Much they prized him, And baptized him By the name of GEORGIE,

GEORGIE grew up; Then he flew up To his fairy mother.

Happy meeting-- Pleasant greeting-- Kissing one another.

"Choose a calling Most enthralling, I sincerely urge ye."

"Mother," said he (Rev'rence made he), "I would join the clergy.

"Give permission In addition-- Pa will let me do it: There's a living In his giving-- He'll appoint me to it.

Dreams of coff'ring, Easter off'ring, t.i.the and rent and pew-rate, So inflame me (Do not blame me), That I'll be a curate."

She, with pleasure, Said, "My treasure, 'T is my wish precisely.

Do your duty, There's a beauty; You have chosen wisely.

Tell your father I would rather As a churchman rank you.

You, in clover, I'll watch over."

GEORGIE said, "Oh, thank you!"

GEORGIE scudded, Went and studied, Made all preparations, And with credit (Though he said it) Pa.s.sed examinations.

(Do not quarrel With him, moral, Scrupulous digestions-- 'Twas his mother, And no other, Answered all the questions.)

Time proceeded; Little needed GEORGIE admonition: He, elated, Vindicated Clergyman's position.

People round him Always found him Plain and unpretending; Kindly teaching, Plainly preaching, All his money lending.

So the fairy, Wise and wary, Felt no sorrow rising-- No occasion For persuasion, Warning, or advising.

He, resuming Fairy pluming (That's not English, is it?) Oft would fly up, To the sky up, Pay mamma a visit.

Time progressing, GEORGIE'S blessing Grew more Ritualistic-- Popish scandals, Tonsures--sandals-- Genuflections mystic; Gushing meetings-- Bosom-beatings-- Heavenly ecstatics-- Broidered spencers-- Copes and censers-- Rochets and dalmatics.

This quandary Vexed the fairy-- Flew she down to Ealing.

"GEORGIE, stop it!

Pray you, drop it; Hark to my appealing: To this foolish Papal rule-ish Twaddle put an ending; This a swerve is From our Service Plain and unpretending."

He, replying, Answered, sighing, Hawing, hemming, humming, "It's a pity-- They're so pritty; Yet in mode becoming, Mother tender, I'll surrender-- I'll be unaffected--"

But his Bishop Into HIS shop Entered unexpected!

"Who is this, sir,-- Ballet miss, sir?"

Said the Bishop coldly.

"'T is my mother, And no other,"

GEORGIE answered boldly.

"Go along, sir!

You are wrong, sir; You have years in plenty, While this hussy (Gracious mussy!) Isn't two and twenty!"

(Fairies clever Never, never Grow in visage older; And the fairy, All unwary, Leant upon his shoulder!) Bishop grieved him, Disbelieved him; GEORGE the point grew warm on; Changed religion, Like a pigeon, {12} And became a Mormon!

Ballad: The Way Of Wooing

A maiden sat at her window wide, Pretty enough for a Prince's bride, Yet n.o.body came to claim her.

She sat like a beautiful picture there, With pretty bluebells and roses fair, And jasmine-leaves to frame her.

And why she sat there n.o.body knows; But this she sang as she plucked a rose, The leaves around her strewing: "I've time to lose and power to choose; 'T is not so much the gallant who woos, But the gallant's WAY of wooing!"

A lover came riding by awhile, A wealthy lover was he, whose smile Some maids would value greatly-- A formal lover, who bowed and bent, With many a high-flown compliment, And cold demeanour stately, "You've still," said she to her suitor stern, "The 'prentice-work of your craft to learn, If thus you come a-cooing.

I've time to lose and power to choose; 'T is not so much the gallant who woos, As the gallant's WAY of wooing!"

A second lover came ambling by-- A timid lad with a frightened eye And a colour mantling highly.

He muttered the errand on which he'd come, Then only chuckled and bit his thumb, And simpered, simpered shyly.

"No," said the maiden, "go your way; You dare but think what a man would say, Yet dare to come a-suing!

I've time to lose and power to choose; 'T is not so much the gallant who woos, As the gallant's WAY of wooing!"

A third rode up at a startling pace-- A suitor poor, with a homely face-- No doubts appeared to bind him.

He kissed her lips and he pressed her waist, And off he rode with the maiden, placed On a pillion safe behind him.

And she heard the suitor bold confide This golden hint to the priest who tied The knot there's no undoing; With pretty young maidens who can choose, 'Tis not so much the gallant who woos, As the gallant's WAY of wooing!"

Ballad: Hongree And Mahry. A Recollection Of A Surrey Melodrama

The sun was setting in its wonted west, When HONGREE, Sub-Lieutenant of Cha.s.soores, Met MAHRY DAUBIGNY, the Village Rose, Under the Wizard's Oak--old trysting-place Of those who loved in rosy Aquitaine.

They thought themselves unwatched, but they were not; For HONGREE, Sub-Lieutenant of Cha.s.soores, Found in LIEUTENANT-COLONEL JOOLES DUBOSC A rival, envious and unscrupulous, Who thought it not foul scorn to dodge his steps, And listen, unperceived, to all that pa.s.sed Between the simple little Village Rose And HONGREE, Sub-Lieutenant of Cha.s.soores.

A clumsy barrack-bully was DUBOSC, Quite unfamiliar with the well-bred tact That animates a proper gentleman In dealing with a girl of humble rank.

You'll understand his coa.r.s.eness when I say He would have married MAHRY DAUBIGNY, And dragged the unsophisticated girl Into the whirl of fashionable life, For which her singularly rustic ways, Her breeding (moral, but extremely rude), Her language (chaste, but ungrammatical), Would absolutely have unfitted her.

How different to this unreflecting boor Was HONGREE, Sub-Lieutenant of Cha.s.soores.

Contemporary with the incident Related in our opening paragraph, Was that sad war 'twixt Gallia and ourselves That followed on the treaty signed at Troyes; And so LIEUTENANT-COLONEL JOOLES DUBOSC (Brave soldier, he, with all his faults of style) And HONGREE, Sub-Lieutenant of Cha.s.soores, Were sent by CHARLES of France against the lines Of our Sixth HENRY (Fourteen twenty-nine), To drive his legions out of Aquitaine.

When HONGREE, Sub-Lieutenant of Cha.s.soores, Returned, suspecting nothing, to his camp, After his meeting with the Village Rose, He found inside his barrack letter-box A note from the commanding officer, Requiring his attendance at head-quarters.

He went, and found LIEUTENANT-COLONEL JOOLES.

"Young HONGREE, Sub-Lieutenant of Cha.s.soores, This night we shall attack the English camp: Be the 'forlorn hope' yours--you'll lead it, sir, And lead it too with credit, I've no doubt.

As every man must certainly be killed (For you are twenty 'gainst two thousand men), It is not likely that you will return.

But what of that? you'll have the benefit Of knowing that you die a soldier's death."

Obedience was young HONGREE'S strongest point, But he imagined that he only owed Allegiance to his MAHRY and his King.

"If MAHRY bade me lead these fated men, I'd lead them--but I do not think she would.

If CHARLES, my King, said, 'Go, my son, and die,'

I'd go, of course--my duty would be clear.

But MAHRY is in bed asleep, I hope, And CHARLES, my King, a hundred leagues from this.

As for LIEUTENANT-COLONEL JOOLES DUBOSC, How know I that our monarch would approve The order he has given me to-night?

My King I've sworn in all things to obey-- I'll only take my orders from my King!"

Thus HONGREE, Sub-Lieutenant of Cha.s.soores, Interpreted the terms of his commission.

And HONGREE, who was wise as he was good, Disguised himself that night in ample cloak, Round flapping hat, and vizor mask of black, And made, unnoticed, for the English camp.