LEIGH HUNT.

BORN, 1784.

DIED, August 28, 1859

ABOU BEN ADHEM.

ABOU Ben Adhem (may his tribe increase !)
Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace,
And saw within the moonlight in his room,
Making it rich and like a lily in bloom,

An angel writing in a book of gold:

Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold,
And to the Presence in the room he said,

"What writest thou?"-The vision raised its head,
And, with a look made of all sweet accord,

Answer'd-" The names of those who love the Lord." "And is mine one?" said Abou; "Nay, not so," Replied the angel.-Abou spoke more low,

But cheerly still; and said, "I pray thee, then,
Write me as one that loves his fellow-men."

The angel wrote, and vanish'd. The next night
It came again, with a great wakening light,

And show'd the names whom love of God had bless'd-
And, lo! Ben Adhem's name led all the rest!

MAKING UP THE SLATE.

LEIGH HUNT.

STRATMAN BEN JACKEY-may his tribe decrease-
Awoke one night, quite sick and ill at ease,
And saw within the lamplight in his room-
Making it yellow with a sickly gloom-
The devil, scratching on a brazen slate.
Thinking to chaff him, Jacky reared his pate,
And said, without the customary hail,

"What writest thou?" The devil whisked his tail,
And quite astonished at the fellow's cheek,
Answered, "The names of those who office seek."
And is mine one?" said Jacky. "Yes you bet!"
The devil said. Not hesitating yet,

Quite unabashed, said Jack, "I beg-ahem!
Write me Collector, or at least P.M."

The devil smiled and vanished. The next night
He staggered into Jacky's room, half tight,

And showed the names upon his slate of brass,
And lo! this Jack was written down an Ass.
American Paper.

BEN DISRAELI.

BEN DISRAELI (may his tribe increase!)
Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace,
And saw, close by the night light in his room,
Filling it with sulphureous perfume,

An angel (?) writing in a book of gold:
Exceeding cheek had made Ben Dizzy bold;
And to the Presence in the room he said,

"What writest thou?" The vision raised its head,
And, with a smile of diabolic beauty,
Answered, "The names of those who do their duty."
"And is mine one?" said Dizzy. "Nay, not so,"
Replied the Spirit. Dizzy spoke more low,
But cheerly still, and said, "I pray thee then,
Write me as one that does his fellow-men."

The angel wrote and vanished. The next night,
It came again with a great wakening light,

And showed the names whom Patriotism had blest,
And lo! Ben Dizzy's name led all the rest.

Echoes from the Clubs. December, 1867.

COUSIN Ben Folsom (may his tribe increase!)
Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace,
And saw, within the moonlight of his room,
Making it rich and like a lily bloom,

A fat man writing with a pen of gold:
Exceeding luck had made Ben Folsom bold,
And to the presence in the room he said,

"What writest thou ?" The fat man raised his head,

And in a voice made sweet by its accent,

Answered: The names of those who love the President." "And is mine one?" asked Benny. "Nay, not so," Replied the fat man. Benny spoke more low,

But cheerily still; and said, "I pray, if not too late,
Write me as one who'd love a consulate."

The fat man wrote and vanished. The next night
He came again, with a great flickering light,
And showed the names. Ben Folsom looked,
And lo! for Sheffield, England, he was booked.

Albany Express. U.S.A.

[Mr. Benjamin Folsom is a cousin of Mrs. President Cleveland (United States), and has had the management of her affairs. Soon after her marriage to the President, the newspapers began to mention him as likely to have an appointment under the Government, and in a short time he was named United States Consul for Sheffield, England.]

ADAM MAC ADAM.

ADAM Mac Adam (may his clan increase)
Awoke at midnight with a hearty sneeze,
And, as he raised himself in bed, he saw

Something that struck Mac Adam's soul with awe.
For, bending in the moon's uncertain light,
An aged man, with locks all silvery white,
Sat making entries in a ledger old.

The sight uncanny made his blood run cold,
And scarce for terror could Mac Adam ask
The nature of the scribe's untimely task.

Behold, I write," the vision answered then, "The names of those who love their fellow men." "And pray," said Adam, with a hopeful grin, "Your Honor's honor, am I counted in?"

66

Nay," spake the presence, with a look of grief, "My task is easy, for the roll is brief;

Look through the M's, but all in vain, I fear,
You seek your ancient patronymic here."
Then meekly Adam said, "I am not one
Who boasts to others of the good I've done;
I seldom answer to the public call

With wants so pressing and with means so small;
I ply a woodsaw for my bread and pork,
And half the time, you see, I'm out of work;
So, from my purse no stream of largess flows
No loud subscription my sign-manual knows ;
But this I do,-now lend attentive ear-

;

Each wintry morning when the dawn grows clear,
I take my bucket to the ash-hole dim,
And there I fill it to the very brim ;

Then in the sidewalk take my slippery stand,

And scatter ashes with a liberal hand,

So at my gate no broken heads I see;

No cripple shakes his gory leg at me;

In kind regard I'm held by rich and poor,
Save by the surgeon who resides next door."
Thus Adam told his tale, the while

The great scribe listened with a brightening smile,
Then vanished. The next night he came again :
"See here," he cried, "the list of great souled men
Who answer promptest to sweet mercy's call;"'
Lo! A. Mac Adam's name o'ertopped them all.
American Paper.

ABOU BEN BUTLER.

ABOU Ben Butler (who has just been fired)
Awoke one night almighty cross and tired,
He saw within the moonlight in his room
The spirit of a Presidential boom,

Who wrote on parchment tanned from human skin.
Exceeding "cheek" caused Butler to begin,
And to the presence in the room he said

P.

"What writest thou?"-the Spectre raised his head,
And answered with a gesture most uncouth,
"The names of demagogues who love the truth."
"Is mine left out?" said Butler. "I should smile,"
Replied the spirit. Butler thought awhile;
And then he said, "Please put it in your note
"I only lie to gain the coloured vote."

The spirit wrote and vanished. The next night
It came again, with evident delight,
And showed the names of politicians dead,
And lo! Ben Butler's name was at the head.
American Paper. 1886.

-: 0:

Leigh Hunt's other poems never attained to sufficiently general popularity to become the butt of the parodist, there is, however, a jocular imitation of his style in The Book of

Ballads, by Bon Gaultier, from which a few lines may be quoted:

FRANCESCA DA RIMINI.

(Argument. An impassioned pupil of Leigh Hunt, having met Bon Gaultier at a Fancy Ball, declares the destructive consequences thus :—

DIDST thou not praise me, Gaultier, at the ball,
Ripe lips, trim boddice, and a waist so small,
With clipsome lightness, dwindling ever less,
Beneath the robe of pea-y greeniness?
Dost thou remember, when, with stately prance,
Our heads went crosswise in the country-dance;
How soft, warm fingers, tipped like buds of balm,
Trembled within the squeezing of thy palm;
And how a cheek grew flushed and peachy-wise
At the frank lifting of thy cordial eyes?
There's wont to be, at conscious times like these,
An affectation of a bright-eyed ease,—

A crispy cheekiness, if so I dare
Describe the swaling of a jaunty air;

And thus, when swirling from the waltz's wheel,
You craved my hand to grace the next quadrille,
That smiling voice, although it made me start,
Boiled in the meek o'erlifting of my heart;
And, picking at my flowers, I said, with free
And usual tone, "O yes, sir, certainly !"

But when the dance was o'er, and arm in arm
(The full heart beating 'gainst the elbow warm)
We passed into the great refreshment hall,
Where the heaped cheese-cakes and the comfits small
Lay, like a hive of sunbeams, brought to burn
Around the margin of the negus urn;

When my poor quivering hand you fingered twice,
And, with inquiring accents, whispered, "Ice,
Water, or cream?" I could no more dissemble,
But dropped upon the couch all in a tremble.

A swimming faintness misted o'er my brain,
The corks seemed starting from the brisk champagne,
The custards fell untouched upon the floor,
Thine eyes met mine. That night we danced no more.

There was an imitation of Leigh Hunt, entitled "A Nursery Ode," in Warreniana (London, 1824), but it had little merit as a parody, and is of no present interest.

Another short imitation was published, about forty years ago, in The Puppet Showman's Album, describing the author's sentiments on viewing that celebrated danseuse

CARLOTTA GRISI.

By the Author of "Niminy-Piminy," "A Pot of
Treacle," &c.

SHE floated towards us from the wreathing crowd
Of peachey nymphs, and swam a breathing cloud,
Less with a regulated kind of motion,
Than like a bird scarring the breast of ocean.
I thought and said "In roseate light she swims,
Guided, not lifted, by those slopy limbs,
And wants in air a sister sylph to meet,
While Earth heaves upward, sick to kiss her feet."

146

MANNERS AND CIVILITY.

LET Laws and Commerce, Arts and Science die,
But leave us still our old Nobility!

LORD JOHN MANNERS (now Duke of Rutland). The New Age thus describes the august writer of that couplet :

THE wreck of a beau, of a bard, of a spouter,
The seed of a Duke, he was bound by all rule

To furnish Disraeli, that scorner and flouter,

Of noble-born failures, with friend, foil, and tool.

IIad chances galore and some gifts; took to throw 'em Away to the winds 63 years or more;

Two laughable lines in an imbecile poem

Will probably furnish his posthumous store."

MR. RITCHIE'S SPEECH.

(In which he proposed to disestablish everybody, except the Drinksellers.)

"Let Boards and Benches, Lords and Squires die, But leave us still our old Debauchery." The Star. March 21, 1888.

LTHOUGH Lord Macaulay's literary fame rests principally upon his prose writings, yet his "Lays of Ancient Rome," "Ivry," and "The Armada," are widely popular, and have been frequently parodied.

"The Armada," (which is but a short fragment) was first published in 1832, it possesses exceptional interest at present, as the tercentenary Commemoration of the defeat of the Spanish Armada is to be held in Plymouth this year. Although the natives of Devonshire have most cause to be proud of the brave deeds of their

ancestors, it must not be forgotten that every Englishman is now enjoying that religious and political liberty for which they then fought, the celebration ought therefore to be a thoroughly National one.

Those who love English Ballad Poetry will often have regretted that Lord Macaulay should have left unfinished his story of the Armada.

His fragment consists of seventy-four lines, bringing the narrative no further than the night alarm of the approach of the Spanish fleet. Dr. W. C. Bennett has written a conclusion of a little over two hundred lines, which can be found in his "Contributions to a Ballad History of England,"

(London, Chatto and Windus), whilst another continuation (in the same metre as the original,) by the Reverend H. C. Leonard, which originally appeared in The Boy's Own Paper, has since been published, in pamphlet form, by J. W. Arrowsmith of Bristol.

By the kind permission of the author, Mr. Leonard's imitation is inserted here immediately following Lord Macaulay's fragment.

THE SPANISH ARMADA.

ATTEND, all ye who list, to hear our noble England's praise;

I tell of the thrice-famous deeds she wrought in ancient. days,

When that great fleet invincible against her bore, in vain, The richest spoils of Mexico, the stoutest hearts of Spain. It was about the lovely close of a warm summer day, There came a gallant merchant-ship full sail to Plymouth Bay;

Her crew hath seen Castile's black fleet, beyond Aurigny's isle,

At earliest twilight, on the waves lie heaving many a mile. At sunrise she escaped their van, by God's especial grace, And the tall Pinta, till the noon, had held her close in chase.

Forthwith a guard at every gun was placed along the wall; The beacon blazed upon the roof of Edgcumbe's lofty hall;

Many a light fishing-boat put out, to pry along the coast, And, with loose rein and bloody spur, rode inland many a post.

With his white hair unbonneted, the stout old sheriff comes;

Behind him march the halberdiers; before him sound the drums;

His yeomen round the market-cross make clear an ample

space,

For there behoves him to set up the standard of Her Grace;

And haughtily the trumpets peal, and gaily dance the bells, As, slow upon the labouring wind, the royal blazon swells. Look how the Lion of the sea lifts up his ancient crown, And, underneath his deadly paw, treads the gay lillies down! So stalked he when he turned to flight, on that famed Picard field,

Bohemia's plume, and Genoa's bow, and Cæsar's eagle shield.

So glared he when, at Agincourt, in wrath he turned to bay, And, crushed and torn beneath his claws, the princely hunters lay.

Ho! strike the flagstaff deep, Sir Knight: ho! scatter flowers, fair maids :

Ho! gunners, fire a loud salute: ho! gallants draw your blades:

Thou sun, shine on her joyously; ye breezes, waft her wide; Our glorious royal battle-flag, the banner of our pride.

The freshening breeze of eve unfurled that banner's massy fold;

The parting gleam of sunshine kissed that haughty scroll of gold;

Night sank upon the dusky beach, and on the purple sea, Such night in England ne'er had been, nor e'er again shall be!

From Eddystone to Berwick bounds, from Lynn to Milford Bay,

That time of slumber was as bright and busy as the day; For swift to east and swift to west the ghastly war-flame

spread,

High on St. Michael's Mount it shone : it shone on Beachy Head.

Far on the deep the Spaniard saw, along each southern shire,

Cape beyond cape, in endless range, those twinkling points of fire.

The fisher left his skiff to rock on Tamar's glittering waves: The rugged miners poured to war from Mendip's sunless

caves;

O'er Longleat's towers, o'er Cranbourne's oaks, the fiery herald flew :

He roused the shepherd of Stonehenge, the rangers of Beaulieu.

Right sharp and quick the bells all night rang out from Bristol town,

And, ere the day, three hundred horse had met on Clifton Down;

The sentinel on Whitehall gate looked forth into the night, And saw, o'erhanging Richmond Hill, the streak of blood red light.

Then bugle's note and cannon's roar, the death-like silence broke,

And with one start, and with one cry, the royal city woke. At once, on all her stately gates, arose the answering fires; At once the wild alarum clashed from all her reeling spires; From all the batteries of the Tower pealed loud the voice of fear,

And all the thousand masts of Thames sent back a louder cheer :

And, from the furthest wards, was heard the rush of hurrying feet,

And the broad streams of pikes and flags rushed down each roaring street;

And broader still became the blaze, and louder still the din, As, fast from every village round, the horse came spurring in :

And eastward straight from wild Blackheath the warlike errand went,

And roused, in many an ancient hall, the gallant squires of Kent;

Southward from Surrey's pleasant hills flew those bright couriers forth;

High on bleak Hampstead's swarthy moor they started for the north;

And on, and on, without a pause, untired they bounded still:

All night, from town to town, they sprang; they sprang from hill to hill:

Till the proud peak unfurled the flag o'er Darwins rocky dales;

Till, like volcanoes, flared to heaven the stormy hills of Wales;

Till twelve fair counties saw the blaze on Malvern's lonely Height;

Till streamed in crimson on the wind the Wrekin's crest of light;

Till, broad and flerce, the star came forth on Ely's stately fane,

And tower and hamlet rose in arms, o'er all the boundless

To join the Duke of Parma's men, ere up the Thames they go!

For he, the greatest general that Spain or Europe knew,
In Flanders long had waited them, and now impatient grew.
But well the little English ships hung on their rear that day,
And many a shot and shell flew east, to speed the Spaniard's
way!

See hindermost, with towering poop, a galleon of Biscay
Laden with gold of Mexico, full thirty weeks of pay;
And next a frigate huge sails up, with port-holes open wide,
From Andalusia is she come with piles of arms inside.
But well for England fought that day the flame and south-
west wind!

The devil takes, the proverb says, the one that comes behind!

The Andalusian lost her mast, the treasure barque took fire, While, in their wake, the English ships pressed ever nigh and nigher,

And ere had paled, that summer night, the sunset's ruddy glow

These two, with all the spoil, were towed right up to Plymouth Hoe.

Brave Drake it was that took the gold, but not a coin kept he;

Full fifty thousand to his men he dealt, with jovia! glee! Beyond the Tamar Raleigh lay, the Lizard Head to guard,

But, when he saw the Spaniards pass, said he, "I count it hard

That I who came to lead the van thus in the rear should lag!"

He left his men, took horse and rode, and joined the Admiral's flag!

And now from every western port the ships came more and

From Bristol and from Barnstaple, from all along the shore; From Dartmouth and from Bridport town, from Weymouth, Poole, and Lyme,

And every ship spread all her sail, in haste to be in time.
'Twas off the point of Portland Bill the first great fight
took place;

The year was fifteen-eighty-eight, of our Redeemer's grace,
Throughout a glorious summer day, July the twenty-third,
A cannonade both flerce and loud on either coast was heard.
The hulking Spanish galleons then were sorely put about,
The English ships sailed out and in, sailed briskly in and out.
As when a mighty baited bull the valiant dogs surround,
And all his bulk and all his strength of little use are found,
So many a great three-decker then threw wide her shot and
shell;

The balls flew o'er the English masts, and in the billows fell! But now the light and gunpowder alike were spent and gone,

And, in the night, the Spanish fleet their eastward way went

To fight these English devils thus is not an equal match!" But to this plan the Hollanders, old England's staunch Ally,

Refused consent, and would not let the pinnaces pass by. At length the Spaniards spread their sails and took their onward way

Till off the Flemish coast, becalmed, the great Armada lay; And still the gallant English ships kept up with their advance Till six-score sail around them lay, and waited for their chance.

Meanwhile on land, Her Grace's troops, as active as the fleet,

Prepared themselves with urgent haste the foreign foe to

meet.

Ten thousand Londoners in arms rallied around the Queen, A hundred thousand, hastening up from every shire, were

seen;

And as they came they leapt and danced and sang, with cheerfull face,

As nimble runners gird their loins, with joy to run a race.
At Tilbury Fort Elizabeth reviewed the bright array:
O long did loyal English hearts recall that famous day!
And long shall grateful Englishmen, that know her faults
no less,

Revere the gallant memory of England's Good Queen Bess;
For, riding on her war-horse white, the serried ranks between,
A noble sight it was to see Old England's Virgin Queen!
A helmet crowned her golden hair, and they that saw it tell
No coronet of diamonds became Her Grace so well;
A coat of mail of burnished steel the Royal Maiden wore,
And, in her fair white hand, aloft a truncheon-sceptre bore ;
Then up she spoke, and reined her steed before the troops
to stand,

And all could hear her accents clear beside the Essex strand:
"My loving friends, my courtiers say I run a risk this morn,
That treason lurks in martial throngs! Their cautious speech
I scorn!

For rather than distrust you all, from life I'd sooner part :
Let tyrants fear! Next to my God I trust my people's heart:
So come I in your midst to-day, the Spaniards to defy,
And for my God, and for my lands, with you to live or
die.

But well I know my frame is weak; what can a woman do?

Yet mine's the spirit of a king, a king of England too!

more,