_Mars Lodge, Cutsaddleborough_, _Tomatkinshire_.
If I were a missionary On the plains of Uganda, I'd leave that position airy Ere, at dawn, anew 'gan day.
QUESTION FOR A DICKENSIAN EXAMINATION PAPER.--"_Here's Pip--Ask Pip. Pip's our mutual friend_." In which of DICKENS's Novels does this occur?
FIRST CITIZEN. "WOT! 'ALLOWED' TO MEET IN TRAFALGAR SQUARE ON SATURDAYS, SUNDAYS, AND BANK 'OLIDAYS, ARE WE!!"
SECOND CITIZEN. "THEN WE JUST WON'T GO!! HE-HEH!!"]
"Wire in, my warblers!" PUNCHIUS cried. "To 'wire,' Though slangy, sounds appropriate to the Lyre." Then forth there toddled with the mincing gait Of some fair "Tottering Lily," him, the great New Bard of Buddha! Grave, and grey of crest. 'Tis he illumes the nubibustic West With the true "_Light of Asia_"--or, at least, Such simulacrum of the effulgent East As shineth from a homemade Chinese lantern. No HAFIZ he, or SAADI, yet he _can_ turn Authentic Sanscrit to--Telegraphese, And make the Muse a moon-faced Japanese. Leaderesque love of gentle gush and "Caps.," Is blent in him with fondness for the Japs. "Wah! wah! futtee!--wah! wah, gooroo!" he cried, And twanged his tinkling orient lyre with pride.
No moaning of the _bards_! A pleasant quip! No manufactured gloom to dim that far light! Of dirge's luxury deprive my lip? So suns might say there shall be no more starlight!
Lamping is _not_ required at day's full noon, Lanterns _are_ out of place in dawn's fair flush-light; But when dark night sets in, and there's no moon, There is a chance for stars, or even a rushlight.
No moaning of the bards? That were hard lines For minor line-spinners, imperial TENNYSON! Owls only have their chance when day declines, That's why the night-birds crown thee with prompt benison.
LEWIS has wailed and warbled--twiddlingly: ALFRED has--rootley-tootlely--wailed and warbled; WILLIAM's young Muse hath wept--then why not Me, Whose brow, not less than theirs, with woe is marbled?
ROBERT and AUSTIN (DOBSON) took their turns; There is some talk, too, of Sir THEODORE MARTIN. Seeing _my_ lips, too, thrill, _my_ heart, too, burns, Why the great contest should I take no part in!
May be I do not carry guns enough To epically glorify King ARTHUR, But I have penned some reams of rhythmic stuff Concerning (please admire the rhyme!) SIDDÁRTHA.