The Sage, rebuffed in mode uncouth, Returning, met the Mystic Youth. “My darling boy,” the Scholar said, “Take MARY—blessings on your head!” The Mystic Boy undid his vest, And took a parchment from his breast, And said, “Now, by that noble brow, I ne’er knew father such as thou! The sterling rule of common sense Now reaps its proper recompense. Rejoice, my soul’s unequalled Queen, For I am DUKE OF GRETNA GREEN!” THE KING OF CANOODLE-DUM THE story of FREDERICK GOWLER, A mariner of the sea, Who quitted his ship, the _Howler_, A-sailing in Caribbee. For many a day he wandered, Till he met in a state of rum CALAMITY POP VON PEPPERMINT DROP, The King of Canoodle-Dum. That monarch addressed him gaily, “Hum! Golly de do to-day? Hum! Lily-white Buckra Sailee”— (You notice his playful way?)— “What dickens you doin’ here, sar? Why debbil you want to come? Hum! Picaninnee, dere isn’t no sea In City Canoodle-Dum!” And GOWLER he answered sadly, “Oh, mine is a doleful tale! They’ve treated me werry badly In Lunnon, from where I hail. I’m one of the Family Royal— No common Jack Tar you see; I’m WILLIAM THE FOURTH, far up in the North, A King in my own countree!” Bang-bang! How the tom-toms thundered! Bang-bang! How they thumped this gongs! Bang-bang! How the people wondered! Bang-bang! At it hammer and tongs! Alliance with Kings of Europe Is an honour Canoodlers seek, Her monarchs don’t stop with PEPPERMINT DROP Every day in the week! FRED told them that he was _un_done, For his people all went insane, And fired the Tower of London, And Grinnidge’s Naval Fane. And some of them racked St. James’s, And vented their rage upon The Church of St. Paul, the Fishmongers’ Hall, And the Angel at Islington. CALAMITY POP implored him In his capital to remain Till those people of his restored him To power and rank again. CALAMITY POP he made him A Prince of Canoodle-Dum, With a couple of caves, some beautiful slaves, And the run of the royal rum. Pop gave him his only daughter, HUM PICKETY WIMPLE TIP: FRED vowed that if over the water He went, in an English ship, He’d make her his Queen,—though truly It is an unusual thing For a Caribbee brat who’s as black as your hat To be wife of an English King. And all the Canoodle-Dummers They copied his rolling walk, His method of draining rummers, His emblematical talk. For his dress and his graceful breeding, His delicate taste in rum, And his nautical way, were the talk of the day In the Court of Canoodle-Dum.