Did'st thou not hear the pother in the town
On Monday last, when Ramsgate to the fore, Placed on thy brow its tributary crown,
And hailed thy patriarchal years, five score? Here's to thy long, long life, thou Hebrew hoary, God's blessing on thy head, Montefiore ! November, 1884.
On page 103 of "The Wit and Humour of Shirley Brooks" (Bradbury, Agnew & Co., 1883), there is a parody founded on Horace Smith's "George Barnewell." It was written in 1858 to ridicule "Soapy Sam," Bishop Wilberforce, it is quite out of date now, and of no interest, except to some possible historian of theological controversies.
Parodies of American Poetry.
MAUD MÜLLER.
MAUD MULLER, on a summer's day Raked the meadows sweet with hay. Beneath her torn hat glowed the wealth Of simple beauty and rustic health. Singing, she wrought, and her merry glee The mock-bird echoed from his tree, But, when she glanced to the far-off town, White from its hill-slope looking down, The sweet song died, and a vague unrest And a nameless longing filled her breast- A wish, that she had hardly dared to own, For something better than she had known. The judge rode slowly down the lane, Smoothing his horse's chestnut mane. He drew his bridle in the shade Of the apple trees to greet the maid,
And asked a draught from the spring that flowed Through the meadows across the road.
She stooped where the cool spring bubbled up, And filled for him her small tin cup; And blushed as she gave it, looking down On her feet so bare, and her tattered gown. "Thanks! said the judge, a sweeter draught From a fairer hand was never quaffed." He spoke of the grass, and flowers, and trees, Of the singing birds, and the humming bees; Then talked of the haying, and wondered whether The cloud in the west would bring foul weather. And Maud forgot her briar torn gown, And her graceful ankles bare and brown;
And listened, while a pleased surprise
Looked from her long-lashed hazel eyes.
At last, like one who for delay Seeks a vain excuse, he rode away.
Maud Müller looked and sighed "Ah me! That I the judge's bride might be !
"He would dress me up in silks so fine, And praise and toast me at his wine. "My father should wear a broadcloth coat; My brother should sail a painted boat. "I'd dress my mother so grand and gay, And the baby should have a new toy each day. "And I'd feed the hungry and clothe the poor, And all should bless me who left our door. The judge looked back as he climbed the hill, And saw Maud Müller standing still. "A form more fair, a face more sweet, Ne'er hath it been my lot to meet. "And her modest answer and graceful air, Show her wise and good as she is fair. "Would she were mine, and I to-day, Like her, a harvester of hay.
"No doubtful balance of rights and wrongs, And weary lawyers with endless tongues, "But low of cattle and song of birds, And health of quiet and loving words." But he thought of his sisters, proud and cold, And his mother, vain of her rank and gold. So, closing his heart, the judge rode on, And Maude was left in the field alone. But the lawyers smiled that afternoon, When he hummed in court an old love tune; And the young girl mused beside the well, Till the rain on the unraked clover fell. He wedded a wife of richest dower, Who lived for fashion as he for power. Yet oft, in his marble hearth's bright glow, He watched a picture come and go; And sweet Maud Müller's hazel eyes Looked out in their innocent surprise.
Oft when the wine in his glass was red, He longed for the wayside well instead ; And closed his eyes on the garnished rooms, To dream of meadows and clover blooms.
And the proud man sighed with a secret pain; "Ah, that were free again! "Free as when I rode that day,
Where the barefoot maiden raked her hay." She wedded a man unlearned and poor, And many children played round her door. But care and sorrow, and child-birth pain, Left their traces on heart and brain. And oft when the summer sun shone hot On the new-mown hay in the meadow lot, And she heard the little spring-brook fall Over the roadside through the wall, In the shade of the apple-tree again She saw a rider draw his rein; And, gazing down with timid grace, She felt his pleased eyes read her face. Sometimes her narrow kitchen walls Stretched away into stately halls; The weary wheel to a spinnit turned, The tallow candle an astral burned; And for him who sat by the chimney lug, Dozing and grumbling o'er pipe and mug, A manly form at her side she saw, And joy was duty, and love was law.
Then she took up her burden of life again Saying only "It might have been !" Alas! for maiden, alas! for judge, For rich repiner and household drudge! God pity them both! and pity us all, Who vainly the dreams of youth recall, For of all sad words of tongue or pen
The saddest are these "It might have been !" Ah, well for us all some sweet hope lies Deeply buried from human eyes;
And in the hereafter angels may
Roll the stone from its grave away!
JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER.
Mr. Whittier's statement of the origin of his poem of "Maud Müller" is thus given. He was driving with his sister through York, U.S.A., and stopped at a harvest field to inquire the way. A young girl raking hay near the stone-wall stopped to answer their inquiries. Whittier noticed as she talked that she bashfully raked the hay around and over her bare feet, and she was fresh and fair. The little incident left its impression, and he wrote out the poem that very evening. "But if I had had any idea," he said, "that the plaguey little thing would have been so liked, I should have taken more pains with it." To the inquiry as to the title, Maud Müller, he said it was suggested to him, and was not a selection. It came as the poem came. But he gives it the short German pronunciation, as Meuler, not the broad Yankee, Muller.
[Being the only genuine sequel to "Maud Müller."] MAUD Müller, all that summer day, Raked the meadow sweet with hay;
Yet, looking down the distant lane, She hoped the judge would come again, But when he came, with smile and bow, Maud only blushed, and stammered, "Ha-ow?” And spoke of her " pa," and wondered whether He'd give consent they should wed together. Old Müller burst in tears, and then Begged that the judge would lend him "ten;" For trade was dull and wages low,
And the "craps," this year, were somewhat slow. And ere the languid summer died, Sweet Maud became the Judge's bride. But, on the day that they were mated, Maud's brother Bob was intoxicated; And Maud's relations, twelve in all, Were very drunk at the judge's hall. And when the summer came again, The young bride bore him babies twain. And the judge was blest, but thought it strange That bearing children made such a change: For Maud grew broad and red and stout; And the waist that his arm once clasped about Was more than he now could span. And he Sighed as he pondered, ruefully,
How that which in Maud was native grace In Mrs. Jenkins was out of place;
And thought of the twius, and wished that they Looked less like the man who raked the hay On Müller's farm, and dreamed with pain Of the day he wandered down the lane. And, looking down that dreary track, He half regretted that he came back. For, had he waited, he might have wed Some maiden fair and thoroughbred ;
For there be women fair as she,
Whose verbs and nouns do more agree.
Alas for maiden! alas for judge!
And the sentimental,-that's one-half "fudge;"
For Maud soon thought the judge a bore,
With all his learning and all his lore.
And the judge would have bartered Maud's fair face For more refinement and social grace.
If, of all words of tongue and pen,
It might have been,"
More sad are these we daily see: "It is, but hadn't ought to be."
KATE KETCHEM on a winter's night Went to a party dressed in white. Her chignon in a net of gold Was about as large as they ever sold. Gayly she went because her " Pap" Was supposed to be a rich old chap. But when by chance her glances fell On a friend who had lately married well, Her spirits sunk and a vague unrest And a nameless longing filled her breast.
KATE KETCHEM, continued.
A wish she would'nt have made known To have an establishment of her own.
Tom Fudge came slowly through the throng With chestnut hair worn pretty long. He saw Kate Ketchem in the crowd
And knowing her slightly stopped, and bowed. Then asked her to give him a single flower Saying he'd think it a priceless dower.
Out from those with which she was decked She took the poorest she could select. And, blushed as she gave it, looking down To call attention to her gown.
"Thanks," said Fudge, and he thought how dear Flowers must be at that time of year.
Then several charming remarks he made Asked if she sang, or danced, or played. And being exhausted, inquired whether
She thought it was going to be pleasant weather.
And Kate displayed her "jewelry" And dropped her lashes becomingly.
And listened with no attempt to disguise The admiration in her eyes.
At last like one who has nothing to say He turned around, and walked away. Kate Ketchem smiled, and said "you bet I'll catch that Fudge, and his money yet. "He's rich enough to keep me in clothes And I think I could manage him as I chose. "He could aid my father as well as not, And buy my brother a splendid yacht. "My mother for money should never fret And all it cried for the baby should get. "And after that with what he could spare I'd make a show at a charity fair."
Tom Fudge looked back as he crossed the sill And saw Kate Ketchem standing still.
"A girl more suited to my mind
It isn't an easy thing to find;
"And everything she has to wear Proves her as rich as she is fair.
"Would she were mine, and I to day Had the old man's cash my debts to pay.
"No creditors with a long account
No tradesmen wanting 'that little amount.' "But all my scores paid up when due By a father-in-law as rich as a Jew,"
But he thought of her brother not worth a straw And her mother, that would be his, in law.
So undecided.he walked along
And Kate was left alone in the throng.
But a lawyer smiled when he sought by stealth To ascertain old Ketchem's wealth.
And as for Kate she schemed and planned Till one of the dancers claimed her hand.
He married her for her father's cash, She married him to cut a dash.
But as to paying his debts do you know The father couldn't see it so ;
And at hints for help Kate's hazel eyes Looked out in their innocent surprise.
And when Tom thought of the way he had wed He longed for a single life instead. And closed his eyes in a sulky mood Regretting the days of his bachelorhood. And said in a sort of reckless vein, "I'd like to see her catch me again.
"If I were free as on that night
When I saw Kate Ketchem dressed in white." She wedded him to be rich and gay But husband and children did'nt pay. He wasn't the prize she hoped to draw And would'nt live with his mother-in-law. And oft when she had to coax and pout In order to get him to take her out,
She thought how very attentive and bright He seemed at the party that winter's night. Of his laugh as soft as a breeze of the south ('Twas now on the other side of his mouth); How he praised her dress, and gems, in his talk As he took a careful account of stock. Sometimes she hated the very walls- Hated her friends, her dinners, and calls. Till her weak affection to hatred turned Like a dying tallow candle burned.
And for him who sat there her peace to mar, Smoking his everlasting cigar.
He wasn'nt the man she thought she saw And grief was duty, and hate was law. So she took up her burden with a groan Saying only "I might have known. Alas for Kate, and alas for Fudge, Though I do not owe them any grudge. And, alas, for any who find to their shame That two can play at their little game. For of all hard things to bear and grin The hardest is knowing you're taken in. Ah! well as a general thing we fret About the one we didn't get.
But I think we need'nt make a fuss If the cne we don't want did'nt get us. FHEBE CAREY.
MAUD Müller, von summer afternoon Vas dending bar in her fadder's saloon, She solt dot bier, and singed "Shoo Fly," Und vinked at der men mit her lefd eye. Bud ven she looked oud on der shdreed. Und saw dem gals all dressed so shweed, Her song gifed out on a ubber note, Cause she had such a hoss in her troat; Und she vished she had shdamps to shbend, So she might git such a Grecian Bend. Hans Brinker valked shlowly down her shdreed, Shmilin at all der gals he'd meed;
Old Hans vas rich - as I've been dold,- Had houses und lots, and a barrel of gold.
He shdopped by der door, und pooty soon
He valked righd indo dot bier saloon. Und he vinked at Maud, und said. "My dear, Gif me, of you pblease, a glass of bier." She vend to der pblace vere der bier keg shtood, Und pringed him a glass dot vas fresh und goot, "Dot's goot," said Hans, "dot's a better drink As effer I had in mine life, I dink."
He dalked for a vhile, den said, "Goot day," Und up der shdreet he dook his vay. Maud hofed a sigh, and said, "Oh, how I'd likd to been dot olt man's frow, Such shplendid close I den vood vear, Dot all the gals around vood shdare. In dot Union Park I'd drive all tay, Und efery evenin go to der blay. Hans Brinker, doo, felt almighty gweer, (But dat mit peen von trinkin beer.)
Und he says to himself, as he valked along, Hummin der tune of a olt lofe song, "Dot's der finest gal I efer did see, Und I vish dot she my wife cood be."
But here his solillogwy came to an end,
As he dinked of der gold dot she might shbend;
Und he maked up his mind dot as for him,
He'd marry a girl mit lots of "din."
So he vent righd off dot fery day,
Und married a vooman olt und gray.
He vishes now, but all in vain,
Dot he vas free to marry again;
Free as he vas dot afternoon,
Ven he med Maud Müller in der bier saloon. Maud married a man without some He vas lazy doo-but she did hope Dot he'd get bedder when shildren came; But vhen dey had, he vas yoost der same.
Und ofden now dem dears vill come
As she sits alone ven her day's vork's done,
Und dinks of der day Hans called her "my dear," Und asked her for a glass of bier;
But she don'd comblain, nor efer has, Und only says, "Dot coodn't vas.'
Miss Müller so the gossips say, Flirted in quite a shameless way,
But Maud with a laugh pronounced it fudge- Yet we caught her wink at the ratty judge, And the judge-but we mention this sub rose- Blushed up to the roots of his bulbous nose; Still he crained his neck, and in passing by, Gave a sinister wink with his dexter eye. Quoth Maud to herself as on she passed, "I've his royal nibs in tow at last; My mother shall wear a seal skin sack- My pa swing on his broadcloth black; My brother shall sip his whiskey-skins, And my sister revel in gay breast pins! Quoth the judge as he sauntered listless on, "She's a rattling girl! you bet I'm gone! No doubt my last wife's ma will kick And my heirs cut up the very nick;
And though I've known her a short short spell, You bet I'll have her in spite of "—well
No matter his word it was short and stout And the name of a place that's now played out According to Bucher. Alack for all The maid and judge ne'er wedded at all;
For he passed in his checks from too much gin And the maid grew long, and lank, and thin. And she as her charms glimmered away She ceased for to flirt, and began for to pray.
God pity the maid, and pity the judge,
And these days of twaddle, and bosh, and fudge, For of all sad words from a heart bereft The saddest are these, "You bet I'm left."
THE MAUD Muller. (Improved.)
MAUD Muller, on a summer's day, Raked the meadow, sweet with hay- But when she glanced to Huntsville town, White from its hill-slope looking down,
The sweet song died-and Fleming's Improved With a nameless longing her breast moved. A wish that she hardly dared to own, For something better than she had known. "Uncle Pete" rode slowly for her sake, Showing his "Improved Riding Rake.' He drew his bridle in the shade
Of the apple trees, to greet the maid. And Maud forgot her briar-torn gown, And her graceful ankles, bare and brown. Ard merrily sparkled her hazel eyes As "Uncle Pete" described his prize. Maud Muller looked, and sighed "Law sake! That's MY idea of a perfect Rake." American Advertisement.
MAUD Müller worked at making hay And cleared her forty cents a day.
Her clothes were coarse, but her health was fine, And so she worked in the sweet sunshine-
Singing as glad as a bird in May "Barbary Allen" the livelong day.
She often glanced at the far off town
And wondered if eggs were up, or down.
And the sweet song died of a strange disease Leaving a phantom-taste of cheese, And an appetite and a nameless ache For soda-water, and ginger cake. The Judge rode slowly into view- Stopped his horse in the shade, and threw His fine cut out, while the blushing Maud Marvelled much at the kind he "chawed." He was "dry as a fish" he said with a wink And kind o' thought that a good square drink Would brace him up. So the cup was filled With the crystal wine that the old spring spilled; And she gave it him with a sun browned hand, "Thanks" said the Judge, in accents bland;
"A thousand thanks for a sweeter draught From a fairer hand-" but there be laughed, And the sweet girl stood in the sun that day And raked the Judge instead of the hay. Cincinnati Commercial.
MAUD MULLER, and the Judge.
MAUD Müller on an August day Took the Fever of the Hay,
Sneezing she went and her shrill Ah-chee The mock-bird echoed from the tree. The Judge rode slowly down the lane Smoothing his chestnut horse's mane, And drew his bridle in the shade
With a stimulation to greet the maid.
He spoke of the grass, and flowers, and trees, The pollen from which makes sufferers sneeze, And Maudie forgot her swollen nose And even her graceful bare brown toes,
And listened while a pleased surprise Looked from her watering hazel eyes.
At last with a wild "Ah-chee! Ah-cha! Ah-choo! Ah-choo !" he rode away.
Maud Müller looked and sneezed "Ah-chee! That I the Judge's bride might be
He would dress me with silks and diamond rings And take me up to the White Mountings,'
And I'd use the finest cambric mouchoir And never have the Hay Fever more.' The Judge looked back as he climbed the hill And heard her sternutations shrill. "Would she were mide, and I to-day Rid of this dab Fever of the Hay."
But he thought of her sisters and clearly saw Her mother would be his mother-in-law. The baby would smear his broadcloth coat And her brother borrow a five dollar note; So closing his heart the Judge rode on And Maudie was left in the field alone. But the lawyers smiled that afternoon When they heard him lustily a-choo-in. And the young girl sneezed beside the well Till the rain on the unraked clover fell. He wedded a wife of richest dower With an aquiline beak of ten Roman power, And oft when the wine in his nose was red And he knew the old woman was safe in bed, The proud man sighed with a furnace force "Ah could I only get a divorce And marry the girl I saw that day When I had the Fever of the Hay."
She wedded a man unlearned and poor
And they had twins every twelve month-sure: And oft when the summer sun shone hot She wished she could drown the pesky lot. Again in the shade of the apple trees She saw a rider draw rein, and sneeze,
As she looked down because she knew Her nose was big enough for two. Sometimes her narrow kitchen walls Stretched away into stately halls
And for him with a pipe in his ugly mug- Oh, if she had him by the lug!
A manly form at her side she saw And there was no estival catarrh. Then she took up her burden of life anew Sighing only "Ah-chee! Ah-choo!' Alas! for maiden; for Judge alas! For household drudger, and gray haired ass. Of all sad words of tongue or pen
The saddest are "Hay fever time again."
Ah! well for us that a region lies Where the infusoria never rise;
And in the hereafter Angels may Find a cure for the Fever of the Hay. New York World.
MAUD MÜLLER ON THE ICE.
MAUD Müller on a winter's day Went out upon the ice to play.
Beneath her Derby gleamed her locks
Of her red banged hair, and her crimson socks.
She straddled about from ten to two And then a hole in the ice fell through. On the bottom of the pond she sat As wet and mad as a half drowned rat. A man with a hicking pole went there And fished her out by her auburn hair. And her mother is said to have thumped her well- Though just how hard Miss Maud can't tell-
And hung her over the stove to dry
With a thumb in her mouth, and a fist in her eye.
Alas for the maiden! alas for the hole!
And 'rah for the man with the hicking pole!
For the truest words of tongue or pen Are "A skating girl's like a headless hen." Brooklyn Eagle.
["Miss Muller's furniture, which was distrained for the payment of Queen's taxes, refused by her on the ground that women are not allowed to vote for Parliamentary representatives, has been bought back by some of her friends, without her knowledge, and restored to her without her having paid the taxes."-Daily paper.]
MISS MULLER, on a summer day, Refused her taxes just to pay.
"I won't stump up at all," quoth she, "Until to vote they make me free."
So sordid man began his tricks,
And seized the dauntless maiden's "sticks."
He seized her table, and her chair, While she stood by with martyr air. She saw her dear belongings go, And spoke of giving "blow for blow."
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