We fall like the drops of April show'rs, Cradled in mud, or cradled in flow'rs, Now idly to wile the rosy hours, And now for bread to importune; Petted, and fêted, and fed upon pap, One prattler comes in for a fortune, slap-- And one, a "more kicks than ha'pence" chap, For a slap--without the fortune! * * * * * Yet, laugh if we will at those baby days, There was more of bliss in its careless plays, Than in after time from the careful ways Or the hollow world, with its empty praise, Its honeyed speeches, and hackney phrase, And its pleasures, for ever fleeting. _Puck on Pegasus_ (Chatto and Windus), London. * * * * * A NICE YOUNG MAN FOR A SMALL PARTY. Young Ben he was a nice young man, An author by his trade; He fell in love with Polly-Tics, And was an M. P. made. He was a Radical one day, But met a Tory crew; His Polly-Tics he cast away, And then turned Tory too. Now Ben had tried for many a place When Tories e'en were out; But in two years the turning Whigs Were turn'd to the right-about. But when he called on ROBERT PEEL, His talents to employ, His answer was, "Young Englander, For me you're not the boy." Oh, ROBERT PEEL! Oh, ROBERT PEEL! How could you serve me so? I've met with Whig rebuffs before, But not a Tory blow. Then rising up in Parliament, He made a fierce to do With PEEL, who merely winked his eye; BEN wink'd like winking too. And then he tried the game again, But couldn't, though he tried; His party turn'd away from him, Nor with him would divide. Young England died when in its birth: In forty-five it fell; The papers told the public, but None for it toll'd the bell. _Punch_, June 1845. (This parody was accompanied by a portrait of Mr. Benjamin Disraeli). * * * * * A FEW WORDS ON POETS IN GENERAL, AND ONE IN PARTICULAR. BY THE GHOST OF T-- H--D. "What's in a name?"--_Shakespeare._ I. By different names were Poets call'd In different climes and times; The Welsh and Irish call'd him _Bard_, Who was confined to rhymes. II In France they called them _Troubadours_, Or _Menestrels_, by turns; The Scandinavians called them _Scalds_, The Scotchmen call theirs _Burns_. III. A strange coincidence is this, Both names implying heat; But had the Scotchmen call'd theirs _Scald_. 'Twere title more complete. IV. For why call'd BURNS 'tis hard to say (Except all sense to slaughter); _Scald_ was the name he should have had, Being always in _hot water_. V. For he was poor,--his natal hut Was built of _mud_, they say; But though the hut was built of mud, _He_ was no _common clay_. VI.