But down in the depths of the vault below There's Malvoisie for a world of woe!"

So they quaff their wine, and all declare That fish, after all, is but gruesome fare.

"Oh, to-morrow will be Friday, so we'll warm our souls to-day!

Oh, to-morrow will be Friday, so we'll warm our souls to-day!

Benedicite!"

_Frederick E. Weatherly._

SKY-MAKING

TO PROFESSOR TYNDALL

Just take a trifling handful, O philosopher, Of magic matter, give it a slight toss over The ambient ether, and I don't see why You shouldn't make a sky.

O hours Utopian which we may antic.i.p.ate!

Thick London fog how easy 'tis to dissipate, And make the most pea-soupy day as clear As Ba.s.s's brightest beer!

Poet-professor! now my brain thou kindlest; I am become a most determined Tyndallist.

If it is known a fellow can make skies, Why not make bright blue eyes?

This to deny, the folly of a dunce it is; Surely a girl as easy as a sunset is.

If you can make a halo or eclipse, Why not two laughing lips?

The creed of Archimedes, erst of Sicily, And of D'Israeli ... _forti nil difficile_, Is likewise mine. Pygmalion was a fool Who should have gone to school.

Why should an author scribble rhymes or articles?

Bring me a dozen tiny Tyndall particles; Therefrom I'll coin a dinner, Nash's wine, And a nice girl to dine.

_Mortimer Collins._

THE POSITIVISTS

Life and the Universe show spontaneity: Down with ridiculous notions of Deity!

Churches and creeds are all lost in the mists; Truth must be sought with the Positivists.

Wise are their teachers beyond all comparison, Comte, Huxley, Tyndall, Mill, Morley, and Harrison; Who will adventure to enter the lists With such a squadron of Positivists?

Social arrangements are awful miscarriages; Cause of all crime is our system of marriages.

Poets with sonnets, and lovers with trysts, Kindle the ire of the Positivists.

Husbands and wives should be all one community, Exquisite freedom with absolute unity.

Wedding-rings worse are than manacled wrists-- Such is the creed of the Positivists.

There was an ape in the days that were earlier; Centuries pa.s.sed, and his hair became curlier; Centuries more gave a thumb to his wrist-- Then he was Man, and a Positivist.

If you are pious (mild form of insanity) Bow down and worship the ma.s.s of humanity.

Other religions are buried in mists; We're our own G.o.ds, say the Positivists.

_Mortimer Collins._

MARTIAL IN LONDON

Exquisite wines and comestibles, From Slater, and Fortnum and Mason; Billiard, ecarte, and chess tables; Water in vast marble basin; Luminous books (not voluminous) To read under beech-trees cac.u.minous; One friend, who is fond of a distich, And doesn't get too syllogistic; A valet, who knows the complete art Of service--a maiden, his sweetheart: Give me these, in some rural pavilion, And I'll envy no Rothschild his million.

_Mortimer Collins._

THE SPLENDID SHILLING

"... Sing, heavenly Muse!

Things unattempted yet, in prose or rhyme,"

A shilling, breeches, and chimeras dire.

Happy the man, who, void of cares and strife, In silken or in leather purse retains A Splendid Shilling: he nor hears with pain New oysters cried, nor sighs for cheerful ale; But with his friends, when nightly mists arise, To Juniper's Magpie, or Town-hall repairs: Where, mindful of the nymph, whose wanton eye Transfix'd his soul, and kindled amorous flames, Chloe, or Phillis, he each circling gla.s.s Wisheth her health, and joy, and equal love.

Meanwhile, he smokes, and laughs at merry tale, Or pun ambiguous, or conundrum quaint.

But I, whom griping penury surrounds, And Hunger, sure attendant upon Want, With scanty offals, and small acid tiff, (Wretched repast!) my meagre corpse sustain: Then solitary walk, or doze at home In garret vile, and with a warming puff Regale chill'd fingers: or from tube as black As winter-chimney, or well-polish'd jet, Exhale mundungus, ill-perfuming scent: Not blacker tube, nor of a shorter size, Smokes Cambro-Briton (vers'd in pedigree, Sprung from Cadwallador and Arthur, kings Full famous in romantic tale) when he, O'er many a craggy hill and barren cliff, Upon a cargo of fam'd Cestrian cheese, High over-shadowing rides, with a design To vend his wares, or at th' Avonian mart, Or Maridunum, or the ancient town Yelep'd Brechinia, or where Vaga's stream Encircles Ariconium, fruitful soil!

Whence flow nectareous wines, that well may vie With Ma.s.sic, Setin, or renown'd Falern.

Thus while my joyless minutes tedious flow, With looks demure, and silent pace, a Dun, Horrible monster! hated by G.o.ds and men, To my aerial citadel ascends, With vocal heel thrice thundering at my gate, With hideous accent thrice he calls; I know The voice ill-boding, and the solemn sound.

What should I do? or whither turn? Amaz'd, Confounded, to the dark recess I fly Of wood-hole; straight my bristling hairs erect Through sudden fear; a chilly sweat bedews My shuddering limbs, and (wonderful to tell!) My tongue forgets her faculty of speech; So horrible he seems! His faded brow, Intrench'd with many a frown, and conic beard, And spreading band, admir'd by modern saints, Disastrous acts forbode; in his right hand Long scrolls of paper solemnly he waves, With characters and figures dire inscrib'd, Grievous to mortal eyes; (ye G.o.ds, avert Such plagues from righteous men!) Behind him stalks Another monster, not unlike himself, Sullen of aspect, by the vulgar call'd A catchpole, whose polluted hands the G.o.ds, With force incredible, and magic charms, First have endued: if he his ample palm Should haply on ill-fated shoulder lay Of debtor, straight his body, to the touch Obsequious (as whilom knights were wont,) To some enchanted castle is convey'd, Where gates impregnable, and coercive chains, In durance strict detain him, till, in form Of money, Pallas sets the captive free.

Beware, ye debtors! when ye walk, beware, Be circ.u.mspect; oft with insidious ken The caitiff eyes your steps aloof, and oft Lies perdu in a nook or gloomy cave, Prompt to enchant some inadvertent wretch With his unhallowed touch. So, (poets sing) Grimalkin, to domestic vermin sworn An everlasting foe, with watchful eye Lies nightly brooding o'er a c.h.i.n.ky gap, Portending her fell claws, to thoughtless mice Sure ruin. So her disembowell'd web Arachne, in a hall or kitchen, spreads Obvious to vagrant flies: she secret stands Within her woven cell: the humming prey, Regardless of their fate, rush on the toils Inextricable, nor will aught avail Their arts, or arms, or shapes of lovely hue; The wasp insidious, and the buzzing drone, And b.u.t.terfly, proud of expanded wings Distinct with gold, entangled in her snares, Useless resistance make; with eager strides, She towering flies to her expected spoils; Then, with envenomed jaws, the vital blood Drinks of reluctant foes, and to her cave Their bulky carca.s.ses triumphant drags.

So pa.s.s my days. But when nocturnal shades This world envelop, and th' inclement air Persuades men to repel benumbing frosts With pleasant wines, and crackling blaze of wood; Me, lonely sitting, nor the glimmering light Of make-weight candle, nor the joyous talk Of loving friend, delights: distress'd, forlorn, Amidst the horrors of the tedious night, Darkling I sigh, and feed with dismal thoughts My anxious mind: or sometimes mournful verse Indite, and sing of groves and myrtle shades, Or desperate lady near a purling stream, Or lover pendent on a willow tree.

Meanwhile I labor with eternal drought, And restless wish, and rave; my parched throat Finds no relief, nor heavy eyes repose: But if a slumber haply does invade My weary limbs, my fancy's still awake, Thoughtful of drink, and eager, in a dream, Tipples imaginary pots of ale, In vain; awake I find the settled thirst Still gnawing, and the pleasant phantom curse.

Thus do I live, from pleasure quite debarred, Nor taste the fruits that the sun's genial rays Mature, john-apple, nor the downy peach, Nor walnut in rough-furrow'd coat secure, Nor medlar, fruit delicious in decay; Afflictions great! yet greater still remain: My galligaskins, that have long withstood The winter's fury, and encroaching frosts, By time subdued (what will not time subdue!) An horrid chasm disclos'd with orifice Wide, discontinuous; at which the winds Eurus and Auster, and the dreadful force Of Boreas, that congeals the Cronian waves, Tumultuous enter with dire chilling blasts, Portending agues. Thus a well-fraught ship, Long sail'd secure, or through th' aegean deep, Or the Ionian, till cruising near The Lilybean sh.o.r.e, with hideous crush On Scylla, or Charybdis (dangerous rocks!) She strikes rebounding; whence the shatter'd oak, So fierce a shock unable to withstand, Admits the sea: in at the gaping side The crowding waves gush with impetuous rage Resistless, overwhelming; horrors seize The mariners; Death in their eyes appears, They stare, they lave, they pump, they swear, they pray (Vain efforts!) still the battering waves rush in, Implacable, till, delug'd by the foam, The ship sinks foundering in the vast abyss.

_John Philips._

AFTER HORACE

What asks the Bard? He prays for nought But what the truly virtuous crave: That is, the things he plainly ought To have.

'Tis not for wealth, with all the shocks That vex distracted millionaires, Plagued by their fluctuating stocks And shares: