Was't Apelles? or Zeuxis?--I think 'twas Apelles, That artist of old--I declare I can't tell his Exact patronymic--I write and pronounce ill These Classical names--Whom some Grecian Town-Council Employ'd--I believe, by command of the Oracle,-- To produce them a splendid piece, purely historical, For adorning the wall Of some fane, or Guildhall, And who for his subject determined to try a Large painting in oils of Miss Iphigenia At the moment her Sire, By especial desire Of "that Spalpeen, O'Dysseus" (see Barney Maguire), Has resolved to devote Her beautiful throat To old Chalcas's knife, and her limbs to the fire; --An act which we moderns by no means admire,-- An off'ring, 'tis true, to Jove, Mars, or Apollo cost No trifling sum in those days, if a holocaust,-- Still, although for economy we should condemn none, In an αναξ ανδρων, like the great Agamemnon, To give up to slaughter An elegant daughter, After all the French, Music, and Dancing they'd taught her, And Singing,--at Heaven knows how much a quarter,-- In lieu of a Calf!-- It was too bad by half! At a "nigger"[39] so pitiful who would not laugh, And turn up their noses at one who could find No decenter method of "Raising the Wind"? No doubt but he might, Without any great _Flight_, Have obtain'd it by what we call "flying a kite." Or on mortgage--or sure, if he couldn't so do it, he Must have succeeded "by way of annuity." But there--it appears, His crocodile tears, His "Oh!s" and his "Ah!s" his "Oh Law!s" and "Oh dear!s" Were all thought sincere,--so in painting his Victim The Artist was splendid--but could not depict _Him_. His features, and phiz awry Shewed so much misery, And so like a dragon he Look'd in his agony, That the foil'd Painter buried--despairing to gain a Good likeness--his face in a printed Bandana. --Such a veil is best thrown o'er one's face when one's hurt By some grief which no power can repair or avert!-- --Such a veil I shall throw o'er Aunt Fan--and My Shirt! MORAL. And now for some practical hints from the story Of Aunt Fan's mishap, which I've thus laid before ye; For, if rather too gay, I can venture to say A fine vein of morality is, in each lay Of my primitive Muse, the distinguishing _trait_!-- First of all--Don't put off till to-morrow what may, Without inconvenience, be managed to-day! That golden occasion we call "Opportunity" Rarely's neglected by man with impunity! And the "Future," how brightly soe'er by Hope's dupe colour'd, Ne'er may afford You a lost chance restored, Till both you, and YOUR SHIRT, are grown old, and pea-soup-colour'd!You to guard your attire, Young Ladies,--and never go too near the fire!-- --Depend on't there's many a dear little Soul Has found that a Spark is as bad as a coal,-- And "in her best petticoat burnt a great hole!"