Absurd Ditties. Farrow George Edward

      "'Tis really very, very queer!"

      Ejaculated Justice Dear,

      "That, day by day, I'm sitting here

      Without a single 'case.'

      This is the twenty-second pair

      Of white kid gloves, I do declare,

      I've had this month. I can not wear

      White kids at such a pace."

      His Lordship thought the matter o'er.

      "Crimes ne'er have been so few before;

      Not long ago, I heard a score

      Of charges every day;

      And now – dear me! how can it be? —

      And, pondering thus, went home to tea.

      (He lives Bayswater way.)

      A frugal mind has Justice Dear

      (Indeed, I've heard folks call him "near"),

      And, caring naught for jibe or jeer,

      He rides home on a bus.

      It singularly came to pass,

      This day, he chanced to ride, alas!

      Beside two of the burglar class;

      And one addressed him thus:

      "We knows yer, Mr. Justice Dear,

      You've often giv' us 'time' – d'ye hear? —

      And now your pitch we're going to queer,

      We criminals has struck!

      We're on the 'honest livin' tack,

      An' not another crib we'll crack,

      So Justices will get the sack!

      How's that, my legal buck?"

      This gave his Lordship quite a fright,

      He had not viewed it in that light.

      "Dear me!" he thought, "these men are right,

      I'd better smooth them down.

      "Let's not fall out, my friends," said he,

      "Continue with your burglarie;

      Your point of view I clearly see.

      Ahem! Here's half-a-crown."

      The morning sun shone bright and clear

      On angry Mr. Justice Dear;

      His language was not good to hear;

      With rage he'd like to burst.

      His watch and chain, and several rings,

      His silver-plate, and other things,

      Had disappeared on magic wings —

      They'd burgled his house first!

      Life has its little ups, and downs,

      As has been very truly said,

      And Mr. Brown,

      Of Camden Town

      (Alas! the gentleman is dead),

      Found out how quickly Fortune's smile

      May turn to Fortune's frown;

      And how a sudden rise in life

      May bring a person down.

      He lived – as I remarked before —

      Within a highly genteel square

      At Camden Town,

      Did Mr. Brown

      (He had been born and brought up there);

      But – waxing richer year by year —

      Grew prosperous and fat,

      And left the square at Camden Town

      To take a West End flat.

      It was a very stylish flat,

      With such appointments on each floor

      As Mr. Brown

      At Camden Town

      Had never, never seen before:

      Electric lights; hydraulic lifts,

      To take one up and down;

      And telephones to everywhere.

      (These quite bewildered Brown.)

      The elevator pleased him most;

      To ride in it was perfect bliss.

      "I say!" cried Brown,

      "At Camden Town

      We'd nothing half as good as this."

      From early morn till dewy eve

      He spent his time – did Brown —

      In being elevated up,

      And elevated down.

      One night – I cannot tell you why —

      When all the household soundly slept,

      Poor Mr. Brown

      (Late Camden Town)

      Into the elevator stept;

      It stuck midway 'twixt floor and floor,

      And when they got it down,

      They found that it was all U. – P.

      With suffocated Brown.

      Yes, life is full of ups and downs,

      As someone said in days of yore.

      They buried Brown

      At Camden Town

      (The place where he had lived before);

      And now, alas! a-lack-a-day!

      In black and solemn gowns,

      Disconsolate walk Mrs. Brown

      And all the little Browns.

      Twice Mr. Gilbert sang to you

      Of Bishop P., of Rum-ti-foo;

      Now, by your leave, I'll do that too,

      Altho' I'm bound to fail

      (So you will tell me to my face)

      In catching e'en the slightest trace

      Of true Gilbertian charm, or grace,

      To decorate my tale.

      Still, I will tell, as best I can,

      How Bishop Peter – worthy man —

      Is getting on by now.

      Now where shall I begin? Let's see?

      You know, I think, that Bishop P.

      (Wishful to please his flock was he)

      Once took the bridegroom's vow.

      You doubtless recollect, His Grace

      Wed Piccadil'lee of that place,

      And Peterkins were born apace,

      When she became his bride.

      In fact I'm told that there were three,

      When dusky Piccadillillee,

      In odour of sanctittittee,

      Incontinently died.

      Some