I am sorry to say that she rather took to BLAKE--that outcast of society, And when respectable brothers who were fond of her began to look dubious and to cough, She would say, "Oh, my friends, it's because I hope to bring this poor benighted soul back to virtue and propriety, And besides, the poor benighted soul, with all his faults, was uncommonly well off.

And when MR. BLAKE'S dissipated friends called his attention to the frown or the pout of her, Whenever he did anything which appeared to her to savour of an unmentionable place, He would say that "she would be a very decent old girl when all that nonsense was knocked out of her,"

And his method of knocking it out of her is one that covered him with disgrace.

She was fond of going to church services four times every Sunday, and, four or five times in the week, and never seemed to pall of them, So he hunted out all the churches within a convenient distance that had services at different hours, so to speak; And when he had married her he positively insisted upon their going to all of them, So they contrived to do about twelve churches every Sunday, and, if they had luck, from twenty-two to twenty-three in the course of the week.

She was fond of dropping his sovereigns ostentatiously into the plate, and she liked to see them stand out rather conspicuously against the commonplace half-crowns and shillings, So he took her to all the charity sermons, and if by any extraordinary chance there wasn't a charity sermon anywhere, he would drop a couple of sovereigns (one for him and one for her) into the poor-box at the door; And as he always deducted the sums thus given in charity from the housekeeping money, and the money he allowed her for her bonnets and frillings, She soon began to find that even charity, if you allow it to interfere with your personal luxuries, becomes an intolerable bore.

On Sundays she was always melancholy and anything but good society, For that day in her household was a day of sighings and sobbings and wringing of hands and shaking of heads: She wouldn't hear of a b.u.t.ton being sewn on a glove, because it was a work neither of necessity nor of piety, And strictly prohibited her servants from amusing themselves, or indeed doing anything at all except dusting the drawing-rooms, cleaning the boots and shoes, cooking the parlour dinner, waiting generally on the family, and making the beds.

But BLAKE even went further than that, and said that people should do their own works of necessity, and not delegate them to persons in a menial situation, So he wouldn't allow his servants to do so much as even answer a bell.

Here he is making his wife carry up the water for her bath to the second floor, much against her inclination,-- And why in the world the gentleman who ill.u.s.trates these ballads has put him in a c.o.c.ked hat is more than I can tell.

After about three months of this sort of thing, taking the smooth with the rough of it, (Blacking her own boots and peeling her own potatoes was not her notion of connubial bliss), MRS. BLAKE began to find that she had pretty nearly had enough of it, And came, in course of time, to think that BLAKE'S own original line of conduct wasn't so much amiss.

And now that wicked person--that detestable sinner ("BELIAL BLAKE" his friends and well-wishers call him for his atrocities), And his poor deluded victim, whom all her Christian brothers dislike and pity so, Go to the parish church only on Sunday morning and afternoon and occasionally on a week-day, and spend their evenings in connubial fondlings and affectionate reciprocities, And I should like to know where in the world (or rather, out of it) they expect to go!

Ballad: The Baby's Vengeance

Weary at heart and extremely ill Was PALEY VOLLAIRE of Bromptonville, In a dirty lodging, with fever down, Close to the Polygon, Somers Town.

PALEY VOLLAIRE was an only son (For why? His mother had had but one), And PALEY inherited gold and grounds Worth several hundred thousand pounds.

But he, like many a rich young man, Through this magnificent fortune ran, And nothing was left for his daily needs But duplicate copies of mortgage-deeds.

Shabby and sorry and sorely sick, He slept, and dreamt that the clock's "tick, tick,"

Was one of the Fates, with a long sharp knife, Snicking off bits of his shortened life.

He woke and counted the pips on the walls, The outdoor pa.s.sengers' loud footfalls, And reckoned all over, and reckoned again, The little white tufts on his counterpane.

A medical man to his bedside came.

(I can't remember that doctor's name), And said, "You'll die in a very short while If you don't set sail for Madeira's isle."

"Go to Madeira? goodness me!

I haven't the money to pay your fee!"

"Then, PALEY VOLLAIRE," said the leech, "good bye; I'll come no more, for your're sure to die."

He sighed and he groaned and smote his breast; "Oh, send," said he, "for FREDERICK WEST, Ere senses fade or my eyes grow dim: I've a terrible tale to whisper him!"

Poor was FREDERICK'S lot in life,-- A dustman he with a fair young wife, A worthy man with a hard-earned store, A hundred and seventy pounds--or more.

FREDERICK came, and he said, "Maybe You'll say what you happened to want with me?"

"Wronged boy," said PALEY VOLLAIRE, "I will, But don't you fidget yourself--sit still."

THE TERRIBLE TALE.

"'Tis now some thirty-seven years ago Since first began the plot that I'm revealing, A fine young woman, whom you ought to know, Lived with her husband down in Drum Lane, Ealing.

Herself by means of mangling reimbursing, And now and then (at intervals) wet-nursing.

"Two little babes dwelt in their humble cot: One was her own--the other only lent to her: HER OWN SHE SLIGHTED. Tempted by a lot Of gold and silver regularly sent to her, She ministered unto the little other In the capacity of foster-mother.

"I WAS HER OWN. Oh! how I lay and sobbed In my poor cradle--deeply, deeply cursing The rich man's pampered bantling, who had robbed My only birthright--an attentive nursing!

Sometimes in hatred of my foster-brother, I gnashed my gums--which terrified my mother.

"One day--it was quite early in the week-- I IN MY CRADLE HAVING PLACED THE BANTLING-- Crept into his! He had not learnt to speak, But I could see his face with anger mantling.

It was imprudent--well, disgraceful maybe, For, oh! I was a bad, blackhearted baby!

"So great a luxury was food, I think No wickedness but I was game to try for it.

NOW if I wanted anything to drink At any time, I only had to cry for it!

ONCE, if I dared to weep, the bottle lacking, My blubbering involved a serious smacking!

"We grew up in the usual way--my friend, My foster-brother, daily growing thinner, While gradually I began to mend, And thrived amazingly on double dinner.

And every one, besides my foster-mother, Believed that either of us was the other.

"I came into HIS wealth--I bore HIS name, I bear it still--HIS property I squandered-- I mortgaged everything--and now (oh, shame!) Into a Somers Town shake-down I've wandered!

I am no PALEY--no, VOLLAIRE--it's true, my boy!

The only rightful PALEY V. is YOU, my boy!

"And all I have is yours--and yours is mine.

I still may place you in your true position: Give me the pounds you've saved, and I'll resign My n.o.ble name, my rank, and my condition.

So far my wickedness in falsely owning Your vasty wealth, I am at last atoning!"

FREDERICK he was a simple soul, He pulled from his pocket a bulky roll, And gave to PALEY his hard-earned store, A hundred and seventy pounds or more.

PALEY VOLLAIRE, with many a groan, Gave FREDERICK all that he called his own,-- Two shirts and a sock, and a vest of jean, A Wellington boot and a bamboo cane.

And FRED (ent.i.tled to all things there) He took the fever from MR. VOLLAIRE, Which killed poor FREDERICK WEST. Meanwhile VOLLAIRE sailed off to Madeira's isle.

Ballad: The Captain And The Mermaids

I sing a legend of the sea, So hard-a-port upon your lee!

A ship on starboard tack!

She's bound upon a private cruise-- (This is the kind of spice I use To give a salt-sea smack).

Behold, on every afternoon (Save in a gale or strong Monsoon) Great CAPTAIN CAPEL CLEGGS (Great morally, though rather short) Sat at an open weather-port And aired his shapely legs.

And Mermaids hung around in flocks, On cable chains and distant rocks, To gaze upon those limbs; For legs like those, of flesh and bone, Are things "not generally known"