He held me with his skinny hand: Quoth he “I’ll prove to thee The fault in leaving thus the M[81] And going to the C.” I sat me just outside, the Gymn, I could not choose but hear; And thus spake on that ancient one, That able Moderner! “Arithmetic, and my good book Are all you’ll want in life; An accurate mind will bless your age―― Reward your early strife.” I slowly raised my head, eftsoons I asked with much civility My aged friend, does your book boast _Degrees_ of probability? Is it not plain without your aid To every child of fortune, That _two long lines are always good_ In length, as against one short ’un? “Is it not clear that in working a ‘sum,’ With figures enough to frighten, That of all the _ansers_ who solve the thing One _answer_ alone is the right ’un. ‘Figures, figures, everywhere―― And all the boys do shrink―― Figures, figures, everywhere―― Nothing whereon to _think_.’ I paused――the Moderner strode away And answered never a word; And away to Leck’ton Hill he hied[82] To work a favourite surd. From _The Cheltonian_. March 1869. ―――― THE ANCIENT MARINER. _A New Version._ PROLOGUE. It is an ancient mariner, And he stoppeth one of three―― He held him with his glittering eye, The wedding guests stood still. ―――― The ship was cheered, the harbour cleared, Merrily did we drop,―― I’d reported myself to the skipper bold, Of the tight little Humming Top. Higher and higher every day, In the main top-mast at noon―― (The wedding guest here beat his breast), Sat the skipper’s pet baboon. “Heaven help thee ancient mariner! How got you into the scrape?” “How did it occur? With my pea-shooter, I slaughtered the skipper’s ape.” Shiver my spars, what looks had I From the skipper of whom I’ve sung; Oh, wasn’t he cross about his loss―― And had’nt he got a tongue! Alone, alone: all, all alone, Alone on a wide, wide sea, For they set me afloat in a little boat, With no one for company. The ghost of the ape appeared in the stern, And uttered a ghostly chitter, It fixed on me its stony eyes That in the moon did glitter. Oh, save me, save me, holy man, And the hermit opened his “brolly,” Which frightened the ape, and I did escape With the loss of a leg for my folly. The mariner whose eye is bright, Whose pig-tail with age is hoar, Stole off, and now the wedding guest Gave a most portentious snore. W. J. WIEGAND. _Tom Hood’s Comic Annual_, 1870. ―――― THE RIME OF THE MODERN SHIPOWNER. It is a drownèd mariner, And he stoppeth an M.P. “By thy dank grey beard like wet seal fur, Now wherefore stopp’st thou me?”