And every time that she sighed, do you know, The Ladies in waiting they did just so.

Then the jester spoke just by way of a joke, (O he was a funny man!) And he said May it please your majesties, I wish to complain of those impudent fleas That bite me whenever they can!

Then the king he laughed Ha! Ha! Ho! Ho!

And the queen she sighed Ah me!--Heigh-oh!

While the Lords and the Ladies they did just so.

As for that, my man, the king began, The fleas bite whoever they like, But the very first flea you chance to see, Wherever he may happen to be, You have my permission to strike!

And the king he roared, Ha! Ha! Ho! Ho!

While the queen she sighed Ah me!--Heigh-oh!

And the Lords and the Ladies they did just so.

Just then Jingle sighted a flea that had lighted Right on--well, where _do_ you suppose?

On Marshmallow's own royal face, and the clown In bringing his hand with a swift motion down Nearly ruined the poor monarch's nose.

And the king he shrieked Ah! Ah! Oh! Oh!

And the queen burst out laughing Ha! Ha! Ho! Ho!

While the Lords and the Ladies stood stupidly by And didn't know whether to laugh or to cry.

THE JACKDAW OF RHEIMS.

BY THOMAS INGOLDSBY (REV. R.H. BARHAM).

The Jackdaw sat on the Cardinal's chair!

Bishop and abbot and prior were there; Many a monk, and many a friar, Many a knight, and many a squire, With a great many more of lesser degree,-- In sooth a goodly company; And they served the Lord Primate on bended knee.

Never, I ween, was a prouder seen, Read of in books, or dreamt of in dreams, Than the Cardinal Lord Archbishop of Rheims!

In and out through the motley rout, That little Jackdaw kept hopping about; Here and there like a dog in a fair, Over comfits and cakes, and dishes and plates, Cowl and cope, and rochet and pall, Mitre and crosier! he hopp'd upon all!

With saucy air, he perch'd on the chair Where in state, the great Lord Cardinal sat In the great Lord Cardinal's great red hat; And he peer'd in the face of his Lordship's Grace With a satisfied look, as if he would say, "We two are the greatest folks here to-day!"

The feast was over, the board was clear'd, The flawns and the custards had all disappear'd, And six little singing-boys,--dear little souls!

In nice clean faces, and nice white stoles, Came, in order due, two by two, Marching that grand refectory through!

A nice little boy held a golden ewer, Emboss'd and fill'd with water, as pure As any that flows between Rheims and Namur, Which a nice little boy stood ready to catch In a fine golden hand-basin made to match.

Two nice little boys, rather more grown, Carried lavender-water and eau de Cologne; And a nice little boy had a nice cake of soap, Worthy of washing the hands of the Pope.

One little boy more a napkin bore, Of the best white diaper, fringed with pink, And a Cardinal's Hat mark'd in "permanent ink."

The great Lord Cardinal turns at the sight Of these nice little boys dress'd all in white; From his finger he draws his costly turquoise; And, not thinking at all about little Jackdaws, Deposits it straight by the side of his plate, While the nice little boys on his Eminence wait; Till, when n.o.body's dreaming of any such thing, That little Jackdaw hops off with the ring!

There's a cry and a shout, and _no end_ of a rout, And n.o.body seems to know what they're about But the monks have their pockets all turn'd inside out; The friars are kneeling, and hunting, and feeling The carpet, the floor, and the walls, and the ceiling.

The Cardinal drew off each plum-colour'd shoe, And left his red stockings exposed to the view; He peeps, and he feels in the toes and the heels; They turn up the dishes,--they turn up the plates,-- They take up the poker and poke out the grates, --They turn up the rugs, they examine the mugs:-- But, no!--no such thing;--They can't find THE RING!

And the Abbot declared that, "when n.o.body twigg'd it, Some rascal or other had popp'd in, and prigg'd it!"

The Cardinal rose with a dignified look, He called for his candle, his bell, and his book!

In holy anger and pious grief, He solemnly cursed that rascally thief!

He cursed him at board, he cursed him in bed; From the sole of his foot to the crown of his head; He cursed him in sleeping, that every night He should dream of evil, and wake in a fright; He cursed him in eating, he cursed him in drinking, He cursed him in coughing, in sneezing, in winking; He cursed him in sitting, in standing, in lying; He cursed him in walking, in riding, in flying, He cursed him in living, he cursed him in dying!-- Never was heard such a terrible curse!

But what gave rise to no little surprise, n.o.body seem'd one penny the worse!

The day was gone, the night came on, The Monks and the Friars they search'd till dawn; When the Sacristan saw, on crumpled claw, Come limping a poor little lame Jackdaw; No longer gay, as on yesterday; His feathers all seem'd to be turn'd the wrong way;-- His pinions droop'd--he could hardly stand-- His head was as bald as the palm of your hand; His eye so dim, so wasted each limb, That, heedless of grammar, they all cried, "THAT'S HIM!-- That's the scamp that has done this scandalous thing!

That's the thief that has got my Lord Cardinal's Ring!"

The poor little Jackdaw, when the monks he saw, Feebly gave vent to the ghost of a caw; And turn'd his bald head, as much as to say, "Pray be so good as to walk this way!"

Slower and slower, he limp'd on before, Till they came to the back of the belfry door, When the first thing they saw, Midst the sticks and the straw, Was the RING in the nest of that little Jackdaw!

Then the great Lord Cardinal call'd for his book, And off that terrible curse he took; The mute expression served in lieu of confession, And, being thus coupled with full rest.i.tution, The Jackdaw got plenary absolution!

--When those words were heard, that poor little bird Was so changed in a moment, 'twas really absurd.

He grew sleek, and fat; in addition to that, A fresh crop of feathers came thick as a mat!

His tail waggled more Even than before; But no longer it wagg'd with an impudent air, No longer he perch'd on the Cardinal's chair.

He hopp'd now about With a gait devout; At Matins, at Vespers, he never was out; And, so far from any more pilfering deeds, He always seem'd telling the Confessor's beads.

If any one lied,--or if any one swore,-- Or slumber'd in prayer-time and happened to snore, That good Jackdaw would give a great "Caw,"

As much as to say, "Don't do so any more!"

While many remarked, as his manners they saw, That they "never had known such a pious Jackdaw!"

He long lived the pride of that country side, And at last in the odour of sanct.i.ty died; When, as words were too faint his merits to paint, The Conclave determined to make him a Saint!

And on newly-made Saints and Popes, as you know, It's the custom, at Rome, new names to bestow, So they canonized him by the name of. Jim Crow!

TUBAL CAIN.

BY CHARLES MACKAY.

Old Tubal Cain was a man of might In the days when earth was young; By the fierce red light of his furnace bright The strokes of his hammer rung; And he lifted high his brawny hand On the iron glowing clear, Till the sparks rush'd out in scarlet showers, As he fashion'd the sword and spear.

And he sang--"Hurra for my handiwork!

Hurra for the Spear and Sword!

Hurra for the hand that shall wield them well, For he shall be King and Lord!"

To Tubal Cain came many a one, As he wrought by his roaring fire, And each one pray'd for a strong steel blade As the crown of his desire; And he made them weapons sharp and strong, Till they shouted loud for glee, And gave him gifts of pearls and gold, And spoils of the forest free, And they sang--"Hurra for Tubal Cain, Who hath given us strength anew!

Hurra for the smith, hurra for the fire, And hurra for the metal true!"

But a sudden change came o'er his heart Ere the setting of the sun, And Tubal Cain was fill'd with pain For the evil he had done; He saw that men, with rage and hate, Made war upon their kind, That the land was red with the blood they shed In their l.u.s.t for carnage, blind.

And he said--"Alas! that ever I made, Or that skill of mine should plan, The spear and the sword for men whose joy Is to slay their fellow-man!"

And for many a day old Tubal Cain Sat brooding o'er his woe; And his hand forbore to smite the ore, And his furnace smoulder'd low.

But he rose at last with a cheerful face, And a bright courageous eye, And bared his strong right arm for work, While the quick flames mounted high.

And he sang--"Hurra for my handiwork!"

And the red sparks lit the air; "Not alone for the blade was the bright steel made;"

And he fashion'd the First Plough-share!

And men, taught wisdom from the Past, In friendship join'd their hands, Hung the sword in the hall, the spear on the wall, And plough'd the willing lands; And sang--"Hurra for Tubal Cain!

Our staunch good friend is he; And for the ploughshare and the plough To him our praise shall be.

But while Oppression lifts its head, Or a tyrant would be lord, Though we may thank him for the Plough, We'll not forget the Sword!"