"Tom Crib was his name, And I shall not deny, In regard to the same, What that name might imply; But his face it was trustful and childlike, And he had the most innocent eye.

"On the cuffs of his shirt He had managed to get What we hoped had been dirt, But which proved, I regret, To be notes on the Rise of the Drama A question invariably set.

"In the crown of his cap Were the Furies and Fates, And a delicate map Of the Dorian States; And we found in his palms, which were hollow, What are frequent in palms--that is, dates."

Deservedly dear to the heart of English youth are the Nonsense Rhymes of Edward Lear. It will be recollected that the form of the verse as originally constructed reproduced the final word of the first line at the end of the fifth, thus:--

"There was an old person of Basing Whose presence of mind was amazing; He purchased a steed Which he rode at full speed, And escaped from the people of Basing."

But in the process of development it became usual to find a new word for the end of the fifth line, thus at once securing a threefold rhyme and introducing the element of unexpectedness, instead of inevitableness, into the conclusion. Thus _The Light Green_ sang of the Colleges in which it circulated--

"There was an old Fellow of Trinity, A Doctor well versed in divinity; But he took to free-thinking, And then to deep drinking, And so had to leave the vicinity."

And--

"There was a young genius of Queen's Who was fond of explosive machines; He blew open a door, But he'll do so no more-- For it chanced that that door was the Dean's."

And--

"There was a young gourmand of John's Who'd a notion of dining off swans; To the "Backs" he took big nets To capture the cygnets, But was told they were kept for the Dons."

So far _The Light Green_.

Not at all dissimilar in feeling to these ebullitions of youthful fancy were the parodies of nursery rhymes which the lamented Corney Grain invented for one of his most popular entertainments, and used to accompany on the piano in his own inimitable style. I well remember the opening verse of one, in which an incident in the social career of a Liberal millionaire was understood to be immortalized:--

"Old Mr. Parvenu gave a great ball, And of all his smart guests he knew no one at all; Old Mr. Parvenu went up to bed, And his guests said good-night to the butler instead."

Twenty years ago we were in the crisis of the great Jingo fever, and Lord Beaconsfield's antics in the East were frightening all sober citizens out of their senses. It was at that period that the music-halls rang with the "Great MacDermott's" Tyrtaean strain--

"We don't want to fight; but, by Jingo, if we do, We've got the ships, we've got the men, we've got the money too;"

and the word "Jingo" took its place in the language as the recognized symbol of a warlike policy. At Easter 1878 it was announced that the Government were bringing black troops from India to Malta, to aid our English forces in whatever enterprises lay before them. The refrain of the music-hall was instantly adapted with great effect, even the grave _Spectator_ giving currency to the parody--

"We don't want to fight; but, by Jingo, if we do, We won't go to the front ourselves, but we'll send the mild Hindoo."

Two years pa.s.sed. Lord Beaconsfield was deposed. The tide of popular feeling turned in favour of Liberalism, and "Jingo" became a term of reproach. Mr. Tennyson, as he then was, endeavoured to revive the patriotic spirit of his countrymen by publishing _Hands all Round_--a poem which had the supreme honour of being quoted in the House of Commons by Sir Ellis Ashmead-Bartlett. Forthwith an irreverent parodist--some say Mr. Andrew Lang--appeared with the following counterblast:--

DRINKS ALL ROUND.

(Being an attempt to arrange Mr. Tennyson's n.o.ble words for truly patriotic, Protectionist, and Anti-aboriginal circles.)

"A health to Jingo first, and then A health to sh.e.l.l, a health to shot!

The man who hates not other men I deem no perfect patriot."

To all who hold all England mad We drink; to all who'd tax her food!

We pledge the man who hates the Rad, We drink to Bartle Frere and Froude!

Drinks all round!

Here's to Jingo, king and crowned!

To the great cause of Jingo drink, my boys, And the great name of Jingo, round and round.

To all the companies that long To rob, as folk robbed years ago; To all that wield the double thong, From Queensland round to Borneo!

To all that, under Indian skies, Call Aryan man a "blasted n.i.g.g.e.r;"

To all rapacious enterprise; To rigour everywhere, and vigour!

Drinks all round!

Here's to Jingo, king and crowned!

To the great name of Jingo drink, my boys, And every filibuster, round and round!

To all our Statesmen, while they see An outlet new for British trade, Where British fabrics still may be With British size all overweighed; Wherever gin and guns are sold We've scooped the artless n.i.g.g.e.r in; Where men give ivory and gold, We give them measles, tracts, and gin.

Drinks all round!

Here's to Jingo, king and crowned!

To the great name of Jingo drink, my boys.

And to Adulteration round and round.

The Jingo fever having abated, another malady appeared in the body politic. Trouble broke out in Ireland, and in January 1881 Parliament was summoned to pa.s.s Mr. Forster's Coercion Act. My diary for that date supplies me with the following excellent imitation of a veteran Poet of Freedom rushing with ardent sympathy into the Irish struggle.

A L'IRLANDE.

PAR VICTOR HUGO.

O Irlande, grand pays du shillelagh et du bog, Ou les patriots vont toujours ce qu'on appelle le whole hog.

Aujourd'hui je prends la plume, moi qui suis vieux, Pour dire au grand patriot Parnell, "How d'ye do?"

Erin, aux armes! le whisky vous donne la force De se battre l'un pour l'autre comme les fameux Freres Corses.

Votre Land League et vos Home Rulers sont des liberateurs.

Payez la valuation de Griffith et n'ayez pas peur.

De la tenure la fixite c'est l'astre de vos reves, Que Rory des Collines vit et que les landgrabbers crevent Moi, je suis vieux, mais dans l'ombre je vois clair, Bientot serez-vous maitres de vos bonnes pommes de terre.

C'est le brave Biggar, le T.P. O'Connor et les autres Qui sont vos sauveurs, comme Gambetta etait le notre; Suivez-les, et la victoire sera toujours a vous, Si a Milbank ce cher Forster ne vous envoie pas. Hooroo!

By the time that these lines were written the late Mr. J.K.

Stephen--affectionately known by his friends as "Jem Stephen"--was beginning to be recognized as an extraordinarily good writer of humorous verse. His performances in this line were not collected till ten years later (_Lapsus Calami_, 1891), and his brilliant career was cut short, by the results of an accident, in 1892. I reproduce the following sonnet, not only because I think it an excellent criticism aptly expressed, but because I desire to pay my tribute of admiration to one of whom all men spoke golden words:--

"Two voices are there: one is of the deep-- It learns the storm-cloud's thunderous melody, Now roars, now murmurs with the changing sea, Now bird-like pipes, now closes soft in sleep; And one is of an old, half-witted sheep Which bleats articulate monotony, And indicates that two and one are three, That gla.s.s is green, lakes damp, and mountains steep; And, Wordsworth, both are thine."

I hope that there are few among my readers who have not in their time known and loved the dear old ditty which tells us how

"There was a youth, and a well-beloved youth, And he was a squire's son, And he loved the Bailiff's daughter dear Who dwelt at Islington."

Well, to all who have followed that touching story of love and grief I commend the following version of it. French, after all, is the true language of sentiment:--

"Il y avait un garcon, Fort amiable et fort bon, Qui etait le fils du Lord Mayor; Et il aimait la fille D'un sergent de ville Qui demeurait a Leycesster Sqvare.

"Mais elle etait un peu prude, Et n'avait pas l'habitude De coqueter, comme les autres demoiselles; Jusqu'a ce que le Lord Mayor (Homme brutal, comme tous les peres) L'eloigna de sa tourterelle.

"Apres quelques ans d'absence, Au rencontre elle s'elance; Elle se fait une toilette de tres bon gout-- Des pantoufles sur les pieds, Des lunettes sur le nez, Et un collier sur le cou--c'etait tout.