King told her she must fetch her master down,
A chaise was ready, he was leaving town,

But first had much of deep concern to say.

Thus urged, she went the snoring man to call,
And long, indeed, was she obliged to bawl,

Ere she could rouse the torpid lump of clay.
At last he wakes, he rises, and he swears,
But scarcely had he totter'd down the stairs
When King attacks him in his usual way.
The Frenchman now perceived 'twas all in vain
To this tormentor mildly to complain,

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And straight in rage his crest began to rearSare, vat the devil make you treat me so ? Sare, I inform you, sare, three nights ago,

I swear no Monsieur Tonson, lodges here!"

True as the night, King went, and heard a strife
Between the harass'd Frenchman and his wife,
Which would descend to chase the fiend away;
At length to join their forces they agree,
And straight impetuously they turn the key,
Prepared with mutual fury for the fray.

Our hero, with the firmness of a rock,
Collected to receive the mighty shock,

Utt'ring the old inquiry, calmly stood-
The name of Thompson raised the storm so high,
He deem'd it then the safest plan to fly,

With "Well, I'll call when you're in gentler mood."

In short, our hero, with the same intent,
Full many a night to plague the Frenchman went-
So fond of mischief was the wicked wit;
They threw out water, for the watch they call,
But King expecting, still escapes from all-
Monsieur, at last, was forced his house to quit.

It happen'd that our wag about this time,
On some fair prospect sought the Eastern clime.
Six ling'ring years were there his tedious lot.
At length, content, amid his rip'ning store,
He treads again on Britain's happy shore,
And his long absence is at once forgot.

To London with impatient hope he flies,
And the same night, as former freaks arise,

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He fain must stroll the well-known haunt to trace Ah, here's the scene of frequent mirth," he said, "My poor olà Frenchman, I suppose, is deadEgad, I'll knock, and see who holds his place."

With rapid strokes he makes the mansion roar,
And while he eager eyes the op'ning door,

Lo! who obeys the knocker's rattling peal?
Why, e'en our little Frenchman, strange to say!
He took his old abode that very day—

Capricious turn of sportive Fortune's wheel!

Without one thought of the relentless foe,
Who, fiendlike, haunted him so long ago,

Just in his former trim he now appears;
The waistcoat and the nightcap seem'd the same,
With rushlight, as before, he creeping came,
And King's detested voice, astonish'd, hears.

As if some hideous spectre struck his sight,
His senses seem'd bewilder'd with affright,

His face, indeed, bespoke a heart full sore,
Then starting, he exclaim'd in rueful strain,
Begar! here's Monsieur Tonson come again!"
Away he ran-and ne'er was heard of more!

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THE SHOWMAN'S SONG, FROM

FAUST."

HENRY J. BYRON.

"LITTLE DOCTOR

[Mr. Byron, one of the most prolific and versatile of modern dramatists, was born in the year 1835. His earliest works for the stage consisted of burlesques and pantomimes, which, meeting with unqualified success, encouraged him to essay his abilities upon farces and comedies. His most successful farce was "Dundreary Married and Settled;" and his first comedy was "The Old Story.' These were succeeded by "War to the Knife" and "£100,000," both of which still hold the stage. Meantime he continued to write a brilliant series of burlesques, until at length he produced his finest work entitled "Cyril's Success," which placed him in the front rank of modern writers of comedy. Of his most enduring pieces, the following may be enumerated: "Our Boys," "Married in Haste,' "Partners for Life," "Blow for Blow," "Old Soldiers," and "Open House." He died April 11, 1884.]

IF you'll walk into my Show, sirs,

I've no end of things you know, sirs,

I've a dappled dromedary who can very nearly speak;
I've a race of ring-tailed monkeys,
Quite obedient as flunkeys,

I've an ostrich who can see into the middle of next week.
I've a clever marmozet, too,

Who will tell you where you get to

With his eyes severely bandaged; I've an educated flea;
I've a brace of learned ponies,

And two cobras who are cronies,

I've a camel with a weakness for a winkle with his tea.

I've a zebra who likes rum, sirs,
And a large aquarium, sirs,

Where the cod-fish, and the turtle, and the tadpole sing a glee.
And the octopus and gurnet

Spend their money when they earn it

In the Field and Land and Water, which they always lend to me. There's an eel so eel-ongated,

A sea-serpent it is rated,

We've a whale we call Llangollen-it's so wonderfully prime;
We've a prawn that's prone to larking,

We've a dog-fish caught at Barking,

We've a scollop that reads Trollope, and a crab that's full of rhyme.

polly" that's called "Mary,"

We've a pheasant, most unpleasant, who will always disagree
With the eldest of the chickens,

Who quotes Thackeray and Dickens.

We've a cockertoo that counts so, he'd give any cockerthree.
We've a personal old vulture,

Who most grossly will insult yer,

And a cassowary who's extremely vulgar when he's vexed;
We've an elderly flamingo,

Who remarks at times by Jingo,"

We've a peacock with a tail "to be continued in our next."

We've a very learned lizard,
Who is as deep as any wizard,

We've a cockroach who can whistle all the operatic airs;
We've a beetle who can caper,

And a toad that reads the paper,

And a saltatory oyster who skips up and down the stairs.
We've a musical old mussel,

Who can sing like Henry Russell,

We've a Cheshire feline specimen who's always on the grin.
And a lunatic old locust,

Who's very nearly hocussed,

By the artful armadillo, who designs upon his tin.

We've fossilised Iguanodons,

And Ipecacuanhadons,

And mummies who've been dummies for these many thousand

years;

If up the stairs you'll follow me,

We'll show you right "tol-omollemy,"

You pays your money, and you takes your choice, my little dears. There's no show in the fair at all,

That with us can compare at all,

We're bound to lick creation-though the simile is low,

It expresses what we mean, sirs,
That there never yet was seen, sirs,

Such a scorching exhibition, as this 'ere partic❜ler Show.

(By permission of Messrs. Tinsley Brothers, by whom also the music is published.)

VAT YOU PLEASE.

J. R. PLANCHÉ, F.S.A.

[James Robinson Planché was the oldest and one of the most successful dramatists of his day; his first burlesque was performed at Drury Lane Theatre in 1818, subsequently he produced upon the stage nearly two hundred pieces. All Mr. Planché's pieces exhibit a facile command of versification, a flow of genuine, not forced, wit, with occasional dashes of true poetry. As an antiquarian he took a high position, his works on ancient costume being the recognized authorities. Mr. Planché held the appointment of Rouge Croix Pursuivant until his death, which occurred in 1880.]

SOME years ago, when civil faction

Raged like a fury through the fields of Gaul,
And children, in the general distraction,

Were taught to curse as soon as they could squall;
When common-sense in common folks was dead,
And murder show'd a love of nationality,
And France, determined not to have a head,
Decapitated all the higher class,

To put folks more on an equality;

When coronets were not worth half-a-crown,
And liberty, in bonnet rouge, might pass
For Mother Red-cap up at Camden Town;
Full many a Frenchman then took wing,
Bidding soup-maigre an abrupt farewell,
And hither came, pell-mell,

Sans cash, sans clothes, and almost sans everything!

Two Messieurs who about this time came over,

Half-starved, but toujours gai

(No weasels e'er were thinner),

way,

Trudged up to town from Dover;
Their slender store exhausted on the
Extremely puzzled how to get a dinner.
From morn till noon, from noon to dewy eve,
Our Frenchmen wander'd on their expedition;
Great was their needs and sorely did they grieve.
Stomach and pocket in the same condition!
At length by mutuar consent they parted,
And different ways on the same errand started.

This happen'd on a day most dear
To epicures, when general use

Sanctions the roasting of the sav'ry goose.
Towards night, one Frenchman at a tavern near,
Stopp'd, and beheld the glorious cheer;

While greedily he snuff'd the luscious_gale in,
That from the kitchen window was exhaling,
He instant set to work his busy brain,

And snuff'd and long'd, and long'd and snuff'd again.
Necessity's the mother of invention,

(A proverb I've heard many mention);

So now one moment saw his plan completed,
And our sly Frenchman at a table seated.

The ready waiter at his elbow stands—

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these?

Sir, will you favour me with your commands? "We've roast and boil'd, sir; choose you those or "Sare! you are very good, sare! Vat you please."

Quick at the word,

Upon the table smokes the wish'd-for bird.

No time in talking did he waste,

But pounced pell-mell upon it;

Drum-stick and merry-thought he pick'd in haste,
Exulting in the merry thought that won it.
Pie follows goose, and after pie comes cheese-
"Stilton or Cheshire, sir ?"" Ah! vat you please."

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And now our Frenchman, having ta'en his fill,
Prepares to go, when-" Sir, your little bill."
"Ah, vat you're Bill! Vell, Mr. Bill, good day!
“Bon jour, good Villiam." No, sir, stay;
My name is Tom, sir-you've this bill to pay."
Pay, pay, ma foi!

66

66

I call for noting, sare-pardonnez moi!

You bring me vat you call your goose, your cheese,
You ask-a-me to eat; I tell you, Vat you please!"
Down came the master, each explain'd the case,
The one with cursing, t'other with grimace;
But Boniface, who dearly loved a jest
(Although sometimes he dearly paid for it),
And finding nothing could be done (you know,
That when a man has got no money,

To make him pay some would be rather funny),
Of a bad bargain made the best,

Acknowledged much was to be said for it;
Took pity on the Frenchman's meagre face,
And, Briton-like, forgave a fallen foe,
'Laugh'd heartily, and let him go.

Our Frenchman's hunger, thus subdued,
Away he trotted in a merry mood;

When, turning round the corner of a street,

Who but his countryman he chanced to meet!