The worthy pastor heaved a sigh, and dropped a silent tearAnd said, "You mustn't judge yourself too heavily, my dear

It's wrong to murder babies, little corals for to fleece;
But sins like these one expiates at half-a-crown apiece.

66

Girls will be girls-you're very young, and flighty in your mind;

Old heads upon young shoulders we must not expect to find: We mustn't be too hard upon these little girlish tricksLet's see -five crimes at half-a-crown-exactly twelve-andsix."

"Oh, father," little Alice cried, "your kindness makes me

weep,

You do these little things for me so singularly cheap-
Your thoughtful liberality I never can forget;
But oh, there is another crime I haven't mentioned yet!

"A pleasant-looking gentleman, with pretty purple eyes.
I've noticed at my window, as I've sat a-catching flies;
He passes by it every day as certain as can be-

I blush to say I've winked at him and he has winked at me!"

"For shame," said Father Paul, "my erring daughter! On my word

This is the most distressing news that I have ever heard. Why, naughty girl, your excellent papa has pledged your

hand

To a promising young robber, the lieutenant of his band! "This dreadful piece of news will pain your worthy par

ents so!

They are the most remunerative customers I know;

For many many years they've kept starvation from my doors,

I never knew so criminal a family as yours!

"The common country folk in this insipid neighborhood Have nothing to confess, they're so ridiculously good;

And if you marry any one respectable at all,

Why, you'll reform, and what will then become of Father Paul?"

The Story of Prince Agib

641

The worthy priest, he up and drew his cowl upon his

crown,

And started off in haste to tell the news to Robber Brown; To tell him how his daughter, who was now for marriage fit,

Had winked upon a sorter, who reciprocated it.

Good Robber Brown, he muffled up his anger pretty well,
He said, "I have a notion, and that notion I will tell;
I will nab this gay young sorter, terrify him into fits,
And get my gentle wife to chop him into little bits.

"I've studied human nature, and I know a thing or two,
Though a girl may fondly love a living gent, as many do-
A feeling of disgust upon her senses there will fall
When she looks upon his body chopped particularly small."

He traced that gallant sorter to a still suburban square;
He watched his opportunity and seized him unaware;
He took a life-preserver and he hit him on the head,
And Mrs. Brown dissected him before she went to bed.

And pretty little Alice grew more settled in her mind,
She nevermore was guilty of a weakness of the kind,
Until at length good Robber Brown bestowed her pretty hand
On the promising young robber, the lieutenant of his band.
W. S. Gilbert.

THE STORY OF PRINCE AGIB

STRIKE the concertina's melancholy string!
Blow the spirit-stirring harp like anything!
Let the piano's martial blast

Rouse the Echoes of the Past,

For of Agib, Prince of Tartary, I sing!

Of Agib, who, amid Tartaric scenes,
Wrote a lot of ballet music in his teens:

His gentle spirit rolls

In the melody of souls

Which is pretty, but I don't know what it means.

Of Agib, who could readily, at sight,
Strum a march upon the loud Theodolite.
He would diligently play

On the Zoetrope all day,

And blow the gay Pantechnicon all night.

One winter-I am shaky in my dates-
Came two starving Tartar minstrels to his gates;
Oh, Allah be obeyed,

How infernally they played!

I remember that they called themselves the "Oüaits."

Oh! that day of sorrow, misery, and rage
I shall carry to the Catacombs of Age,
Photographically lined

On the tablet of my mind,

When a yesterday has faded from its page!

Alas! Prince Agib went and asked them in;

Gave them beer, and eggs, and sweets, and scent, and tin. And when (as snobs would say)

They had "put it all away,"

He requested them to tune up and begin.

Though its icy horror chill you to the core,
I will tell you what I never told before,-
The consequences true

Of that awful interview,

For I listened at the keyhole in the door!

"

They played him a sonata-let me see!
Medulla oblongata "-key of G.

"

Then they began to sing

That extremely lovely thing, Scherzando! ma non troppo, ppp.”

He gave them money, more than they could count,
Scent from a most ingenious little fount,

More beer, in little kegs,

Many dozen hard-boiled eggs,

And goodies to a fabulous amount.

The Story of Prince Agib Now follows the dim horror of my tale And I feel I'm growing gradually pale, For, even at this day,

Though its sting has passed away, When I venture to remember it, I quail!

The elder of the brothers gave a squeal,
All-overish it made me for to feel;

"Oh, Prince," he says, says he, "If a Prince indeed you be, I've a mystery I'm going to reveal!

"Oh, listen, if you'd shun a horrid death,
To what the gent who's speaking to you saith:
No 'Oüaits' in truth are we,

As you fancy that we be;

For (ter-remble!) I am Aleck-this is Beth!"

Said Agib, "Oh! accursed of your kind,
I have heard that ye are men of evil mind!”
Beth gave a fearful shriek-

But before he'd time to speak

I was mercilessly collared from behind.

In number ten or twelve, or even more,
They fastened me full length upon the floor.
On my face extended flat,

I was walloped with a cat

For listening at the keyhole of a door.

Oh! the horror of that agonizing thrill!
(I can feel the place in frosty weather still).
For a week from ten to four

I was fastened to the floor,

While a mercenary wopped me with a will.

They branded me and broke me on a wheel,
And they left me in an hospital to heal;
And, upon my solemn word,

I have never never heard

What those Tartars had determined to reveal.

643

But that day of sorrow, misery, and rage,
I shall carry to the Catacombs of Age,
Photographically lined

On the tablet of my mind,

When a yesterday has faded from its page.

W. S. Gilbert.

SIR GUY THE CRUSADER

SIR GUY was a doughty crusader,
A muscular knight,

Ever ready to fight,

A very determined invader,

And Dickey de Lion's delight.

Lenore was a Saracen maiden,
Brunette, statuesque,

The reverse of grotesque;
Her pa was a bagman from Aden,
Her mother she played in burlesque.

A coryphée, pretty and loyal,

In amber and red,

The ballet she led;

Her mother performed at the Royal,
Lenore at the Saracen's Head.

Of face and of figure majestic,
She dazzled the cits-
Ecstaticised pits;-

Her troubles were only domestic,

But drove her half out of her wits.

Her father incessantly lashed her,
On water and bread

She was grudgingly fed;

Whenever her father he thrashed her,
Her mother sat down on her head.