With the crutch-handled top, which he used to sustain His steps in his walk, or to poke in the shrubs Or the gra.s.s, when unearthing his worms or his grubs; Thus armed he set out on a ramble--a-lack!

He _set out_, poor dear soul!--but he never came back!

"First dinner bell" rang Out its euphonous clang At five--folks kept early hours then--and the "last"

Ding-donged, as it ever was wont, at half-past.

Still the master was absent--the cook came and said, he Feared dinner would spoil, having been so long ready, That the puddings her ladyship thought such a treat He was morally sure, would be scarce fit to eat!

Said the lady, "Dish up! Let the meal be served straight, And let two or three slices be put on a plate, And kept hot for Sir Thomas."--Captain Dugald said grace, Then set himself down in Sir Thomas' place.

Wearily, wearily, all that night, That live-long night did the hours go by; And the Lady Jane, In grief and pain, She sat herself down to cry!

And Captain MacBride, Who sat by her side, Though I really can't say that he actually cried, At least had a tear in his eye!

As much as can well be expected, perhaps, From "very young fellows," for very "old chaps."

And if he had said What he'd got in his head, 'Twould have been, "Poor old Duffer, he's certainly dead!"

The morning dawned--and the next--and the next And all in the mansion were still perplexed; No knocker fell, His approach to tell; Not so much as a runaway ring at the bell.

Yet the sun shone bright upon tower and tree, And the meads smiled green as green may be, And the dear little d.i.c.key birds caroled with glee, And the lambs in the park skipped merry and free.-- Without, all was joy and harmony!

And thus 'twill be--nor long the day-- Ere we, like him, shall pa.s.s away!

Yon sun that now our bosoms warms, Shall shine--but shine on other forms; Yon grove, whose choir so sweetly cheers Us now, shall sound on other ears; The joyous lambs, as now, shall play, But other eyes its sports survey; The stream we loved shall roll as fair, The flowery sweets, the trim parterre, Shall scent, as now, the ambient air; The tree whose bending branches bear The one loved name--shall yet be there-- But where the hand that carved it? Where?

These were hinted to me as the very ideas Which pa.s.sed through the mind of the fair Lady Jane, As she walked on the esplanade to and again, With Captain MacBride, Of course at her side, Who could not look _quite_ so forlorn--though he tried, An "idea" in fact, had got into _his_ head, That if "poor dear Sir Thomas" should really be dead, It might be no bad "spec" to be there in his stead, And by simply contriving, in due time, to wed A lady who was young and fair, A lady slim and tall, To set himself down in comfort there, The lord of Tapton Hall.

Thinks he, "We have sent Half over Kent, And n.o.body knows how much money's been spent, Yet no one's been found to say which way he went!

Here's a fortnight and more has gone by, and we've tried Every plan we could hit on--and had him well cried '|Missing|!! _Stolen or Strayed_, _Lost or Mislaid_, |A Gentleman|;--middle-aged, sober and staid; Stoops slightly;--and when he left home was arrayed In a sad-colored suit, somewhat dingy and frayed; Had spectacles on with a tortoise-sh.e.l.l rim, And a hat rather low crowned, and broad in the brim.

Whoe'er shall bear, Or send him with care, (Right side uppermost) home; or shall give notice where Said middle-aged |Gentleman| is; or shall state Any fact, that may tend to throw light on his fate, To the man at the turnpike, called _Tappington Gate_, Shall receive a reward of _Five Pounds_ for his trouble.

N.B. If defunct, the _Reward_ will be double!!'

"Had he been above ground, He _must_ have been found.

No; doubtless he's shot--or he's hanged--or he's drowned!

Then his widow--ay! ay!

But what will folks say?-- To address her at once, at so early a day.

Well--what then--who cares!--let 'em say what they may."

When a man has decided As Captain MacBride did, And once fully made up his mind on the matter, he Can't be too prompt in unmasking his battery.

He began on the instant, and vowed that her eyes Far exceeded in brilliance the stars in the skies; That her lips were like roses, her cheeks were like lilies; Her breath had the odor of daffadowndillies!-- With a thousand more compliments, equally true, Expressed in similitudes equally new!

Then his left arm he placed Round her jimp, taper waist--

Ere she fixed to repulse or return his embrace, Up came running a man at a deuce of a pace, With that very peculiar expression of face Which always betokens dismay or disaster, Crying out--'twas the gard'ner--"Oh, ma'am! we've found master!!"

"Where! where?" screamed the lady; and echo screamed, "Where?"

The man couldn't say "there!"

He had no breath to spare, But gasping for breath he could only respond By pointing--be pointed, alas! |TO THE POND|.

'Twas e'en so; poor dear Knight, with his "specs" and his hat, He'd gone poking his nose into this and to that; When close to the side of the bank, he espied An uncommon fine tadpole, remarkably fat!

He stooped;--and he thought her His own;--he had caught her!

Got hold of her tail--and to land almost brought her, When--he plumped head and heels into fifteen feet water!

The Lady Jane was tall and slim, The Lady Jane was fair, Alas! for Sir Thomas!--she grieved for him, As she saw two serving men st.u.r.dy of limb, His body between them bear; She sobbed and she sighed, she lamented and cried, For of sorrow brimful was her cup; She swooned, and I think she'd have fallen down and died, If Captain MacBride Hadn't been by her side With the gardener;--they both their a.s.sistance supplied, And managed to hold her up.

But when she "comes to,"

Oh! 'tis shocking to view The sight which the corpse reveals!

Sir Thomas' body, It looked so odd--he Was half eaten up by the eels!

His waistcoat and hose, And the rest of his clothes, Were all gnawed through and through; And out of each shoe, An eel they drew; And from each of his pockets they pulled out two!

And the gardener himself had secreted a few, As well might be supposed he'd do, For, when he came running to give the alarm, He had six in the basket that hung on his arm.

Good Father John was summoned anon; Holy water was sprinkled and little bells tinkled, And tapers were lighted, And incense ignited, And ma.s.ses were sung, and ma.s.ses were said, All day, for the quiet repose of the dead, And all night no one thought about going to bed.

But Lady Jane was tall and slim, And Lady Jane was fair, And ere morning came, that winsome dame Had made up her mind, or--what's much the same-- Had _thought about_, once more "changing her name,"

And she said with a pensive air, To Thompson the valet, while taking away, When supper was over, the cloth and the tray, "Eels a many I've ate; but any So good ne'er tasted before!-- They're a fish too, of which I'm remarkably fond-- Go--pop Sir Thomas again in the pond-- Poor dear!--_he'll catch us some more_."

MORAL

All middle-aged gentlemen let me advise, If you're married, and hav'n't got very good eyes, Don't go poking about after blue-bottle flies.

If you've spectacles, don't have a tortoise-sh.e.l.l rim, And don't go near the water--unless you can swim.

Married ladies, especially such as are fair, Tall and slim, I would next recommend to beware, How, on losing one spouse, they give way to despair, But let them reflect, there are fish, and no doubt on't, As good _in_ the river, as ever came _out_ on't.

_Richard Harris Barham._

AN EASTERN QUESTION

My William was a soldier, and he says to me, says he, "My Susan, I must sail across the South Pacific sea; For we've got to go to Egypt for to fight the old Khedive; But when he's dead I'll marry you, as sure as I'm alive!"

'Twere hard for me to part with him; he couldn't read nor write, So I never had love letters for to keep my memory bright; But Jim, who is our footman, took the _Daily Telegraph_, And told me William's reg-i-ment mowed down the foe like chaff.

So every day Jim come to me to read the Eastern news, And used to bring me bouquets, which I scarcely could refuse; Till one fine day it happened--_how_ it happened, goodness knows,-- He put his arm around me and he started to propose.

I put his hand from off me, and I said in thrilling tones, "I like you, Jim, but _never_ will I give up William Jones; It ain't no good your talking, for my heart is firm and fixed, For William is engaged to me, and naught shall come betwixt."

So Jim he turned a ghastly pale to find there was no hope; And made remarks about a pond, and razors, and a rope; The other servants pitied him, and Rosie said as much; But Rosie was too flighty, and he didn't care for such.

The weeks and months pa.s.sed slowly, till I heard the Eastern war Was over, and my William would soon be home once more; And I was proud and happy for I knew that I could say I'd been true to my sweet William all the years he'd been away.

Says Jim to me, "I love you, Sue, you know full well I do, And evermore whilst I draw breath I vow I will be true; But my feelings are too sensitive, I really couldn't stand A-seeing of that soldier taking hold your little hand.

"So I've made my mind up finally to throw myself away; There's Rosie loves me truly, and no more I'll say her nay; I've bought a hat on purpose, and I'm going to hire a ring, And I've borrowed father's wedding suit that looks the very thing."

So Jim he married Rosie, just the very day before My William's reg-i-ment was due to reach their native sh.o.r.e; I was there to see him landed and to give him welcome home, And take him to my arms from which he never more should roam.

But I couldn't see my William, for the men were all alike, With their red coats and their rifles, and their helmets with a spike; So I curtseys to a sergeant who was smiling very kind, "Where's William Jones?" I asks him, "if so be you wouldn't mind?"

Then he calls a gawky, red-haired chap, that stood good six-feet two: "Here, Jones," he cries, "this lady here's enquiring after you."

"Not me!" I says, "I want a man who 'listed from our Square; With a small moustache, but growing fast, and bright brown curly hair."

The sergeant wiped his eye, and took his helmet from his head, "I'm very sorry, ma'am," he said, "_that_ William Jones is dead; He died from getting sunstroke, and we envied him his lot, For we were melted to our bones, the climate was that hot!"

So that's how 'tis that I'm condemned to lead a single life, For the sergeant, who was struck with me, already had a wife; And Jim is tied to Rosie, and can't get himself untied, Whilst the man that I was faithful to has been and gone and died!

_H. M. Paull._