The blow was a decisive one, And DOCTOR BROWN grew deadly pasty, "Now see the mischief that you've done-- You Turks are so extremely hasty.

"There are two DOCTOR BROWNS in Hooe-- HE'S short and stout, I'M tall and wizen; You've been and run the wrong one through, That's how the error has arisen."

The accident was thus explained, Apologies were only heard now: "At my mistake I'm really pained-- I am, indeed--upon my word now.

"With me, sir, you shall be interred, A mausoleum grand awaits me."

"Oh, pray don't say another word, I'm sure that more than compensates me.

"But p'r'aps, kind Turk, you're full inside?"

"There's room," said he, "for any number."

And so they laid them down and died.

In proud Stamboul they sleep their slumber,

The Three Kings Of Chickeraboo

There were three n.i.g.g.e.rs of Chickeraboo-- PACIFICO, BANG-BANG, POPCHOP--who Exclaimed, one terribly sultry day, "Oh, let's be kings in a humble way."

The first was a highly-accomplished "bones,"

The next elicited banjo tones, The third was a quiet, retiring chap, Who danced an excellent break-down "flap."

"We n.i.g.g.e.rs," said they, "have formed a plan By which, whenever we like, we can Extemporise kingdoms near the beach, And then we'll collar a kingdom each.

"Three casks, from somebody else's stores, Shall represent our island sh.o.r.es, Their sides the ocean wide shall lave, Their heads just topping the briny wave.

"Great Britain's navy scours the sea, And everywhere her ships they be; She'll recognise our rank, perhaps, When she discovers we're Royal Chaps.

"If to her skirts you want to cling, It's quite sufficient that you're a king; She does not push inquiry far To learn what sort of king you are."

A ship of several thousand tons, And mounting seventy-something guns, Ploughed, every year, the ocean blue, Discovering kings and countries new.

The brave REAR-ADMIRAL BAILEY PIP, Commanding that magnificent ship, Perceived one day, his gla.s.ses through, The kings that came from Chickeraboo.

"Dear eyes!" said ADMIRAL PIP, "I see Three flourishing islands on our lee.

And, bless me! most remarkable thing!

On every island stands a king!

"Come, lower the Admiral's gig," he cried, "And over the dancing waves I'll glide; That low obeisance I may do To those three kings of Chickeraboo!"

The Admiral pulled to the islands three; The kings saluted him graciousLEE.

The Admiral, pleased at his welcome warm, Unrolled a printed Alliance form.

"Your Majesty, sign me this, I pray-- I come in a friendly kind of way-- I come, if you please, with the best intents, And QUEEN VICTORIA'S compliments."

The kings were pleased as they well could be; The most retiring of the three, In a "cellar-flap" to his joy gave vent With a banjo-bones accompaniment.

The great REAR-ADMIRAL BAILEY PIP Embarked on board his jolly big ship, Blue Peter flew from his lofty fore, And off he sailed to his native sh.o.r.e.

ADMIRAL PIP directly went To the Lord at the head of the Government, Who made him, by a stroke of a quill, BARON DE PIPPE, OF PIPPETONNEVILLE.

The College of Heralds permission yield That he should quarter upon his shield Three islands, vert, on a field of blue, With the pregnant motto "Chickeraboo."

Amba.s.sadors, yes, and attaches, too, Are going to sail for Chickeraboo.

And, see, on the good ship's crowded deck, A bishop, who's going out there on spec.

And let us all hope that blissful things May come of alliance with darky kings, And, may we never, whatever we do, Declare a war with Chickeraboo!

Joe Golightly--Or, The First Lord's Daughter

A tar, but poorly prized, Long, shambling, and unsightly, Thrashed, bullied, and despised, Was wretched JOE GOLIGHTLY.

He bore a workhouse brand; No Pa or Ma had claimed him, The Beadle found him, and The Board of Guardians named him.

P'r'aps some Princess's son-- A beggar p'r'aps his mother.

HE rather thought the one, I rather think the other.

He liked his ship at sea, He loved the salt sea-water, He worshipped junk, and he Adored the First Lord's daughter.

The First Lord's daughter, proud, Snubbed Earls and Viscounts nightly; She sneered at Barts. aloud, And spurned poor Joe Golightly.

Whene'er he sailed afar Upon a Channel cruise, he Unpacked his light guitar And sang this ballad (Boosey):

Ballad

The moon is on the sea, Willow!

The wind blows towards the lee, Willow!

But though I sigh and sob and cry, No Lady Jane for me, Willow!

She says, "'Twere folly quite, Willow!

For me to wed a wight, Willow!

Whose lot is cast before the mast"; And possibly she's right, Willow!

His skipper (CAPTAIN JOYCE), He gave him many a rating, And almost lost his voice From thus expostulating:

"Lay aft, you lubber, do!

What's come to that young man, JOE?

Belay!--'vast heaving! you!

Do kindly stop that banjo!