions
Some most unpleasant tickling sensations !
'Twould make more clumsy folks than Frenchmen skip,
'Twill strike you presently—a stout horsewhip.
This instrument our Maitre I'Hote
Most carefully concealed beneath his coat;
And seeking instantly the Frenchman's station,
Addressed him with the usual salutation.
Our Frenchman, bowing to his threadbare knees,
Determined whilst the iron's hot to strike it,
Pat with his lesson answers—"Vat you please !
But scarcely had he let the sentence slip,
Than round his shoulders twines the pliant whip 1
 Sare, sare! ah, misericorde, purl-leu !
Oh dear, monsieur, vat make you use me so ?
Vat you call dis ?  Oh, don't you know?
That's what I please, says Bonny, "how d'ye like it?
Your friend, though I paid dearly for his funning,
Deserved the goose he gained, sir, for his cunning;
But you, monsieur, or else my time I'm wasting,
Are goose enough, and only wanted lasting
THE WHISKERS.
A certain Swiss captain of grenadiers, whose company had
cashiered, was determined, since Mars had no more employmei,
"or him, to try if he could not procure a commission in the corps of
Venus; or, in other words, he could not get a wife: and as he had
no fortune of his own, he reasoned, and reasoned very justly, it was
quite necessary his intended should have enough for them both.
The captain was one of those kind of heroes to whom the epithet
hectoring blade might readily be applied: he was nearly six feet
high, with a long sword, and fiercely-formed hat; add to which, he
o
194
Comic Recitations.
was allowed to have the most martial- pair of whiskers of any grenfr
dier in the company to which he belonged. To curl these whiskers,
to comb and twist them round his forefinger, and to admire them
in the glass, formed the chief occupation and delight of his life. A
man of these accomplishments, with the addition of bronze and
rodomontade, of which he had a superfluity, stands at all times,
and in all countries, a good chance with the ladies, as the experience
<jf I know not hew many thousand years has confirmed.
Accordingly, after a little diligent attention and artful enquiry, a
Bung My was found, exactly such a one as we. may well suppose
d person with his views would be glad to find. She was tolerably
handsome, not more than tbree-and~twenty, with a good fortune;
and, what was the best part o■ the stoty, this fortune was entirely at
her own disposal.
Qur Captain, who thought now or never was the time, having
first found means to introduce himself as a suitor, was incessant in
his endeavours to carry his cause. His tongue was eternally run-
ning in praise of her super-superlative, never-to-be-described
charms; and in the hyperbolical account of the flames, darts, and
daggers, by which his lungs, liver, and heart were burnt up,
transfixed, and gnawn away. He, who, in writing a song to his
sweetheart, described his heart to be without one drop of gravy,
like an overdone mutton chop, was a fool at a simile when com-
pared to our hero.
One day, as he was ranting, kneeling, and beseeching his goddess
to send him an errand to pluck the diamond from the nose of the
Great Mogul, and present it to her divinityship, or suffer him to
step and steal the empress of China's enchanted slipper, or the
queen of Sheba's cockatoo, as a small testimony of what he would
nndertake to prove his love; she, after a little hesitation, addressed
him thus:—
"The protestations which you daily make, Captain, as well as
what you say at present, convince me there is nothing you would
not do to oblige me: I therefore do not find much difficulty in
telling you I am willing to be yours, if you will perform one thing
which I shall request you.
 Tcli me, immaculate angel, cried our son of gunpowder:
 tell me what it is; though, before you speak, be certain it is already
done. Is it to find the seal of Solomon ? to catch the phoenix ? to
draw your chariot to church with unicorns ? what is the impossible
act I will not undertake ?
"No, Captain, replied the fair one; "I shall enjoin nothing im-
possible. The thing I desire, you can do with the utmost ease. It
will not co't you five minutes' trouble. Yet, were it not for your
so positive assurances, I should, from what I have observed, almost
doubt of your compliance.
 Ah, madam, returned he,  wrong not your slave thus; deem
it impossible that he who eats happiness and drinks immortal life
Clerical Wit.
J95
from the light of your eyes, can ever demur the thousandth part of
a semi-second to secure your omnipotent behests: speak, say ! what,
empress of my soul, what must I perform ?
 Nay, for that matter it is a mere trifle; only cut off your whis-
kers, Captain, that's all.
"Madam! (Be so kind, reader, as to imagine the Captain's
utter astonishment!)  My whiskers! cut off my whiskers ! excuse,
me;—cut off my whiskers, madam ? Anything else! anything that
mind can, or cannot imagine, or tongue describe. Bid me fetch
you Prester John's beard a hair at a time, and it's done. But, for
my whiskers, you must grant me a salvo there.
 And why so, good Captain ? Surely any gentleman who bad
but the tithe part of the passion you express, would not stand upon
such a trifle.
 A trifle, Madam ? my whiskers a trifle ? no, madam, no ! my
whiskers are no trifle. Had I but a single regiment of fellows
whiskered like me, I myself would be the Grand Turk of Constan-
tinople. My whiskers, Madam, are the last things I should have
supposed you would have wished me to sacrifice. There is not a
woman, married or single, maid, wife, or widow, that does not ad-
mire my whiskers.
 May be so, sir; but if you marry me you must cut them off.
"And is there no other way? Must I never hope to be happy
with you unless I part with my whiskers?
 Never.
"Why then, Madam, farewell: I would not part with a single
hair of my whiskers, if the empress of all the Russias would make
me king of the Calmucks; and so good morning to you.
Had all the young ladies, in like circumstances, equal penetration,
they might generally rid themselves, with equal ease, of the inte-
rested and unprincipled coxcombs by whom they are pestered.
They all have their whiskers, and seek for fortunes, to be able to
cultivate, not cut them off.
CLERICAL WIT.
Anonymous.
A parson, who a missionary had been,
And hardships and privations oft had seen,
While wandering far on lone and desert strands,
A weary traveller in benighted lands,
Would often picture to his little flock
The terrors of the gibbet and the block;
How martyrs suffer'd in the ancient times,
And what men suffer now in other climes;
o 2
Comic Recitations.
And though his words were eloquent and deep,
Mis hearers oft indulged themselves in sleep.
He mark'd with sorrow each unconscious nod.
Within the portals of the house of God,
And cnce this new expedient thought he'd take
In his discourse, to keep the rogues awake.
Said he,  While travelling in a distant state,
I witness'd scenes which I will here relate.
'Twas in a deep, uncultivated wild,
Where noontide glory scarcely ever smiled;
Where wolves in hours of midnight darkness howl'd—
Where bears frequented, and where panthers prowl'd;
And, on my word, mosquitoes there were found,
Many of which I think would weigh a pound !
More fierce and ravenous than the hungry shark—
They oft were known to climb the trees and hark !
The audience seem'd taken by surprise—
All started up and rubb'd their wondering eves.
At such a tale they all were much amazed,
Each drooping lid was in an instant raised,
And we must say, in keeping heads erect,
It had its destined and desired effect.
But tales like this credulity appall'd;
Next day, the deacons on the pastor call'd,
And begged to know how he could ever tell
The foolish falsehoods from his lips that fell.
"Why, sir, said one, "think what a monstrous weight!
Were they as large as you were pleased to state ?
You said they'd weigh a pound! It can't be true.
We'll not believe it, though 'tis told by you!
"Ah, but it is! the parson quick replied;
 In what I stated you may well confide;
Many, I said, sir—and the story's good—
Indeed I think that many of them would 1
The deacon saw at once that he was caught,
Yet deem'd himself relieved, on second thought.
 But then the harking—think of that, good mail 1
Such monstrous lies ! Explain it if you can !
"Why, that, my friend, I can explain with ease—
They climb'd the hark, sir, when they climb'd the trees!1
JEWISH MUTTON.
Many strange things may happen in a life,
Some men die old, yet never know a wife:
Some perish early, as the flowers in spring,
Fall swift as dew-drops from the eagle's wing.
Jewish Mutton.
Some folks do this, and others that,
As some love lean and others fat;
Such is the cursory quick step of fate,
We scarcely live to know how much we hate.
But one thing I've discovered, be it known,
While some like pudding, others beef,
Some aiming for a tyrant's throne,
Sly as a London pocket-picking thief;
That most, nay, all agree in liking *
The rags, which, mill'd to lawful paper,
For which some knaves on nothing caper,
Who imitate the five a whit too striking!
You know that what I mean—that trifle funny,
Which banks have christen'd creditable money.
Yes, 'tis too oft mortality's sad lot,
To like the thing forbidden it should not;
The apple-juice of the first Adam's wife
Runs in the blood of all her sons of life,
As you shall witness in the story true,
I'm now to prattle, of a wealthy Jew.
Some say that  Charity begins at home,
Yet from it beggars in the causeway roam;
As, knowing the old proverb was a liar,
They entertain'd its roaming spirit higher;
For many who had cheated all the day
Their brethren on the Stock Exchange,
May two-pence to the passing beggar pay
To balance and content their conscience strange
And think, with satisfied sufficient grin,
 Charity covers up a mass of sin.
Thus, the great people who have daily dinevl,
Turn charitable yearly to be sure;
And being in a feeding cue inclin'd,
Give annually dinners to the poor;
At which they stuff
And breathe and puff,
L:ke pouter pigeons, till their craws
Fill'd to the full,
As country gull,
At London sights, that please the Johnny Raws,
Open all generous, their pockets willing,
To furnish to the poor their one pound shilling.
At such a gay illustrious feast,
A Jew, a Sheva the benevolent.
Comic Recitations,
Who rul'd the lord and master of the East,
Had annually his "golden ointment sent,
And fed as inclination fway'd,
At whatsoe'er before him laid;
But what he generally chose
I would not, for a crown, the Rabbi knows.
The fact was, Sheva knew the warmer well
Had himself been a native of Duke's Place,
And that by tipping, he would never tell
Aught that would bring his patron to disgrace j
And so, of a long tale to make short work,
I'll tell each wicked grinner,
When Sheva came to dinner,
He always dined him of the rich roast pork.
But then the waiter, all remorse to save,
(A witty and a gentlemanly knave,)
And hide the sinning of the Jewish glutton,
Had always christened it  a leg of mutton
You see the Israelite had thoughts within,
His charity might ^wallow up the sin.
How like the worthies of gay Regent-street,
Near Philip's Chapel and the Argyle Rooms,
Wrapt in the latter's drowsy concert fumes;
Delight their ear from Saturday to Monday;
And then to wipe away the devil's scores,
And clear for the next week's carouse to treat,
Besiege the other's open chapel doors,
To have two hours of piety on Sunday.
Well, let me thus much -of my Sheva say,
He was a more than Christian in his way;
A good Samaritan, who willing gave
A helping hand a fallen wretch to save;
And stanch the bosoms that with sorrow bleed,
Without inquiring their religious creed;
He was not miserly in charity,
The which you'll deem a rarity;
Nor mean, nor loth his station to uphold,
As German princes stuff'd with English gold.
On this day year—I mark'd it very well—
Because when talking of a person's feasts,
Like grocers, I'm particular in my dates—
One ought to know the inch of every ell—
Then my friend Sheva went him out to dine,
And drink the capital  old London  wine-
Jewish Mutton.
High smvk'd the dishes,
All was gay,
Every one's v.>r,es
Found &.o way
To satisfy their craving, and their hunger,
Making- the under jaw
Fight all the munching war;
Much like a beggar or a costard-monger;
For eating, I have found, beneath the sun,
In fashion is the same to every one.
O, woe is me! the saddest, saddest sight,
Was Sheva! Sheva, the benignly kind,
Who sat in terrible alarming plight,
Because his favour'd joint he could not find I
Foi you must know,
To cause his woe,
The waiter, his old friend, had taken flight,
And no more pandered to his appetite.
Well, Sheva blush'd,
Was nearly squeaking;
Then conscience hush'd
His tongue from speaking.
At length, high-couraged as a racer,
To give the worst a facer,
Fie beckoned to the waiter,
With knowing wink,
At which, I think,
His visage seemed to grow elater,
As, licking lips like any glutton,
 Bring me, he cried,  de lovely mutton.
Off went the waiter, speedy as a shot,
(The JewM reminded hirn to bring it hot.)
The mutton sought,
Which soon he brought.
Enrag'd was Sheva, when he saw
The mutton was not to his maw;
For it had never happened to his thinking,
The waiter might not understand his winking.,
So Sheva, most supremely curst,
Thus taught his meaning with a burst.
 You dog ! you'd cure de devil of de vapours,
You give my heart more grieving than a bunion
1 did not mean de mutton wid de capers,
But de roast mutton wid de sage and onion
200
Comic Recitations.
The enlightened waiter read the cheat.
And swift as Mercury he brought the meat j
Sheva attack'd the pork with tooth and nail.
And finish'd both his dinner and—my tale.
I VANT TO FLY.
Short:.? before the conclusion of the war with Napoleon there
were a number of French officers in an inland town on their parole
of honour. Now, one gentleman being tired .vith the usual routine
of eating, drinking, gambling, smoking, &c., therefore in order to
amuse himself otherwise resolved to go a fishing. His host sup-
plied him with rod and line, but being in want of artificial flies, went
in search of a fishingtackle maker's shop. Having found one, kept
by a plain pains-taking John Bull, our Frenchman entered, and,
with a bow, a cringe, and a shrug of the shoulders, thus oegan:—
 Ah, Monsieur Anglais, comment vous portez-vous !
"Eh, that's French, exclaimed the shopkeeper; "not that I un-
derstand it, but I'm very well, if that's what you mean.
 Bon bon, ver good; den saire, I sail tell you, I vant deux fly.
 I dare say you do, Mounseer, replied the Englishman, "and so
do a great many more of your outlandish gentry; but I'm a true-
born Briton, and can never consent to assist the enemies of my country
to leave it—particularly when they cost us so much to bring them
here.
"Ah, Monsieur, you no comprehend; I shall repeate, I vant deux
fly, on the top of de vater.
 Oh ! what, you want to fly by water, do you ? then I'm -sure I
can't assist you, for we are at least a hundred miles from the sea-
coast, and our canal is not navigable above ten or twelve miles from
here.
 Diable! sarc, you are un stup of the block. I sail tell you once
seven times over again—I vant deux fly on the top of de vater, to
dingle dangle at the end of de long pole.
 Ay, ay! you only fly, Mounseer, by land or water, and if they
catch you, I'll be hanged if they wont dingle dangle you, as you call
it, at the end of a long pole.
 Sacre un de dieu! la bias! vat you mean by dat, enfer .liable ?
you are un bandit jack of de ass, Johnny de Bull. Ba, ba, you are
effronte, and I disgrace me to parley vid you. I tell you, sare, dat I
vant deux fly on the top of de vater, to dingle dangle at the end of
the long pole, to la trap poisson.
 What's that you say, you French Mounseer—-you'll lay a trap
to poison me and all my family because I wont assist you to
escape ? why, the like was never heard. Here, Betty, go for the
constable.
Woman s Curiosity.
201
The constable soon arrived, who happened to be as ignorant as the
shopkeeper, and of course it was not expected that a constable should
be a scholar. Thus the man of office began:—
 What's all this ? Betty has been telling me that this here nut-
landish Frenchman is going to poison you and all your family ? Ay,
ay, I should like to catch him at it, that's all. Come, come to
prison, you delinquent.
 No, sare, I sail not go to de prison; take me before de—what
you call it—de ting that nibble de grass ?
 Oh, you mean the cow.
"No, sare, not the cow; you stup Johnny bceuf—I mean de
cheval, vat you ride. [Imitating.] Come, sare, gee up. Ah, ha I*
 Oh, now I know, you mean a horse.
"No, sare, I mean de horse's vife.
 What, the mare ?
 Oui bon, yes, sare, take me to de mayor.
This request was complied with, and the French officer soon
stood before the English magistrate, who by chance happened to be
better informed than his neighbours, and thus explained to the satis-
faction of all parties—
 You have mistaken the intention of this honest gentleman; he
did not want to fly the country, but to go a fishing, and for that
purpose went to your shop to purchase two flies, by way of bait,
or, as he expressed it, to la trap la poisson. Poisson, in French,
is fish.
 Why, aye, replied the shopkeeper,  that may be true—you are
a scholard, and so you know better than I. Poison, in French, may
be very good fish, but give me good old English roast beef.
WOMAN'S CURIOSITY.
Hannah More.
[An eminent moral writer. Her works are collected in eleven vols.
Svo. She realized £30,000 by her writings, and left £10,000 to
charities. Born 1744 j died 1833.J
A worthy squire of sober life,
Had a conceited boasting wife;
Of him she daily made complaint,
Herself she thought a very saint.
She lotdd to load mankind with blame,
And on their errors build her fame.
Her favourite subject of dispute
Was Eve and the forbidden fruit,
 Had I been Eve, she olten cried,
"Man had not fall'n, nor woman died.
102
Comic Recitations.
I still had kept the order given,
Nor for an apple lost my heaven ;
To gratify my curious mind
I ne'er had ruin'd all mankind;
Nor from a vain desire to know,
Entail'd on all my race such woe.
The squire replied,  I fear 'tis true
The same ill spirit lives in you;
Tempted alike, I dare believe,
You would have disobeyed like Eve.
The lady storm'd, and still denied
Both curiosity and pride.
The squire some future day at dinner,
Resolved to try this boastful sinner;
He griev'd such vanity possessed her,
And thus in serious terms address'd her:
 Madam, the usual splendid feast
With which our wedding-day is grac'd
With you I must not share to-day,
For business summons me away.
Of all the dainties I've prepared,
I beg not any may be spaFd:
Indulge in every costly dish;
Enjoy, 'tis what I really wish :
Only observe one prohibition,
Nor think it a severe condition:
On one small dish, which coveFd standi,
You must not dare to lay your hands;
Go—disobey not on your life,
Or henceforth you're no more my wife.
The treat was serVd, the squire was gone,
The murm'ring lady din'd alone;
She saw whate'er could grace a feast,
Or charm the eye, or please the taste;
But while she rang'd from this to that,
From ven'son haunch to turtle fat:
On one small dish she chanc'd to light,
By a deep cover hid from sight:
 Oh ! here it is—yet not for me!
I must not taste, nay, dare not see:
Why place it there ? or why forbid
That I so much as lift the lid ?
Prohibited of this to eat,
I care not for the sumptuous treat;
I wonder if 'tis fowl or fish,
To ifnnv tr* 'here I merely wish
The Auctioneer and, the Lawyer.
I'll look—O no, I lose for ever,
If I'm betrayM, my husband's favour.
I own I think it vastly hard,
Nay, tyranny to be debarFd.
John, you may go—the wine's decanted,
I'll ring or call you when you're wanted.
Now left alone, she waits no longer,
Temptation presses more and stronger.
 I'll peep—the harm can ne'er be much,
For tho' I peep, I will not touch;
Why I'm forbid to lift this cover
One glance will tell, and then 'tis over.
My husband's absent, and so is John,
My peeping never can be known.
Trembling, she yielded to her wish,
And rais'd the cover from the dish:
She starts—for lo ! an open pie,
From which six living sparrows fly.
She calls, she screams with wild surprise,
 Haste, John, and catch these birds, she cries;
John hears not, but to crown her shame,
In at her call her husband came.
Sternly he frown'd, as thus he spoke:
 Thus is your vow'd allegiance broke!
Self-ign'ranee led you to believe
You did not share the sin of Eve.
Like hers, how blest was your condition!
How small my gentle prohibition !
Yet you, tho' fed with every dainty,
Sat pining in the midst of plenty;
This dish, thus singled from the rest,
Of your obedience was the test;
Your mind, unbroke by self-denial,
Could not sustain this slender trial.
Humility from hence be taught,
Learn candour to another's fault;
Go, know, like Eve, from this sad dinner,
You're both a vain and curious sinner.
THE AUCTIONEER AND THE LAWYER
Horace Smith.
A City Auctioneer, one Samuel Stubbs,
Did greater execution with his hammer.
Assisted by his puffing clamour,
Than Gog and Magog with their clubs.
Comic Recitations.
Oi that great Fee-fa-fum of war
The Scandinavian Thor,
Did with his mallet, which (see Bryant's
Mythology) fell'd stoutest giants:—
For Samuel knock'd down houses, churCnes,
And woods of oak and elm and bircnes,
With greater ease than mad Orlando
Tore the first tree he laid his hand to.
He ought, in reason, to have raised his ow<-
Lot by knocking others' down;
And had he been content with shaking
His hammer and his hand, and taking
Advantage of what brought him grist, he
Might have been as rich as Christie;—
But somehow when thy midnight bell, Bow,
Sounded along Cheapside its knell,
Our spark was busy in Pall-mall
Shaking Lis elbow,—
Marking, with paw upon his mazzard,
The turns of hazard;
Or rattling in a box the dice,
Which seem'd as if a grudge they bore
To Stubbs: for often in a trice
Down on the nail he was compell'd to pay
All that his hammer brought him in the day,
And sometimes more.
Thus, like a male Penelope, our wight,
What he had done by day undid by night;
No wonder, therefore, if like her,
He was beset by clamorous brutes,
Who crowded round him to prefer
Their several suits.
One Mr. Snipps, the tailor, had the longest
Bill for many suits—of raiment,
And naturally thought he had the strongest
Claim for payment.
But debts of honour must be paid,
Whate'er becomes of debts of trade;
And so our stylish auctioneer,
From month to month throughout the year,
Excuses, falsehoods, pleas alleges,
Or flatteries, compliments, and pledges.
When in the latter mood one day,
He squeez'd his hand, and swore to pay.—
 But when !"— Next month you may depend on't,
My dearest Snipps, before the end on't j—
Si. Michaels Chair.
205
Your face proclaims in every feature
You wouldn't harm a fellow-creature—
You're a kind soul, 1 know you are, Snipps.
"Ay, so you said six months ago;
But such fine words, I'd have you know,
Butter no parsnips.
This said, he bade his lawyer draw
A special writ,
Serve it on Stubbs, and follow it
Up with the utmost rigour of the law.
This lawyer was a friend of Stubbs;
That is to say,
In a civic way,
Where business interposes not its rubs;
For where the main chance is in question,
Damon leaves Pythias to the stake,
Pylades and Orestes break,
And Alexander cuts Hephasstion;
But when our man of law must sue his friends,
Tenfold politeness makes amends.
So when he meets our Auctioneer,
Into his outstretch'd hand he thrust his
Writ, and said, with friendly leer,
 My dear, dear Stubbs, pray do me justice;
In this affair I hope you see
No censure can attach to me—
Don't entertain a wrong impression;
I'm doing now what must be done
In my profession.
"And so am I, Stubbs answer'd with a frown;
So crying  Going—going—going—gone!
He knock'd him down !
SAINT MICHAEL'S CHAIR.
Robert Southey.
Merrily, merrily rung the bells,
The bells of St. Michael's tower,
When Richard Penlake, and Rebecca his wife,
Arriv'd at St. Michael's door.
Richard Penlake was a cheerful man,
Cheerful, and frank and free;
But he led a sad life with Rebecca his wife,
For a terrible shrew was she.
20 6
Comic Recitations.
Richard Penlake a scolding would take
Till patience availed no longer:
Then Richard Penlake, his crabstick would take,
And shew her that he was the stronger.
Rebecca his wife had often wish'd
To sit in St. Michael's chair;
For she should be the mistress then.
If she had once sat there.
It chanced that Richard Penlake fell sick,
They thought that he would have died;
Rebecca his wife made a vow for his life,
As she knelt by his bed-side.
' Now hear my prayer, St. Michael, and spare
My husband's life,' quoth she;
' And to thine altar we will go
Six marks to give to thee.'
Richard Penlake repeated the vow,
For woundily sick was he :
' Save me, St. Michael, and we will go
Six marks to give to thee.'
When Richard grew well, Rebecca his wife
Teazed him by night and by day;
' O mine own dear ! for you I fear
If we the vow delay.'
Merrily, merrily rung the bells,
The bells of St. Michael's tower.
When Richard Penlake, and Rebecca his wkfo,
Arriv'd at St. Michael's door.
Six marks they on the altar laid,
And Richard knelt in prayer:
She left him to pray, and stole away
To sit in St. Michael's chair.
Up the tower Rebecca ran,
Round, and round, and round;
Twas a giddy sight to stand a-top,
And look upon the ground.
' A curse on the ringers, for rocking
The tower 1' Rebecca cried,
As over the church battlements
She strode with a long stride.
Come and Go.
' A blessing on St. Michael's chair!'
She said as she sat down;
Merrily, merrily rung the bells,
And out Rebecca was thrown.
Tidings to Richard Penlake were brought
That his good wife was dead:
 Now shall we toll for her, good soul,
The gi eat church bell ?' they said.
' Toll at her burying,' qucth Richard Penlake,
'Toll at her burying,' quoth he;
' But don't disturb the ringers now,
In compliment to me.'
COME AND GO.
R. S. Sharpe.
[An exemplary London tradesman, who wrote much for the instruc-
tion and amusement of the young. Author of  The Wreath, a glee,
&c. Born 1776 ; died 1852.]
D 1 ck Dawdle had land worth two hundred a year,
Yet from debt and from dunning he never was free,
His intellect was not surprisingly clear,
But he never felt satisfied how it could be.
The raps at his door, and the rings at his gate,
And the threats of a gaol he no longer could bear;
So he made up his mind to sell half his estate,
Which would pay all his debts, and leave something to spare.
He leased to a farmer the rest of his land
For twenty-one years; and on each quarter day
The honest man went with the rent in his hand,
His liberal landlord, delighted, to pay.
Before half tb; term of the lease had expired,
The farmer, one day, with a bagful of gold,
Said,  Pardon me, sir, but I long have desired
To purchase my farm, if the land can be sold.
"Ten years I've been blest with success and with health,
With trials a few—I thank God, not severe—
am grateful, I hope, though not proud of my wealth,
But I've managed to lay by a hundred a year.
2C)8
Comic Recitations.
 Why how, exclaimed Dick, "can this possible be? 
(With a stare of surprise, and a mortified laugh);
"The: whole of my farm proved too little for me,
A nd you, it appears, have grown rich upon half.
 I hope you'll excuse me, the farmer replies,
 But I'll tell you the cause, if your honour would know;
In two little words all the difference lies,
I always say come, and you used to say go.
 Well, and what does that mean, my good fellow? he said
 Why this, sir, that I always rise with the sun ;
You said 'go' to your man, as you lay in your bed,
I say ' Come, Jack, with me,' and I see the work done.
THE BIOGRAPHY OF OLD MOTHER HUBBARD'S DOG.
Thomas Haynes Bayly.
[The most popular song-writer, after Moore, of his day. Author of
 Perfection,  Tom Noddy's Secret, and a number of successful
buriettas. Contributor to  Blackwood's Magazine,  New Monthly,
fee. Born 1797; died 1839.]
So Mother Hubbard's dog's deceased,
That spaniel of repute,
Be mine the mournful task to write
The memoirs of the brute.
O'er all the authors of the day
Biographers prevail,
I'll  point a moral and adorn
That little dead dog's (ate.
I'll sift the Hiibbard family
For anecdotes canine;
The most minute particulars
Shall very soon be mine.
I'll bore the mournful dame herself
With questions most abrupt,
And first I'll learn, how, when, and whirr.
His canine mother pupp'd.
His puppyism I wi'l trace,
On Hubbard's a|sron rock'd,
Describing when his tongue was woim'd.
And how his ears were dock'd
Biography of Old Mother Hubbard's Dog. 109
His placid temper I will paint,
And his distemper too,
And all his little snappish tricks
The public eye shall view.
The dame and he were friends; 'tis thought
She gave him bones and milk;
And pattingly her hand smooth'd down
His coat as soft as silk.
But what of that ?—The world shall know
That he hath snarl'd at her;
And that the dame hath kick'd the dog,
And call'd him  nasty cur!
His love for her was cupboard love; _
The fawning which proclaims
An instinct partiality
For dog's meat—more than Dames.
Alas! 'twas not Vaffaire da caeur,
An ingrate was the pup,
Though oft his mistress for his meals
Hath cut her Liver up.
And oft she did instruct the dog
Upon his tail to sit,
And elevate his two forepaws
And beg a tiny bit.
She placed the dainty on his nose,
And counted  one "— two "— three !ra
And when he leapt and caught the prize,
A happy dame was she!
But I must tell of stolen joys,
Of milk that hath been miss'd;
Of hunted cats, and worried birds*
I have a grievous list.
Of rambles too with female dogs;
Yet, hearing the old scratch,
The dame to let the rover in
Would rise, and lift the latch.
In truth he was a naughty dog,
Of habits very wild;
He never yet was known to care
One jot for wife or child.
His wives were countless, each produced
Nine bantlings at a birth;
And some were drown'd, and some were left
To rot upon the earth.
P
2IO
Comic Recitations.
But hold! is this my dead dog's tale?
And can I not produce
For naughtiness a friendly veil,
For folly an excuse ?
And must the sage biographer
Of little dogs and dames,
Recal forgotten injuries,
Snarls, kicks, and ugly names ?
The dog was a sagacious dog,
That's all the world need know;
The failings of the quadruped
'Tis not my task to show.
His quarrels with his kith and kin,
His puppy tricks when young,
If these I tell, he'll seem far worse
Than if I held my tongue.
It shall be so: my tongue I'll hold,
And not my grey goose quill;
His death is recent—for a while
Biographers be still.
Contemporaries point at specks,
But pause awhile, and then
We may be sure posterity
Will calmly hold the pen.
But now to take away a life
Each man of letters strives;
The undertakers thrive by deaths,
Biographers by lives.
O'er new-made graves, thro' murky mists
Of prejudice he jogs;
And so it seems biography
Is going—to the dogs !
THE OLD GARDENER'S DESCRIPTION OF THE
WARWICK VASE.
(From Mr. J. E. Carpenter's popular entertainment, "The Road,
the River, and the Rail.")
We will imagine, then, that you proceed directly from Kenilworth
(about four miles) to Warwick Castle, in the grounds of which Her
Majesty planted an oak on the occasion of her last visit to Birming-
ham. Warwick Castle is one of the grandest baronial residences in
the kingdom, is in perfect preservation, and seems to defy the hand
of 'time. You will get a guide-book, and have probably read Lord
The Gardener s Description of the Warwick Vase. 211
Lyiton's  Last of the Barons. I beg, therefore, to decline the
office of showman, but for the sake of those who will probably
never have the opportunity of visiting Warwick Castle, I must intro-
duce you to one bit of character. It was the gardener who shows
the grounds and the Warwick vase. After conducting y»$i to the
greenhouse in which it is placed, this ancient retainer throws
himself into an academical pose by its side, very much after
the style of Garrick embracing the statue of Shakspeare in
Gainsborough's picture, and delivers himself as follows :—Ahem!
This here wase, ladis and genlm, corned from Hadrian's Willa
near Room, it were dugged out of the earth, and was sent over
to this country by Sir William Hamilton as a present to George
the Third, and he made a present on it to the Hearl of War-
wick. This ere piece, where you sees the mark here by this ere
lion's 'ed, ladis and genlm, wasn't in it when the wase was dugged
up, it war lost when it war found, and it was found afterwards and
put in; and this ere bottom, ladis and genlrn, wearnt jined on the
wase when it was fust found, but it were found a good while after-
wards, five mile hoff, at the bottom of a lake. It's one and twenty
feet round, ladis and genlm, and seven feet across, holds one hunder
and sixty-five gallons, and is solid up to this ere lion's'ed; it are
carved out o' one piece of marble, and are supposed to have been
buried by a hearthquake. Please to walk round to t'other side, ladis
and gentlemen, these here heds are considered wery beautiful, and
one on em war knocked hoff on the woyage home into the sea, and
as it war never found agin Lord Warwick had this here one made in
the room of it, sixty-nine year ago, when this here greenhouse were
built for it, cos for why, the rain and the frost were a hinjuring it.
This ere crack, ladis and gentlemen, were done by the frost, and
Lord Warwick had it put under cover here. That's all, ladies and
gentlemen ; thank you—bleeged to you. The way to the tower is
down there by the harbutus tree; you'll find another gentleman
who will show you its curiosities. That ere tower is called Guy's
Tower, and are eight hundred years old, and t'other at t'other corner
are called Sasar's Tower, and are eleven hundred and hodd, but nobody
can't see that now, cos it's 'lapidated and people lives in it. Good
morning, ladis and gentlemen, and thank you kindly. Oh ! that
are sadar tree by the grand walk war planted by Lord Warwick
himself a hundred year ago; it's a fine un, arnt it ? There was
anuther on the green, but the wind blowed the arms off and dis-
figured it, and it had to be cut down. That's quite all, ladis and
gentlemen, leastways I don't know no more, so good morning and
much obleeged. Ise seventy-five come next birth-day and has been
here for fifty year. There's another man as helps me, but he's been
put on another job, so I has all the running about. Sometimes we
has lots o' wisiters like you, ladis and gentlemen, and sometimes
we harnt never a one, it all depends like. Winter 'specially we gets
wery fewish, but when the sun shines and ladiy ""id gentlemen
212
Comic hecilaiwns.
comes a pleasuring, I gets run hoff my legs. Excuse me, larlis and
gentlemen, here's anuther party, I must sing my song again. Good
morning, wish you all health and happiness and fine days to enjoy
'em. Ahem ! This here wase, ladis and gentlemen, corned from
Hadrian's Willa—and so on to the other party.—I wont answer that
my ancient friend is there still, but if he be you will hear the samtj
story precisely as 1 have told it, an l as I have heard him tell it five
)r six times.
PASTOR M'KNOCK'S ADDRESS.
Anonymous.
Good, honest Parson John M'Knock,
Had long observed, with grief, his flock
Were getting fond, from day to day,
Of mixing whisky with their clay.
To cure this ill, he thought it right
Some admonition to indite,
Which, from the pulpit he might lance,
Against this horrid sin's advance.
Now John himself loved whisky toddy
As well as any other body;
So prudence told him to beware,
And use his censure with great care;
Lest, while another's faults were shown,
Pie indirectly whipp'd his own.
Thus thoughts he turn'd with greatest care,
Himself more than his flock to spare.
John, every fear and danger scorning,
Spoke boldly thus one Sunday morning :
 My dearest brethren, I would fain
Save ye and my ainsel' the pain
Of preaching t'ye of a sin
That maist o' ye hae tumbled in,
And that's in vary truth na less
Than sottish, wicked drunkenness.
I preach na, friends, against the use,
But solely 'gainst the gross abuse
Of rich good gen'rous Highland whisky,
Which makes ye, if na daft, owre frisky;
And then ye fa' intil a gin
The deil sets to catch sinners in.
Noo, i' the morning when ye rise,
1 see na reason t' despise
A wee sup, just to put to richt
The feelings of the former nicht;
Pastor M'Knock's Address*
But then, my brethren, I'm a thinking,
I wad na hae ye always drinking !
 Then after breakfast, just in order
To keep the stomach frae disorder,
And mak' the fish and eggs agree
Wi' marmalade and cakes and tea,
I'd hae ye tak especial care,
Na to neglect a little mair;
And, as there ne'er can be a question
But whisky helps a man's digestion,
I'd have ye sip at ony time
A sma' wee drap afore ye dine;
But tak ye special care o' thinking
That I wud hae ye always drinking !
 Then after dinner very soon,
And just to keep the victual doon,
And up the gay joy of the feast,
I'd hae ye tak a gill at least;
But mind and dunna noo be thinking
I recommend ye always drinking !
And i' the afternoon, d'ye see,
Mix still a wee drap wi' your tea;
This practice is o' muckle service,
And certainly maks tea less nervous;
But dinna ye, my friends, be thinking
By this I'd hae ye always drinking !
Pray ne'er neglect, whate'er be said,
A noggin 'fore ye gang to bed;
Ye'll sleep the sounder a' the nicht,
And wake refresh'd at morning licht
So this, my friends, I think we may
Indulge in safely ev'ry day;
But dinna always be a thinking
That I wud hae ye always drinking!
 So but confine yoursels to this,
And naething will be much amiss;
And recollect that men of sense
Still use the greatest temperance.
Bear this in mind, and ye'll stand fair to
Escape some ills that man is heir to,
And by this plan your doctor's bill
Will lighter be for draught and pill.
'Tis true expenses will increase,
For beef and mutton, ducks and geese.
But stomachs must hae mony faults
That like na sic food mair than salts.
214
Comic Recitations.
Few men wad rather, that can chuse,
Their siller spend in drugs than shoes.
But every day, if you get foo,
Depend upon't, at last ye'll rue.
Woe to the man in youthful prime,
That wastes his siller thus, and time;
He'll sair repent and wail the day,
When time has turned his locks to gray.
So tak na mair o' drink or food
Than what will do the body good :
Of my advice but mak a proof,
And then ye'll dee quite weel enough.
THE YANKEE AUTHOR AT SHAKSPEARE'S
BIRTHPLACE.
(From the popular entertainment,  The World and his Wife.")
To my mind, Shakspeare's house is a standing monument o(
English Snobism. The first thing you see therein is the names of
the thousand great obscure scribbled on the walls and over the
low ceiling. Next you have pointed out to you the signatures of
the Browns, Joneses, and Robinsons of literature and the drama—■
written there not to do homage to the Immortal Bard, that is furthest
from their thoughts, but that their small names may be paraded to
succeeding visitors. Others, again—might they not have been the
real worshippers of Shakspeare, and had written in derision of the
others ?—had signed themselves Timothy Snooks, Lucy Long,
and William Barlow. Among the names that are shown you is
that of the late Romeo Coates, who signed himself in the visitor's
book,  Illustrator of the Poet, This was the man who complained
of the house, said it wasn't good enough for the divine William to
have been born in, and proposed to pull it down at his own expense
and build it up again, so as to appear more worthy of such a being.
But if we complain of English bad taste, what must we say of
American ?
The Americans have dashed their names over the wails in letters
.)alf a foot long, obliterating fifty modest pencil marks atone stroke,
just as they would chaw up so many Britishers—if they could!
They are great people, these Yankees—wonderful at letters—espe-
cially the I O U's.
The last time I was at Stralfcrd-on-Avon, there was one of these
American gentlemen present. I suppose some injudicious friend
let it out that I was connected with author-craft, for he came up to
me and said :—
 I guess, stranger, ycu are a paper-stainer ?
The Yankee Author at Shakspeare's Birthplace. 215
"Well, I said, "you guess wrong, then; I'm nothing of the
sort.
"Well, I calculate you're an author; that's the same tiling. I'm
told one of your authors makes Ten Thousand a Year.
"Well, I replied,  I'm not the one, and I haven't the honour of
his acquaintance. The only author of 'Ten Thousand a Year' 1
ever heard of, is Mr. Warren.
"Yes, he said, "that's the chap; writes poetry about his black-
ing; Warren's blacking, 30, Strand. That's what I call practical.
Warren's known all through America; everybody uses his blacking.
I thought I would try and find out the extent of my friend's lite-
rary knowledge, so I asked him what he knew about Dickens ?
 Well, I guess he keeps an Old Curiosity Shop, he said.
 I believe one kept him, I said.  Then the late Mr.
Thackeray ?
 He kept a cigar shop, didn't he; celebrated for his Virginians ?
"You are quite mistaken, I said;  these gentlemen lived by
their works!
"Well, don't be angry, he interrupted; "if you are a nation of
shopkeepers it's nothing to be ashamed oi, and if you have one
poet more th.n another that we Yankees appreciate, it is Moses of
the Minories.
After this I wasn't surprised at my friend dashing his name
over the wall in characters as large as thp rest of his countrymen.
 You are an admirer of our nations, bard, I perceive.
"Not at all, he replied.  I admire nothing in your country. ]
didn't come over to admire it.
 At any rate you endorse the genius of Shakspeare ? I said,
pointing to his signature.
 Endorse ! William Shakspeare—ah ! I see, a pun—endor„
a Bill.
 A Yankee endorsement generally results in a Noted Bill, I said,
a little nettled, and making a pun as vile as his own.  Your visit,
then, is one of pure curiosity?
"Not exactly, he said; "fact is, I'm an author, like yourself.
My name is Goahead B. Bang, of Baltimore. I'm writing a book—
'American Visits to English Remarkable Places.' Only arrived
here ten minutes ago; off again as soon as they have baited the
horses; only stop five minutes in each place—quite enough for me;
make a few inquiries and guess the rest; should you like to hear a
page or two ?
I said I should, amazingly.
"Wall, I can hardly spare the time, but as the horses ain't here,—
now listen, stranger—see here—Stratford-on-Avcn—done it while
you've been talking to me:—
"Stratford-on-Avon.—Town in Warwickshire. Birthplace
of Shakspeare—originally a butcher's boy; afterwards adapted
French plays for Drury Lane, then called the Globe. Poet laureat
2 l6
Comic Recitations.
to Queen Elizabeth, and Surveyor of the British Fleet—surveyed it
from a rock near Dover, called Shakspeare's Cliff in consequence.
Thousands annually visit his birthplace, attracted by the signatures
on its walls of celebrated Americans.
 Here's a few places in London—did them all in one day :—
"Royal Exchange.—Rebuilt by Prince Albert, 1842. The
stability of the edifice is insured by the builder and the architect,
being both Wright and Tile. It was called the Royal Exchange
from Sir Thomas Gresham giving Queen Elizabeth a handsome)
pair of spectacles in exchange for the original site. Bulls and
bears were formerly exhibited in the enclosure, and the stocks stood
for centuries close by.
 National Gallery, Trafalgar Square.—The late Mr. Joseph
Grimaldi was the architect. His original plan was the model of a
pantomime trick, formed of a cruet-stand with pepper-boxes. In
the western wing there is a dungeon for the remains of decayed
artists.
"The Mansion House.—This is the palace of the Lord Mayor.
It is customary for visitors to be introduced by two of the police
force, who are frequently instructed to permit his Lordship's guests
to inspect the interior of Newgate. The trifling ceremony of borrow-
ing a pocket handkerchief in the streets from some gentleman who
is unconscious of your taking it, will at once procure you the neces-
sary introduction.
"Buckingham Palace.—Fomerly the residence of Peter the
Hermit. William IV. converted it into a palace, and had the inte-
rior decorated by Owen Jones, after designs by George Cruikshank.
The triumphal arch, gates, and avenues were erected from draw-
ings by Phiz, Leech, and Alfred Crowquill. As there is no drawing-
room in the building, the Queen holds hers at St. James's Hall.
"White Hall.—So called from its being all white. The
banquet hall is popularly supposed to have been built by Inigo
Jones; this is an error, the man's name was William, but on the
completion of the edifice, just as he was stepping in, the king,
Charles I., pushed him on one side, and exclaimed, ' No—In I go,
Jones,' and he was called Inigo Jones ever since.
"The Monument.—Built by Sir Christopher Wren, to com'
memorate the great fire of London, 1666. From its summit Sir
Isaac Newton discovered the principle of gravity, by jumping from
the top to the bottom, and finding it impossible to jump back again.
The flag where he fell on the pavement, is still to be seen at the
Corner of Eastcheap, and is known as the philosopher's stone.
 There is a good lot more, but here's my carriage—I'm off, and,
itranger, if ever you should come to the States, inquire for Goahead
B. Bang, of Baltimore, and if I don't show you something that shall
clap an extinguisher on everything in the old country, why America
isn't the greatest nation in the world, and the Yankees the cleverest,
cutest, bravest, richest, and freest nation in the world—that's all.
ai7
THE HAUNCH OF VENISON.
Anonymous.
At number one dwelt Captain Drew,
George Benson dwelt at number two,
(The street we'll not now mention).
The latter stunn'd the Queen's Bench bar
The former, being lamed in war,
Sung small upon a pension.
Tom Blewit knew them both—than he
None deeper in the mysterv
Of culinary knowledge;
From turtle soup to Stilton cheese
Apt student, taking his degrees
In Mrs. Rundell's College.
Benson to dine invited Tom:
Proud of an invitation from
A host who "spread so nicely,
Tom answered, ere the ink was dry,
 Extremely happy—come on Fri-
day next, at six precisely.
Blewit, with expectation fraught,
Drove up at six, each savoury thought
Ideal turbot rich in;
But ere he reached the winning-post,
He saw a haunch of ven'son roast
Down in the next-door kitchen.
Hey, zounds! what's this? a haunch at Drew's?
1 must drop in; I can't refuse;
To pass were downright treason:
To cut Ned Benson's not quite staunch;
But the provocative—a haunch !
Zounds! it's the first this season 1
 Ven'son, thou'rt mine! I'll talk no more
Then, rapping thrice at Benson's door,
 John, I'm in such a hurry!
Do tell your master that my aunt
Is paralytic, quite aslant,
I must be off for Surrey.
Now Tom at next door makes a din—
"Is Captain Drew at home?"— Walk in."—
 Drew, how d'ye do ?"— What! Blewit I
318
Comic Recitations.
 Yes; I—you've ask'd me many a day,
To drop in in a quiet way.
So now I'm come to do it.
 I'm very glad you have, said Drew,
 I've nothing but an Irish stew."—
Quoth Tom, aside, "No matter,
'Twont do—my stomach's up to that,—
'Twill lie by, till the lucid fat
Comes quiv'ring on the platter.
 You see your dinner, Tom, Dre w cried.
"No, but I don't though, Tom replied;
 I smoked below "— What ?"— Ven'son—
A haunch "— Oh ! true, it is not mine;
My neighbour had some friends to dine."—
"Your neighbour! who?"—"George Benson,
 His chimney smoked; the scene to change,
I let him have my kitchen range,
While his was newly polished:
The ven'son you observed below
Went home just half an hour ago;
I guess it's now demolish'd.
"Tom, why that look of doubtful dread?
Come, help yourself to salt and bread,
Don't sit with hands and knees up;
But dine, for once, off Irish stew,
And read the ' Dog and Shadow' through,
When next you open /Esop.
PORK STEAKS; OR, THE MISTAKE.
Anonymous.
A y> ell known and much respected music-seller, not one hun«
dred miles from St. Paul's Churchyard, and not more remark-
able for the peculiarity of his speech than the unaffected simplicity
of his manners, returning home one day from the west end of the
lown, where he had been tuning a pianoforte, passing by St. James's
Church, and casting his eye up, exclaimed,  Hey, why, bless my
soul, it's past two o'clock, I shall be too late for dinner—my
brother will have dined without me—what shall I do ? oh, I know
—I know what I'll do, I'll go to the York Coffee-house, and I'll get
me a little bit of snack. Accordingly, he goes to the York Coffee-
house in Piccadilly, and after taking up a newspaper, calls, Here)
Two Heads Better than One. 219
waiter, what can I have to eat ? Sir. What can I have to eat, I say—
don't I speak plain ?—what can I have to eat ? Whatever you please,
sir, I'll bring in the bill of fare. No, sir, I don't want the bill of fare,
I only want a little bit of a snack. Very well, sir, what would you
please to have? Why let me see, suppose you get me two or thiec
poached eggs. Sir. Get me two or three poached eggs, I say. Yes,
sir. Aye 1 let me see, I'll have one—two—three—ti.-ur poachef.
eggs. The waiter mistaking his orders, goes to the cook aiul desires
him to broil four pork steaks, and when ready takes them to him.
Sir, 1 have brought what you ordered. Very well, young man,
put 'em down. I've just finished the paper. The waiter was retir-
ing, when he was suddenly called back with  Here, hollo, waiter!
Sir. Why, what the devil have you brought me here ? What you
ordered, sir. Why, you impudent dog, didn't I order you, as plain
as I could speak, to bring me four poached eggs ? Well, sir, they are
pork steaks, or chops, call them which you please (going.) Come
here, sir, I've not done with you yet; pray, sir, do you know what
acock is? A cock, sir? Yes, sir; a cock, a cock-a-doodle-doo.
Oh, sir, you wanted a fowl. No, sir, I did not want a fowl, you
owl; do you not know what a cock's wife is ? Yes, sir, a hen.
Very well, sir, what is a hen before it is a hen ? isn't it a chicken ?
and what is a chicken before it is a chicken ? isn't it an egg ? Oh,
sir, you wanted four poached eggs. Yes, sir, I wanted four poached
eggs.
N.B. The reader will here clearly perceive that the peculiarity of
speech alluded to, and its consequent mistake, proceeded from a
strong nasal defect, or obstruction in the nostril, which must be
assumed to make the recitation effective.
TWO HEADS BETTER THAN ONE.
Anonymous.
As Yorkshire Humphrey t'other day
O'er London-bridge was straying,
He saw with wonder and delight,
A steam-ship anchor weighing.
Numps gazing stood, and wond'ring how
This grand machine was made;
To feast his eyes, he thrust his head
Betwixt the balustrade.
A sharper prowling near the spot,
Observes the gaping lout;
And soon, with fish-hook fingers, turns
His Docket inside out.
220
Comic Recitations.
Numps feels the twitch, and turns around.
The thief, with artful leer,
Says— Sir, you'll presently be robb'd,
For pickpockets are near.
Quoth Numps, "I don't fear London thieves\
Ize not a simple youth !
My sovereign, master's, safe enough :
I've put it in my mouth 1
 You'll par ion me 1 the rogue replies,
Then modestly retires;
Numps re-assumes the gaping post,
And still the ship admires.
The artful dodger takes his stand,
With Humphrey full in view;
When now an infant thief drew near,
And each the other knew.
Then thus the elder thief began—
 Observe that gaping lout!
He has a sovereign in his mouth,
And we must get it out.
"Leave that to me! young Filcher says,
 I have a scheme quite pat 1
Only observe how neat I'll queer
The gaping country flat!
By this time Numps, who'd gazed his fill.
Was trudging through the street;
When the young pilf'rer tripping by,
Falls prostrate at his feet.
 Oh Lord ! oh dear ! my money's lost!
The artful urchin moans;
While halfpence, falling from his hand,
Roil jingling o'er the stones.
The passengers now stoop to find,
And give the boy his coin ;
And Humphrey, with a friendly hand.
Deigns cordially to join.
"There are your pence, quoth Numps, "my boj
Be zure you holds 'em faster!
* My pence! quoth Filch :  here are my pence;
But where's my sovereign, master?
The Parson and the Spaniel.
»I
•■"Help, help, good folks: for God's sake, help
Bawls out the hopeful youth—
* He pick'd my sovereign up just now,
And has it in his mouth !
The elder rascal, lurking near,
Now close to Humphrey draws;
And, seizing on his gullet, plucks
The sovereign from his jaws!
Then roars out— Masters, here's the coin;
I'll give the child his money !
But who'd have thought to see a thief
In this same country ninny?
Humphrey, astonish'd, thus begins—
 Good measter! hear me, pray !
But— Duck him! duck him ! is the cry :
At length he sneaks away.
 Ah ! now, quoth Numps, "I will believe
What often I've heard zaid;
That London thieves would steal the teeth
Out of a body's head!
THE PARSON AND THE SPANIEL.
Anonymous.
A gentleman possess'd a favourite Spaniel,
That never treated maid or man ill;
This dog, of which we cannot too much say,
Got from his godfather the name of Tray.
After ten years of service just,
Tray, like the race of mortals, sought the dust,
That is to say, the Spaniel died.
A coffin, then, was order'd to be made,
The dog was in the churchyard laid!
While o'er his pale remains the master cried,
Lamenting much his trusty fur-clad friend,
And willing to commemorate his end,
He raised a small blue stone just after burial,
And, weeping, wrote on it this sweet memorial.
That's Epitaph.
Here 1 ies the relic of a friend below,
Blest with more sense than half the folks I know;
122
Comic Recitations.
Fond of his ease, and to no parties prone
He damn'd no sect, but calmly gnaw'd his bone,*
Perform'd his functions well in ev'ry way,
Blush ! Christians, if you can, and copy Tray.
The Curate, of the Huntingtonian band,
Rare breed of gospel hawks, that scour the land,
And fierce on sins their quarry fall,
Those locusts that would eat up all.
Men who with new-invented patent eyes,.
See heaven, and all the angels in the skies,
As plain as in the box of showman Swiss,
For little master made, or curious miss,
We see with huge delight the King of France,
With all his lords and ladies dance.
This Curate heard th' affair with deep emotion,
And thus exclaim'd, with infinite devotion :
 O Lord! O Lord ! O Lord! O Lord!
Fine doings these, upon my word;
This truly is a very pretty thing,
What will become of this most shocking world?
How richly such a rogue deserves to swing,
And then to Satan's hottest flames be hurled.
Oh, by this damned deed, how I am hurried,
A dog, in Christian ground, indeed! be buried,
And have an epitaph, forsooth, so civil!
Egad! old maids will presently be found,
Clapping their dead pet cats in holy ground,
And writing verses on each mousing devil.
Against such future casualty providing,
The priest set off like Homer's Neptune striding,
Vowing to put the culprit in the court.
He found him at the Spaniel's humble grave,
Not praying, neither singing of a stave,
A.nd thus began t' abuse him, not exhort:—
 Son of the devil! what hast thou done ?
Naught for the action can atone :
I should not wonder if the lightnings red
Dashed to earth that wretched head,
Which dared so foul, so base an act devise:
Bury a dog like Christian folk,
None but the fiend of darkness could provoke
A man to perpetrate so odd a deed;
Our Inquisition soon the tale shall hear,
And quickly your fine fleece shall shear :
Why, such a villain must be mad indeed.
 Softly, my reverend sir, the squire replied,
"Tray was as good a dog as ever died;
Hodge and the Pica*.
No education could his morals mend,
And what perhaps, sir, you may doubt,
Before his lamp of life went out,
He ordered you a legacy, my friend.
"Did he? poor dog! the soften'd priest reioin'd,
In accents pitiful and kind ;
' What! was it Tray? I'm sorry for poor Tray;
Why, truly, dogs of such rare merit,
Such real nobleness of spirit,
Should not, like common dogs, be put away.
Well, pray what was it that he gave,
Poor fellow! ere he sought the grave?
I guess I may put confidence, sir, in ye.
 A piece of gold, the gentleman replied.
"I'm much obliged to Tray, the Parson cried,
Gave up the cause, and pocketed the guinea.
HODGE AND THE VICAR.
Anonymous.
A poor and honest country lout,
Not overstocked with learning,
Chanced on a summer's eve to meet
The vicar home returning.
 Ah ! Master Hodge, the vicar cried,
 What, still as wise as ever ?
The people in the village say
That you are wondrous clever.
 Why, Master Parson, as to that,
I beg you'll right conceive me,
I do na' brag, but yet I know
A thing or two, believe me.
 We'll try your skill, the parson cried,
"For learning what digestion;
And this you'll prove or right or wrong,
By solving me a question.
'Noah of old three babies had,
Or grown-up children rather;
Shem, Ham, and Japhet they were called,
Now who was Japhet's father ?
"Rat it! cried Hodge, and scratched his head,
* That does my wits belabour;
lut howsumever I'll homeward run,
Vnd ax old Giles, my neighbour.
Comic Recitationv.
To Giles he went, and put the case
With circumspect intention;
*' Thou fool, cried Giles,  I'll make it clear
To thy dull comprehension.
Three children has Tom Long, the smith,
Or cattle-doctor, rather;
Tom, Dick, and Harry they are called,
Now who is Harry's father ?
 Adzooks ! I have it, Hodge replied,
 Right well I know your lingo;
Who's Harry's father ? stop—here goes—■
Why, Tom Long Smith, by jingo 1
Away he ran to find the priest,
With all his might and main, sir,
Who with good humour insta-nt put
The question once again, sir.
 Noah of old three babies had,
Or grown-up children rather;
Shem, Ham, and Japhet they were called,
Now who was Japhet's father ?
 I have it now, Hodge grinning cried,
 I'll answer like a proctor.
Who's Japhet's father ?—now I know—
Why, Tom Long Smith, the doctor.
THE FARMER AND THE COUNSELLOR.
Horace Smith.
A counsel m the "Common Pleas,
Who was esteemed a mighty wit,
Upon the strength of a chance hit,
Amid a thousand flippancies,
And his occasional bad jokes,
In bullying, bantering, browbeating,
Ridiculing and maltreating
Women, or other timid folks;
In a late cause, resolved to hoax
A clownish Yorkshire farmer—one
Who, by his uncouth look and gait,
Appeared expressly meant by fate
For being quizzed and played upon.
So having tipped the wink to those
In the back rows,
The Bashful Man.
325
Wi 10 kept their laughter hottled down,
Until our wag should draw the cork—
He smiled jocosely on the clown,
And went to work.
 Well, Farmer Numskull, how go calves at York ?
 Why—not, sir, as they do wi' you ;
But on four legs instead of tivo
 Officer, cried the legal elf,
Piqued at the laugh against himself,
 Do pray keep silence down below there 1
New look at Tie, clown, and attend,
Have I not seen ycu somewhere, friend?
 Yees, very like, I often go there.
"Our rustic's waggish—quite laconic,
(The counsel cried, with grin sardonic,)
 I wish I'd known this prodigy,
This genius of the clods, when I
On circuit was at York residing.
Now, farmer, do for once speak true,
Mind, you're on oath, so tell me, you
Who doubtless think yourself so clever,
Are there as many fools as ever
In the West Riding?
 Why no, sir, no ! we've got our share,
But not so many as when you were there.
THE BASHFUL MAN.
Henry Mackenzie.
[An essayist, dramatist, and writer of prose fiction. Among his
novels, "The Man of Feeling acquired great popularity. Born 1746
died 1831.]
Among the various good and bad qualities incident to our
nature, I am unfortunately that being overstocked with the one
called bashfulness : for you must know, I inherit such an extreme
susceptibility of shame, that on the smallest subject o* confusion,
my blood rushes into my cheeks, and I appear a perfect ful' clown
rose ; in short, I zzu commonly known by the appellation of "The
Bashful Man. The consciousness of this unhappy failing made
me formerly avoid that social company I should otherwise have
oeen ambitious to appear in; till at length becoming possessed of
Bn ample fortune by the death of an old rich uncla, and vainly sup-
a
226
Comic Recitations.
posing  that money makes the man, I was now determined to
shake off my natural timidity, and join the gay throng.'' With
this view I accepted of an invitation to dine with one whose open,
easy manner left me no room to doubt of a cordial welcome,
Sir Thomas Friendly, an intimate acquaintance of my late uncle's,
with two sons and five daughters, all grown up, and living with
their mother and a maiden sister of Sir Thomas's. Conscious of
my unpolished gait, I for some time took private lessons of a pro-
fessor who teaches "grown gentlemen to dance. Having by his
means acquired the art of walking without tottering, and learned
to make a bow, 1 boldly ventured to obey the baronet's invitation
to a family dinner, not doubting but my new acquirements'would
enable me to see the ladies with tolerable intrepidity; but, alas!
how vain are all the hopes of theory when unsupported by habitual
practice. As I approached the house a dinner bell alarmed my
fears lest I had spoiled the dinner by want of punctuality; im-
pressed with this idea I blushed the deepest crimson, as my name
was repeatedly announced by the several livery servants who
ushered me into the library, hardly knowing what or whom I saw.
At my first entrance I summoned all my fortitude, and made my
new-learned bow to Lady Friendly; but unfortunately in bringing
my left foot to the third position I trod upon the gouty toe of poor
Sir Thomas, who had followed close to my heels, to be the Nomen-
clator of the family. The confusion this occasioned in me is hardly
. to be conceived, since none but bashful men can judge of my dis-
tress; and of that description I believe the number is very small.
The baronet's politeness by degrees dissipated my concern, and I
was astonished to see how far good breeding could enable him to
support his feelings, and to appear with perfect ease after so pain-
ful an accident.
The cheerfulness of her ladyship, and the familiar chat of the
young ladies, insensibly led me to throw off my reserve and sheepish-
ness, till at length I ventured to join in conversation, and even to
start fresh subjects. The library being richly furnished with books
in elegant bindings, and observing an edition of "Xenophon, in
"jiiteen volumes, which (as I had never before heard of) greatly
excited my curiosity, I rose up to examine what it could be. Sir
Thomas saw what I was about, and (as I suppose) willing to save
me trouble, rose to take down the book, which made me more
eager to prevent him; and hastily laying my hand on the first
volume I pulled it forcibly: but, lo! instead of books, a board,
which by leather and gilding had been made to look like sixteen
volumes, came tumbling down, and unluckily pitched upon a
wedgwood inkstand on the table under it. In vain did Sir Thomas
assured me there was no harm; I saw the ink streaming from an
inlaid table on to the Turkey carpet, and scarce knowing what I
did, attempted to stop its progress with my cambric handkerchief.
In the height of this confusion, we were informed that dinner was
The Bashful Man.
227
served-up, and I with joy perceived that the bell which at first had
so alarmed my fears, was only the half-hour dinner-bell.
In walking through the hall and suite of apartments to the
dining-room, 1 had time to collect my scattered senses, and was
desired to take my seat betwixt Lady Friendly and her eldest
daughter at the table. Since the fall of the wooden  Xenophon,
my face had been continually burning like a firebrand; and I was
iust beginning to recover mystlf, and to feel comfortably cool, when
an unlooked-for accident rekindled all my heat and blushes. Having
set my plate of soup too near the edge of the table, in bowing to
Miss Dinah, who politely complimented the pattern of my waistcoat,
I tumbled the whole scalding contents into my lap. In spite of an
immediate supply of napkins to wipe the surface of my clothes, my
black silk breeches were not stout enough to save me from the
painful effects of this sudden fomentation, and for some minutes my
legs and thighs seemed stewing in a boiling cauldron; but recollect-
ing how Sir Thomas had disguised his torture when 1 trod upon his
toe, I firmly bore my pain in silence, and sat with my lower ex-
tremities parboiled amidst the stifled giggling of the ladies and the
servants.
I will not relate the several blunders which I made during the
first course, or the distress occasioned by my being desired to carve
a fowl, or help to various dishes that stood near me, spilling a sauce-
boat, and knocking down a salt-cellar; rather let me hasten to the
second course,  where fresh disasters overwhelmed me quite.
I had a piece of rich sweet pudding on my fork, when Miss
Louisa Friendly begged to trouble me for a pigeon that stood near
me. In my haste, scarcely knowing what I did, I whipped the
pudding into my mouth hot as a burning coal. It was impossib/
to conceal my agony,—my eyes were starting from their sockets.
At last, in spite of shame and resolution, I was obliged to drop the
cause of torment on my plate. Sir Thomas and the ladies all com-
passionated my misfortune, and each advised a different application;
one recommended oil, another water, but all agreed that wine was
best for drawing out fire, and a glass of sherry was brought me
from the sideboard, which I snatched up with eagerness : but, oh !
how shall I tell the sequel? whether the butler by accident mistook,
or purposely designed to drive me mad, he gave me the strongest
brandy, with which I filled my mouth, already flayed and blistered.
Totally unused to ardent spirits, with my tongue, throat, and palate
as raw as beef, what could I do? I could not swallow; and, clapping
my hands upon my mouth, the burning liquor squirted through my
nose and fingers like a fountain all over the dishes; and I was crushed
by bursts of laughter from all quarter*, Tn vain did Sir Thomat
reprimand the servants and Lady Friendly chide her daughters, for
the measure of my shame and their diversion was not yet complete.
To relieve me from the intolerable state of perspiration which this
accident had caused, without considering what I did, I wiped my
a a
228
Comic Recitations.
face with that ill-fated handkerchief, which was still wet from the
consequences of the fall of  Xenophon, and coveied all my fea-
tures with streaks of ink in every direction. The baronet himself
could not support this shock, but joined his lady in the general
laugh; while 1 sprung from the table in despair, rushed out of the
house, and ran home in an agony of confusion and disgrace which
the most poignant sense of guilt could have excited.
Thus, without having deviated from the path of moral rectitude,
I am suffering torments like a "goblin damned. The lower half
of me lias been almost boiled, my tongue and mouth grilled, and I
bear the mark of Cain upon my forehead; yet these ate but trifling
considerations to the everlasting shame which I must feel whenever
this adventure, shall be mentioned. Perhaps by your assistance
when my neighbours know how much I feel on the occasion, they
will spare a bashful man, and (as I am just informed my poultice is
ready) 1 trust you will excuse the haste in which I retire.
THE TINKER AND THE GLAZIER.
William Harrison.
[Was associated with Steele in the editorship of The Tatler, and an
intimate friend of Dean Swift. Died 1712.]
Since gratitude, 'tis said, is not o'er common,
And friendly acts are pretty near as few,
With high and low, with man, and eke with woman,
With Turk, with Pagan, Christian, and with Jew;
We ought, at least, whene'er we chance to find
Of these rare qualities a slender sample.
To show they may possess the human mind,
And try die boasted influence of example.
Who knows how far the novelty may charm ?
At all events it cannot do much harm.
The tale we give, then, and we need not fear,
The moral, if there be one, will appear.
Two thirsty souls met on a sultry day,
One glazier Dick, the other Tom the tinker j
Both with light purses, but with spirits gay.
And hard it were to name the sturdiest drinker,
Their ale they quaff'd ;
And as they swigg'd the nappy,
They both agreed, 'tis said,
That trade was wondrous dead.
They joked, sung, laughed,
And were completely happy.
The Tinker and the Glazier.
229
The landlord's eye, bright as his sparkling ale,
Glistened to see them the brown pitcher hug ;
For ev'ry jest, and song, and merry tale,
Had this blythe ending— Biing us t'other mug 1
Now Dick the glazier feels hi:; bosom burn,
To do his friend Tom Tinker a good turn;
And where the heart to friendship feels inclin'd,
Occasion seldom loiters long behind.
The kettle, gaily singing on the fire,
Gives Dick a hint just to his heart's desire :
<\nd, while to draw more ale the landlord goes,
Dick in the ashes all the water throws;
Then puts the kettle on the fire again,
And at the tinker winks,
As  Trade's success ! he drinks,
Nor doubts the wish'd success Tom will obtain.
Our landlord ne'er could such a toast withstand;
So giving each kind customer a hand,
His friendship too display'd,
And drank— Success to trade !
But, oh ! how pleasure vanish'd from his eye,
How long and rueful his round visage grew,
Soon as he saw the kettle's bottom fly,
Solder the only fluid he could view !
He rav'd, he caper'd, and he swore,
And hanged the kettle's body o'er and o'er.
"Come, come, says Dick, "fetch us, my friend, more
All trades, you know, must live;
Let's drink—' May trade with none of us e'er fail;'
The job to Tom then give;
And for the ale he drinks, my lad of metal.
Take my word for it, soon will mend your kettle.
The landlord yields; but hopes 'tis no offence,
To curse the trade that thrives at his expense.
Tom undertakes the job, to work he goes,
And just concludes it with the evening's close.
,Souls so congenial had friends Tom and Dick,
Each fairly might be called a '"vir.g brother.
Thought Tom, to serve my friend 1 know a trick,
And one good turn always deserves another.
Out he now slily slips,
But not a word he said,
The plot was in his head,
And off he nimbly trips.
Swift to the neighbouring church his way he takes;
Nor in the dark
Misses his mark.
But ev'ry pane of glass he quickly breaks
230
Comic Recitations.
But as he goes
His bosom glows,
To think how great will be his friend Dick's joy
At getting so much excellent employ.
Returned, he beckoning, draws his friend aside, —
Importance in his face;
And, to Dick's ear his mouth applied,
Thus briefly states the case:—
 Dick, I may give you joy : you're a made man;
I've done your business most complete, my friend s
I'm off—the devil catch me, if he can—
Each window of the church you've got to mend;
Ingratitude's worst curse my head befall,
If for your sake I have not broke them all.
Tom with surprise, sees Dick turn pale;
Who deeply sighs— Oh, la I
Then drops his under jaw,
And all his powers of utterance fail;
While horror in his ghastly face,
And bursting eye-balls, Tom can trace;
Whose sympathetic muscles, just and true,
Share, with his heart,
Dick's unknown smart,
And two such phizzes ne'er met mortal view.
At length friend Dick his speech regain'd,
And soon the mystery explain'd—
"You have indeed my business done I
And I, as well as you, must run;
For, let me act the best I can,
Tom, Tom, I am a ruin'd man !
Zounds, zounds ! this piece of friendship costs me dear ;
I always mend church windows by the year /
THE PARSONS AND THE CORKSCREW.
W. T. Moncrieff.
[A very popular and prolific Dramatic Author and Comic Writer,
Published also a volume cf charming serious poetry. Born 1795.
Some time before his death he became blind. Died, "a Poor Brother
of the Charterhouse, 1S57.]
Twelve parsons once went to a squire's to dine,
Who was famous for giving good venison and wine.
All great friends to- the cloth, with good living in view,
Quite grace full they sat down, as parsons should da
The Three Warnings.
231
A wicked young whipster, our worthy squire's cousin,
Whispered,  Cousin, I boldly will lay rump and dozen,
Though here we've a dozen staunch priests, of the lot
Not one of the twelve here a prayer-book has got.
 Agreed, cried the squire.  Coz, we must not be loth
Such a wager to lay for the sake of the cloth.
The parsons, no doubt, to confute you are able,
So we'll bring, with the dinner, the bet on the table.
Dinner served; cried the squire, "A new grace I will say,
Has any one here got a prayer-book, pray?
Quite glum looked the priests, coughed, and with one accord
Cried  Mine's lost"— Mine's at home"— Mine's at church,
'pon my word.
Quoth our cousin,  Dear squire, I my wager have won,
Bjut another I purpose to win ere I've done;
Though the parsons could not bring a prayer-book to view,
I'll bet the same bet, they can find a corkscrew.
 Done! done! roared the squire.  Hilloa! butler, bring
nearer
That excellent magnum of ancient Madeira;
'Twas brought—"Let's decant it; a corkscrew, good John.
Here each of the parsons roared out  I've got one
But let us not censure our parsons for this,
When a thing's in its place, it can ne'er come amiss;
Prayer-books wont serve for corkscrews ; and I'm such a sinner.
Though a sermon I like, I don't want it at dinner!
THE THREE WARNINGS.
Mrs. Piozzi-
[First Mrs. Thrale. An intimate h&tik of Dr. Johnson. Rortt
\740j died 1822.]
The tree of deepest root is found
Least willing still to quit the ground;
'Twas therefore said by ancient sages,
That love of life increased with years
So much, that in our latter stages,
When pains grow sharp, and sickness rages,
The greatest love of life appears.
This strong affection to believe
Which all confess, but few perceive.
If old assertions can't prevail,
Be pleased to hear a modern tale.
33*
Comic Recitations.
When sports went round, and all were gay,
On neighbour Dobson's wedding-day,
Death called aside the jocund groom,
With him into another room,
And looking grave,  You must, says no.
 Quit your sweet bride, and come with me.
"With you! and quit my Susan's side?
With you! the hapless husband cried,
 Young as I am ! 'tis monstrous hard!
Besides, in truth I'm not prepared:
My thoughts on other matters go ,•
This is my wedding-night, you know.
What more he urged I have not heard;
His reasons could not well be stronger ;
So Death the poor delinquent spared,
And left to live a little longer.
Yet calling up a serious look,
His hour-glass trembled while he spoke,
"Neighbour, he said, "farewell; no more
Shall Death disturb your mirthful hour;
And farther, to avoid all blame
Of cruelty upon my name,
To give you time for preparation,
And fit you for your future station,
Three several warnings you shall have,
Before you're summon'd to the grave:
Willing, for once, I'll quit my prey,
And grant a kind reprieve;
In hopes you'll have no more to say,
But when I call again this way,
Well pleased the world will leave.
To these conditions both consented,
And parted perfectly contented.
What next the. hcio of oui tale befell,
How long he lived, how wisely well;
How roundly he pursued his course,
And smoked his pipe and stroked his hoise.
The willing muse shall tell:
He chaffered, then, he bought, he sold,
Nor once perceived his growing old,
Nor thought of Deaih as near;
His friends not false, his wife no shrew,
Many his gains, his children few.
He passed his smiling hours in peace;
t id still he viewed his wealth incease.
The Three Warnings.
333
While thus along life's dusty road,
The beaten track content he trod,
Old time, whose haste 110 mortal spares,
Uncalled, unheeded, unawares,
Brought on his eightieth year.
When lo ! one night in musing mood,
As all alone he sate,
The unwelcome messenger of fate
Once more before him stood.
Half-killed with anger and surprise.
 So soon returned ? old Dobson cries.
 So soon ! d'ye call it, Death replies;
* Surely, my friend, you're but in jest;
Since I was here before
'Tis six-and-thirty years at least,
And you are now fourscore.
 So much the worse, the clown rejoined;
 To spare the aged would be kind :
Besides, you promised me Three Warnings,
Which I have looked for nights and mornings:
And for that loss of time and ease,
1 can recover damages.
 I knew, says Death,  that, at the best,
I seldom am a welcome guest;
But don't be captious, friend; at least,
1 little thought you'd still be able
To stump about your farm and stable;
Your years have run to a great length—
I wish you joy, though, of your strength.
 Hold, says the farmer,  not so fast;
]have been lame these four years past.
And no great wonder, Death replies;
"However, you still keep your eyes;
And sure to see one's loves and friends,
For legs and arms may make amends.
 Perhaps, says Dobson,  so it might,
But latterly I've lost my sight.
 This is a shocking tale, in truth;
Yet there's some comfort still, says Death;
 Each strives your sadness to amuse;
1 warrant, you hear all the news.
"There's none, he cries; "and, if there were,
I'm grown so deaf 1 could not hear.
Comic Recitations.
"Nay, then, the spectre stern rejoined^
 These are unjustifiable yearnings;
If you are lame, and deaf, and blind,
You've had your three sufficient warnings 3
So come along, no more we'll part
He said, and touched him with his dart.
And now old Dobson, turning pale,
Yields to his fate—so ends my tale.
THE COUNTRYMEN AND THE ASS.
John Byrom.
[Though called "-Dr. Byrom, and practising in medicine,
never took a degree. Wrote several poems and invented a system
shorthand. Was a contributor to The Spectator. Born 1691 3 died
1762. There is another version of this fable by Samuel Foote.J
A country fellow and his son, they tell
In modern fables, had an ass to sell:
For this intent they turned it out to play,
And fed so well, that by the destined day,
They brought the creature into sleek repair,
And drove it gently to a neighbouring fair.
As they were jogging on, a rural class
Was heard to say,  Look ! look there, at that ass!
And those two blockheads trudging on each side,
That have not, either of 'em, sense to ride;
Asses all three! And thus the country folks
On man and boy began to cut their jokes.
Th' old fellow minded nothing that they said,
But every word stuck in the young one's head;
And thus began their comment thereupon:
 Ne'er heed'm, lad.  Nay, father, do get on.®'
 Not I, indeed.  Why then, let me, I pray.
"Well, do; and see what prating tongues will say.
The boy was mounted; and they had not got
Much further on, before another knot,
Just as the ass was pacing by, pad, pad,
Cried,  O ! that lazy looby of a lad !
How unconcernedly the gaping brute
Lets the poor aged fellow walk a-foot.
Down came the son, on hearing this account,
And begged and prayed, and made his father mounts
How to Save a Thousand Pounds.
Till a third party, on a further stretch,
 See! see! exclaimed,  that old hard-hearted wretch 1
How like a justice there he sits, or squire;
While the poor U-l keeps wading through the mire 
 Stop, cried the lad, still vexed in deeper mind,
 Stop, father, stop ; let me get on behind.
This done, they thought they certainly should please^
Escape reproaches, and be both at ease;
For, having tried each practicable way,
What could be left for jokers now to say ?
Still disappointed by succeeding tone,
 Hark ye, you fellows ! Is' that ass your own ?
Get off; for shame ! or one of you, at least i
You both deserve to carry the poor beast,
Ready to drop down dead upon the road,
With such a huge unconscionable load.
On this they both dismounted; and, some say,
Contrived to carry, like a truss of hay,
The ass between 'em; prints, they add, are seen
With man and lad, and slinging ass between;
Others omit that fancy in the print,
As overstraining an ingenious hint.
The copy that we follow says, The man
Rubbed down the ass, and took to his first plan,
Walked to the fair, and sold him, got his price,
And gave his son this pertinent advice:
 Let talkers talk; stick thou to what is best;
To think of pleasing all—is all a jest.
HOW TO SAVE A THOUSAND POUND!
Anony mous.
Hazard, a careless fellow, known
At every gambling house in town,
Was oft in want of money, yet
Could never bear to run in debt;
Because, 'tis thought, no man was willing
To give him credit for a shilling.
Dependent on Dame Fortune's will,
He threw the dice, or well or ill;
This day in rags, the next in lace,
iist as it happened, six or ace ;
Comic Recitations.
Was oftentimes, when not a winner.
Uncertain where to get a dinner.
One da/ when cruel Fortune's frown,
Had stripped him of his last half-crown,
Saunt'ring along, in sorry mood,
Hungry—perhaps for want of food—
A parlour window struck his eye,
Through which our hero chanced to spy
A jolly round-faced personage,
Somewhat about the middle age,
Beginning a luxurious rrleal,
For 'twas a noble loin of veal;
And such a sight, I need not mention,
Quickly arrested his attention ;
 Surely, thought he,  I know that face,
I've seen it at some other place;
I recollect, 'twas at the play,
And there I heard some people say
How rich this fellow was, and what
A handsome daughter he had got;
That dinner would exactly do,—
A loin of veal's enough for two!
Could not I now strike out some way
To get an introduction, eh ?
Most likely 'tis I may endeavour
In vain; but come, I'll try, however.
And now he meditates no more,
Thunders a rat-tat at the door.
The parti-coloured footmen come.
 Pray, is your master, sir, at home?
 My master, sir, is aX home, but busy.
"Then he's engaged, quoth Hazard, "is he
In voice as loud as he could bellow:
 I'm very sorry, my good fellow,
It happens so, because I could
Your master do some little, good;
A speculation that I know
Might save a thousand pounds or so.
No matter, friend, your master tell,
Another day will do as well.
 Whatds that you say ? the mastei ches,
\Vith pleasure beaming fiom his eyes,
And napkin tucked beneath his chin,
Bouncing from parlour, whence within
He'd heard those joy-inspiring sounds
Of saving him a thousand pounds.
 My dear sir, what is that you say ?*
 Sir, I can call another day;
How to Save c Tnousand Pounds.
Your dinner I've disturbed, I fear.
"Do, pray, sir, take your dinner here;
You'll find a welcome, warm and hearty.
 I shall intrude, sir, on your party.
 There's not a soul but I and you.
Well, then, I don't care if I do.
)ur spark's design so far completed,
Behold him at the table seated,
Paying away, as well he might,
With some degree of appetite.
Our host, who willing would have pressed
The thousand pounds upon his guest,
Still thought it would not be genteel
To interrupt him at his meal,
Which seemed so fully to employ him,
Talking might probably annoy him;
So thought it better he should wait
Till after dinner the debate.
And now, "The king and constitution,
With  111 success to revolution,
And many a warm and loyal toast
Had been discussed, when our good host
Thought it was almost time to say,
 Let's move the order of the day.
Indeed, he hardly could help thinking
'Twas rather odd—his guest was drinking
(The business not a jot the nearer)
A second bottle of Madeira,
And that he seemed to sit and chatter
'Bout this and that, and t'other matter,
As if he'd not the least intention
This thousand pounds of his to mention ;
Much did he wish to give a hint,
Yet knew not how he should begin't;
At length,  Sir, you've forgot, I fear,
The business that has brought you here;
J think you gave some intimation
About a saving speculation.
'' Ay, sir, you'll find it not amiss;
My speculation's simply this:—
I hear you have a daughter, sir.
 A daughter! Well, and what of her?
What can my daughter have to do
With this affair 'twixt me and you ?
"I mean to make your daughter (craving
Your pardon, sir), the means of saving
The sum I mention. You'll allow
Comic Recitations.
My scheme is feasible.  As how V'
"Why, thus : I hear you've no objection
To form some conjugal affection
For this same daughter.  No, provided
All other matters coincided.
 Then, sir, I'll suit you to a hair:
Pray, is she not extremely fair ?
 Why, yes, there's many folks who praise he.
But what is beauty now-a-days, sir ?
"Ay, true, sir, nothing without wealth :
But come, suppose we drink her health.
 Indeed, I've drunk enough already.
 Oh, fie! consider, sir, a lady.
By rights we should have drunk her first;
Pray fill.  Well, if I must, I must.
"And pray what age, sir, may she be?'
"God bless me ! she's just twenty-three.
"Justtwenty-three ? i'faith, a rare age! '
 Sir, you were speaking of her marriage.
 I was, and wish to know, in case
Such an occurrence should take place,
The sum it might be in your power
To give with her by way of dower.
"Well, then, sir, this is my intent:
If married with my own consent,
I've no objection, on such grounds,
To pay her down ten thousand pounds.
"Ten thousand, sir, I think you say?
 I do.  What, on the marriage day ?
"The whole. "Then let it, sir, be mine;
I'll take her off your hands with nine;
And that you'll call, I'm sure, good grounds
For saving you a thousand pounds.
CHEAP CLOTHING.
Anonymous.
One Charles MacKenzie, who with bra' Scotch face.
Like sunshine frying on a raw beef-steak,
Held in the House of Somerset a place,
By which some annual monies he did make.
Now Charles MacKenzie's was a saving plan,
'Tis the concomitant of clerkly man—
And rather than bestow a sixpence right,
Cheap Clothing.
Would do a good deal wrong,
So says the song,
Perhaps more truly than is deemed polite.
This Charley had a tailor of his own,
Some human five feet two of skin and bone;
Who made cheap clothes,—so cheap, I grieve to utter
He scarce could buy his bread, much less his butter j
Forsooth, the Scotchman was the greatest cutter,
Who never let the Snip obtain
Much profit on his stuff,
Seeming, as paying was against his grain,
To think his order was enough.
Well, 'twas but like the dandies of his age,
But saints preserve us from such patronage.
Now, one day Charley to his Schneider said,
 I want some trousers—not exactly stout—
Not in-door wearing, light as thine own head,
For walking while the summer is about.
But Snip, not liking jokes upon his sconce,
Vowed to be quits at least for once;
And made such natty brogues,
None could itnagine, when they sa-yv,
Within the glossy cloth a flaw,
Unless themselves were of the tailor rogues.
Pleased at their elegance, now Charley walked
Some three yards bigger than he talked;
But, oh ! I grieve, MacKenzie
Scaice had a fortnight's wearing,
hre the new trousers tearing
With old age, put him in a perfect frenzy;
He found ! oh, direful fate ! he found !
What ? that the gay cloth wasn't sound.
All in a towering passion forth he went,
To row the knavish man's ninth part intent;
And fit to choke,
Thus silence broke:—
 You, tailor lout, our dealings hence shall cease;Tt
And then an adjective his lip releases.
 Never expect another moment's peace,
You've made my trousers, and they've gone to pieces,m
 Sir, said the tailor, and he bow'd his head,
 I followM full your orders—make no rout—
Not in-door wearing, as you plainly said,
Of course. I thought you meant them to weav mi?
Comic Recitations.
THE SCHOOLMASTER AND HIS APPLES,,
Anonymsus.
What is a schoolmaster? Why, cau't you tell?
A quizzical old man
Armed with a ratan;
Wears a huge wig,
And struts about;
Strives to look big,
With spectacles on snout,
And most important pout,
Who teaches little boys to read and spell.
Such my description is, of a man,
If not a clergyman, a layman
So much by way of definition,
And, to prevent dull disquisition,
We'll ^shortly take a new position.
A schoolmaster (it mostly follows)
Who keeps a school, mast have some scholar*
Unless, indeed (which said at once is)
Instead of scholars, they are all dunces :
/ Or if this fancy more should tickle,
Suppose them mixed—like Indian pickle.
One Dr. Larrup, as depicted here,
Who little boys had flogged for many a year—
Not that they wouldn't learn their ABC,
Their hie, hcec, hoc—Syntax, or Prosody,
But that, despite
Of all his might,
And oft-enforced rules of right,
They would contrive, by day or night
To steal,-*-oh 1 flinty-hearted sparks,
Worse than to little fish are sharks,-—
(Alas ! to tell it my muse winces,)
To steal—his apples, pears, and quinces.
Put them where'er he would, alike their dooms
His efforts proved as fruitless as his rooms.
As a pert dunghill cock, inflamed with ire,
Erects his feathers and his comb of fire,
When of some grains, his own by right,
He's robb'd by foes that take to flight.
So stood the Doctor r
With face as re 1
As coral bed,
His wig cockt forward in his eye.
As if it there the cause would spy.
The Schoolmaster and his Apples. 241
Had his wife been there,
I do declare,
It would have shocked her.
After long buffeting in mental storm,
His brain's thermometer fell from hot to warm.
At many plans by turns he grapples,
To save his quinces, pears, and apples;
When luckily, into his noddle
His recollection chanced to toddle.
This sage informant told poor Larrup,
If he'd convey his fruit so far up,
That on his house's top there stood,
A room, well floored, I think—with wood.
'Twas what some folks a loft would call;
The entrance through a trap-door small,
Fix'd in the ceiling of his chamber,
To which he up a rope must clamber;
Unless a ladder was prepared,
And then the rope's-end might be spared;
But he'd a long, well-practised knack,
Of sparing neither rope nor back.
Ye who in proper titles glory,
Will think, I hope, as I have oft,
That, as this Story's of a Loft,
It should be called a  Lofty Story.
Well, Larrup, without more disputing,
Fix'd on this loft to put his fruit in,
And quickly had it thither moved,
How far securely, must be proved.
From one apartment so erected
That with the very trifling risk
Of dislocating neck or shoulder,
Which boys ne'er think of in a frisk,
(»Nay, oft it makes the urchins bolder)
Advent'rous spirits might contrive
To reach the Doctor's apple-hive.
In this room rested foar or fue
Of these young pilferers, undetected.
Whilst leaden sleep sat on the Doctor's shullert
(By shutters, I would here imply,
The lids that shut light trom tr.e eye,)
These daring rogues explored the tiles and gutter?
In search of trap or casement—but alack !
They found not e'en a small, a gracious crack.
W'hen one 'gainst e\dry disappointment proof,
proposed that they should just—untile the roof|
4t least, sufficient space adtrfit
8
Comic Recitations.
A basket in which one might sit;
And thus, by ope to handle tied,
Be lowered down with gentle ride.
This being approved of, 'twas decided,
That 'gainst next night should be provided
A basket and a rope;
Which being in due time effected,
A supercargo was selected,
Who raised by hope,
Was gradually lower'd through the hole,
From whence he sent up apples by the shoal,
This plan they often put in force,
(Not oft'ner than they could —of course,)
And when their pilfering job was ended,
The untiled roof they always mended.
The Doctor frequent visits made,
And soon perceived his apples strayed;
And oft upon the school-room floor,
Lay many a pear and apple core :
With grief he viewed these sad remains.
Of what to keep he took such pains.
Despair now made his heart its prey,—
When, entering the loft one day,
His ears had pretty ample proof,
The rogues were breaking thro' the roof.
He wisely then conceal'd himself,—
When lo! down came one little elf;
But he no sooner reach the ground did,
Than at him, out the Doctor bounded,
And threaten'd, if he said a sentence,
He'd give him cause for years' repentance,
The boy stood mute as pewter pot,
While Larrup in the basket got;
When being seated snug and steady,
He made his pris'ner cry,  All's ready.
The boys above began to pull,—
 Bless me! the basket's very full.
 He's got a swingeing lot this time,
 And I'll be bound he's pick'd the prim«^r
"To it again
With might and main.
Another haul will do the job,
"Yo! yo ho!
Up we go
When lo! up pcpt the Doctor's nob
How they all look'd I can't express,
So leave that part for you to guess;
The Notary of Perigueux.
243
But you, perhaps, may think it right
To know the end of Larrup's flight.
Well! when they'd drawn him to the top,
Where he, most likely, wish'd to stop,
The wicked rascals—let the Doctor drop!
THE NOTARY OF PERIGUEUX*
H. W. Longfellow.
FAn eminent Ameriean scholar and poet. Authot O(114 Evangeline,
&c. Born 1807 j still living.]
You must know, gentlemen, that there lived some years ago, in the
city of Pe'rigueux, an honest notary public, the descendant of a very
ancient and broken-down family, and the occupant of one of those
old weather-beaten tenements which remind you of the times of
your great-grandfather. He was a man of an unoffending, quiet
disposition; the father of a family, though not the head of it, for in
that family "the hen overcrowed the cock; and the neighbours,
when they spoke of the notary, shrugged their shoulders, and ex-
claimed,  Poor fellow! his spurs want sharpening. In fine—you
understand me, gentlemen—he was henpecked. Well, finding no
peace at home, he sought it elsewhere, as was very natural for him
to do; and at length discovered a place of rest far beyond the cares
and clamours of domestic life. This was a little cafe estaminet, a
short way out of the city, whither he repaired every evening to smoke
his pipe, drink sugar-water, and play his favourite game of domino.
There he met the boon companions he most loved; heard all the
floating chit-chat of the day; laughed when he was in a merry mood,
found consolation when he was sad; and at all times gave vent to
his opinions without fear of being snubbed short by a flat contra-
diction. Now, the notary's bosom friend was a dealer in claret and
cognac, who lived about a league from the city, and always passed
h;s evenings at the estaminet. He was a gross, corpulent fellow,
raised from a full-blooded Gascon breed, and sired by a comic actor
of some reputation in his way. He was remarkable for nothing but
his good humour, his love of cards, and a strong propensity to test
the quality of his own liquors by comparing those sold at other
places. As evil communications corrupt good manners, the bad
practices of the wine-dealer won insensibly upon the worthy notary;
and before he was aware of it, he found himself weaned from domino
and sugar-water, and addicted to piquet and spiced wine. Indeed,
t not unfrequently happened that, after a long session at the
estaminet, the two friends grew so urbane, that they would waste a
full half hour at the door in friendly dispute which should conduct
244
Comic Recitations.
the other home. 1 hough this course of life agreed well enough
with the sluggish, phlegmatic temperament of the wine-dealer,
soon began to play the very deuce with the more sensitive organiza-
tion of the notary, and finally, put his nervous system completely
out of tune. He lost his appetite, X ecame gaunt and haggard, and
could get no sleep. Legions of blue devils haunted him by day, and
by night strange faces peeped through his bed-curtains, and the
nightmare snorted in his ear. The worse he grew, the more he
smoked and tippled; and the more he smoked and tippled, why,
as a matter of course, the worse he grew. His wife alternately
stormed, remonstrated, entreated; but all in vain. She made the
house too hot for him—he retreated to the tavern ; she broke his
long-stemmed pipes upon the hand-irons, be substituted a short-
stemmed one, which, for safe keeping, he carried in his waistcoat
pocket. Thus the unhappy notary ran gradually down at the heel.
"What with his bad habits and his domestic grievances, he became
completely hypped. He imagined he was going to die, and suffered
in quick succession all the diseases that ever beset mortal man.
Every shooting pain was an alarming symptom, every uneasy feeling
after dinner a sure prognostic of some mortal disease. In vain did
his friends endeavour to reason, and then to laugh him out of his
strange whims ; for when did ever jest or reason cure a sick imagi-
nation? His only answer was,  Do let me alone; I know better—1
know better than you what ails me.
Well, gentlemen, things were in this state when, one afternoon
in December, as he sat moping in his office, wrapped in an overcoat,
with a cap on his head, and his feet thrust into a pair of furred slip-
pers, a cabriolet stopped at the door, and a loud knocking without
aroused him from his gloomy reverie. It was a message from his
friend the wine-dealer, who had been suddenly attacked with a
violent fever, and, growing worse and worse, had now sent in the
greatest haste for the notary to draw up his last will and testament.
The case was urgent, and admitted neither excuse nor delay; and
the notary, tying a handkeiohief round his face, and buttoning up
to the chin, jumped into the cabriolet, and suffered himself, though
not without some dismal presentiments and misgivings of heart, to
be driven to the wine-dealer's house. When he arrived, he found
everything in the greatest confusion. On entering the house, he ran
ligainst the apothecary, who was coming downstairs with a face as
ong as your arm, and a few steps further he met the housekeeper—
tor the wine-dealer was an old bachelor—running up and down and
wringing her hands, for fear that the good man should die without
making his will. He soon reached the chamber of the sick friend,
and found him tossing about in a paroxysm of fever, and calling
aloud for a draught of cold water. The notary shook his head; he
thought this a fatal symptom; for ten years back the wine-dealer
had been suffering under a species of hydrophobia, which seemed
suddenly to have left him. When the sick man saw who stood by
The Notary ■]/' Terigueux.
245
his bedside, he stretched out his hand, and exclaimed, "Ah, my
dear friend! have you come at last? you see it's all over with me.
You have arrived just in time to draw up that—that passport of
mine. Ah ! how hot it is here ! Water—water—water! Will
nobody give me a drop of cold water ?
As the case was an urgent one, the notary made no delay in
getting his papers in readiness, and in a short time the last will and
testament of the wine-dealer was drawn up in due form, the
notary guiding the sick man's hand as he scrawled his signature
at the bottom. As evening wore away, the wine-dealer grew
worse and worse, and at length became delirious, mingling in his
incoherent ravings the phrases of the Credo and Paternoster with
the shibboleth of the dram-shop and the card-table.
 Take care! take care ! There, now ! Credo in—Pop ! ting-a-
ling-ling ! give me some of that Cent-e-dize ! Why, you old publican,
this wine is poisoned. I know your tricks—sanctam ecclesiam
Catholicam—Well, well, we shall see. Imbecile! to have a tierce
major and a seven of hearts, and discard the seven.
With these words upon his lips the poor wine-dealer expired
Meanwhile the notary sat cowering over the fire, aghast at the
fearful scene that was passing before him, and now and then try-
ing to keep up his courage by a glass of cognac. Already his
fears were on the alert, and the idea of contagion flitted to and
fro through his mind. In order to quiet these thoughts of evil
import, he lighted his pipe, and began to prepare for remaning
home. At that moment the apothecary turned round to him and
said:— '
"Dreadful sickly time this; the disorder seems to be spread-
ing.
"What disorder? exclaimed the notary with a movement of
surprise.
"Two died yesterday, and three to-day, continued the
apothecary, without answering the question: very sickly time, sir,
very.
"But what disorder is it? What disease has carried off my
friend here so suddenly t
 What disease ? Why, scarlet fever, to be sure,''
 And is it contagious ?
 Certainly.
"Then I am a dead man! exclaimed the notary, putting hi3
pipe into his waistcoat pocket, and beginning to walk up and dowir
the room in despair.  I am a dead man ! and don't deceive me
—don't, will you ? What—what are the symptoms ?
"A sharp, burning pain in the right side, said the apothecary.
 Oh, what a fool 1 was to come here !
In vain did the housekeeper and the apothecary strive to pacify
him. He was not a man to be reasoned with. He answered
that he knew his own constitution better than they did, and in«
24-0
Comic Recitations.
listed upon going home without delay. Unfortunately, the vehicle
be came in had returned to the city, and the whole neighbourhood
Iras a-bed and asleep. What was to be done? Nothing in the
ttorld but to take the apothecary's horse, which stood hitched af
the door, patiently waiting his master5s will.
Well, gentlemen, as there was no remedy, our notary mounted
this raw-boned steed, and set forth upon his homeward journey.
The night was cold and gusty, and the wind in his teeth. Over-
iiead the leaden clouds were beating to and fro, and through them
the newly-risen moon seemed to be tossing and drifting along like
a cockboat in the surf—now swallowed up in a huge billow of
cloud, and now lifted up on its bosom and dashed with silvery
spray. The trees by the roadside groaned with a sound of evil
omen; and before him lay three mortal miles, beset with a thou-
sand imaginary perils. Obedient to the whip and spur, the steed
leaped forward by fits and starts, now dashing away with a tremen-
dous gallop, and now relaxing into a long, hard trot; while the
rider, filled with symptoms of disease and dire presentiments of
death, urged him on as if he were fleeing before the pestilence.
In this way, by dint of whistling and shouting, and beating right
and left, one mile of the fatal three was safely passed. The appre-
hensions of the notary had so far subsided that he even suffered the
poor horse to walk up the hill; but these apprehensions were sud-
denly revived again with tenfold violence by a sharp pain in the
right side, which seemed to pierce him like a needle.  It is upon
me at last! groaned the fear-stricken man.  Heaven be merciful
to me! And must I die in a ditch after all ? He ! get up, get up !
And away went horse and rider at full speed—hurry, scurry, up
hill and down, panting and blowing like a whirlwind. A. every
leap the pain in the rider's side seemed to increase. At first it was
a little point, like the prick of a needle, then it spread to the size of
a half-franc piece, then covered a place as large as the palm of your
hand. It gained upon him fast. The poor man groaned aloud in
agony. Faster and faster sped the horse over the frozen ground,
further and further spread the pain over his side. To complete the
dismal picture, the storm commenced, snow mingled with rain;
but snow and rain and cold were nought to him, for though his
arms and legs were frozen to icicles, he felt it not; the fatal
symptom was upon him; he was doomed to die, not of cold, but
of scarlet fever:
At length, he knew not how, more dead than alive, he reached
the gate of the city. A band cf ill-bred dogs, that were serenading
at a corner of a street, seeing the notary dash by, joined in the hue
and cry, and ran barking and yelping at his heels. It was now late
at night, and only here and there a solitary lamp twinkled from an
upper story; but on went the notary, down this street and up
that, till at last he reached his own door. There was a light in
his wife's bedchamber. The good woman came to the window,
alarmed at such a knocking, and clattering, 'tnd howling at her
The Clever Idiot.
247
door so late at night; and the notary was too deeply absorbed in
his own sorrows to observe that the lamp cast the shadows of two
heads on the window-curtains.  Let me in! Let me in! Quick,
quick! he cried, almost breathless from terror and fatigue.
 Who are you that come to disturb a lone woman at this hour
Df the night ? cried a sharp voice from above.  Begone about your
business, and let quiet people sleep.
"Oh! come down and let me in! I am your husband. Don't
you know my voice ? Quick, I beseech you, for I am dying here
in the street.
After a few moments of delay, and a few more words of parley,
the door was opened, and the notary stalked into his domicile, pale
and haggard in aspect, and as stiff and straight as a ghost. Cased
from head to heel in an armour of ice, as the glare of the lamp fell
upon him, he looked like a knight-errant mailed in steel. But in
one place his armour was broken. On his right side was a circular
spot as large as the crown of your hat, and about as black.
 My dear wife, he exclaimed, with more tenderness than he
nad exhibited for years, "reach me a chair. My hours are num-
bered: I am a dead man!
Alarmed at these exclamations, his wife stripped off his over-
coat. Something fell from beneath it, and was dashed to pieces
on the hearth-—it was the notary's pipe. He placed his hand upon
his side, and lo! it was bare to the skin. Coat, waistcoat, and
linen were burnt through and through, and there was a blister on
his side as large over as your head. The mystery was soon ex-
plained, symptoms and all. The notary had put his pipe into his
pocket without knocking out the ashes. And so my story ends.
 Is that all ? asked the radical, when the story-teller had
finished.
 That is all.
 Well, what does your story prove ?'
 That is more than I can tell. All I know is, that the story is
true.
 And did he die ? said the nice little man in gosling green.
 Yes, he died afterwards, replied the story-teller, rather annoyed
at the question.
 And what did he die of? continued gosling green, following
him up.  What did he die of?
 Why, he died of a sudden!
THE CLEVER IDIOT.
Anonymous.
A boy, as nursery records tell,
Had dropp'd his drumstick in a well;/
He had good sense enough to know
He would be beaten forif, and so
Comic Recitations.
Slily (tho' silly from his cradle)
Took from the shelf a silver ladle,
And in the water down it goes,
After the drumstick, I suppose.
The thing was miss'd, the servants blamed,
But in a week no longer named;
Now this not suiting his designs,
A silver cup he next purloins,
(To aid his plan, he never stopp'd)
And in the water down it dropped.
This caused some words and much inquiry.
And made his parents rather iry
Both for a week were vex'd and cross,
And then—submitted to the loss.
At length, to follow up his plan,
Our little, clever idiot man,
His father's favourite silver waiter
Next cast into the wat'ry crater.
Now this, indeed, was what the cook
And butler could not overlook ;
And all the servants of the place
Were searched, and held in much disgrace.
The boy now call'd out,  Cook, here—Nell;
What's this so shining in the well ?
This was enough to give a bint
That the lost treasures might be in't;
So for a man with speed they sent,
Who down the well directly went.
They listen with expectant ear,
At last these joyful words they hear,
 Oh, here's the ladle, and the cup,
And waiter too—so draw me up.
 Hold (quoth the boy), a moment stay,
Bring something else that's in your way.
Adding (with self-approving grin),
 My drumstick, no"r your hand is in.**
THB RKSV
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