The world may think me gay, For my feelings I smother; Oh _thou_ hast been the cause Of this anguish--my mother.
T. Haynes Bayly was a prominent song-writer some seventy years ago (1797-1839). His most popular ballad was 'I'd be a Butterfly.' It came out with a coloured title-page, and at once became the rage, in fact, as John Hullah said, 'half musical England was smitten with an overpowering, resistless rage for metempsychosis.' There were many imitations, such as 'I'd be a Nightingale' and 'I'd be an Antelope.'
Although we read so much about singers, the singing-master is rarely introduced, in fact Mr. M'Choakumchild (_H.T._), who 'could teach everything from vocal music to general cosmography,' almost stands alone. However, in view of the complaints of certain adjudicators about the facial distortions they beheld at musical competitions, it may be well to record Mrs. General's recipe for giving 'a pretty form to the lips' (_L.D._).
Papa, potatoes, poultry, prunes, and prism are all very good words for the lips, especially prunes and prism. You will find it serviceable in the formation of a demeanour.
Nor do composers receive much attention, but amongst the characters we may mention Mr. Skimpole (_B.H._), who composed half an opera, and the lamp porter at Mugby Junction, who composed 'Little comic songs-like.' In this category we can scarcely include Mrs. Kenwigs, who 'invented and composed' her eldest daughter's name, the result being 'Morleena.' Mr. Skimpole, however, has a further claim upon our attention, as he 'played what he composed with taste,' and was also a performer on the violoncello. He had his lighter moments, too, as when he went to the piano one evening at 11 p.m. and rattled hilariously
That the best of all ways to lengthen our days Was to steal a few hours from Night, my dear!
It is evident that his song was 'The Young May Moon,' one of Moore's _Irish Melodies_.
The young May moon is beaming, love, The glow-worm's lamp is gleaming, love, How sweet to rove Through Morna's grove While the drowsy world is dreaming, love!
Then awake--the heavens look bright, my dear! 'Tis never too late for delight, my dear! And the best of all ways To lengthen our days Is to steal a few hours from the night, my dear!