Evenings at Home; Or, The Juvenile Budget Opened

by John Aikin; Mrs. Barbauld

PHAETON JUNIOR: or, The Gig Demolished.

Ye heroes of the upper form,

Who long for whip and reins,

Come listen to a dismal tale,

Set forth in dismal strains.

Young Jehu was a lad of fame

As all the school could tell;

At cricket, taw, and prison-bars,

He bore away the bell.

Now welcome Whitsuntide was come,

And boys with merry hearts

Were gone to visit dear mamma,

And eat her pies and tarts.

As soon as Jehu saw his sire,

“A boon! a boon!” he cried;

“O, if I am your darling boy,

Let me not be denied.”

“My darling boy indeed thou art,”

The father wise replied;

“So name the boon; I promise thee

It shall not be denied.”

“Then give me, sir, your long-lashed whip,

And give your gig and pair,

To drive alone to yonder town,

And flourish through the fair.”

The father shook his head; “My son,

You know not what you ask;

To drive a gig in crowded streets

Is no such easy task.

“The horses, full of rest and corn,

Scarce I myself can guide;

And much I fear, if you attempt,

Some mischief will betide.

“Then think, dear boy, of something else,

That’s better worth your wishing;

A bow and quiver, bats and balls,

A rod and lines for fishing.”

But nothing could young Jehu please

Except a touch at driving;

‘Twas all in vain, his father found,

To spend his breath in striving.

“At least, attend, rash boy!” he cried,

“And follow good advice,

Or in a ditch both gig and you

Will tumble in a trice.

“Spare, spare the whip, hold hard the reins.

The steeds go fast enough;

Keep in the middle beaten track,

Nor cross the ruts so rough:

“And when within the town you come,

Be sure, with special care,

Drive clear of signposts, booths, and stalls

And monsters of the fair.”

The youth scarce heard his father out,

But roared—“Bring out the whiskey!”

With joy he viewed the rolling wheels,

And prancing ponies frisky.

He seized the reins, and up he sprung,

And waved the whistling lash;

“Take care; take care!” his father cried:

But off he went slap-dash.

“Who’s this light spark?” the horses thought,

“We’ll try your strength, young master;”

So o’er the ragged turnpike-road

Still faster ran and faster.

Young Jehu, tottering in his seat,

Now wished to pull them in;

But pulling from so young a hand

They valued not a pin.

A drove of grunting pigs before

Now filled up half the way;

Dash through the midst the horses drove

And made a rueful day:

For some were trampled under foot,

Some crushed beneath the wheel;

Lord! how the drivers cursed and swore

And how the pigs did squeal!

A farmer’s wife, on old blind Ball,

Went slowly on the road,

With butter, eggs, and cheese, and cream.

In two large panniers stowed.

Ere Ball could stride the rut, amain

The gig came thundering on,

Crash went the panniers, and the dame

And Ball lay overthrown.

Now through the town the mettled pair

Ran rattling o’er the stones;

They drove the crowd from side to side

And shook poor Jehu’s bones.

When, lo! directly in their course,

A monstrous form appeared—

A shaggy bear that stalked and roared

On hinder legs upreared.

Sidewise they started at the sight,

And whisked the gig half round,

Then ‘cross the crowded marketplace

They flew with furious bound.

First o’er a heap of crockery-ware

The rapid car they whirled;

And jugs, and mugs, and pots, and pans,

In fragments wide they hurled.

A booth stood near with tempting cakes

And grocery richly fraught;

All Birmingham on t’ other side

The dazzling optics caught

With active spring the nimble steeds

Rushed through the pass between,

And scarcely touched; the car behind

Got through not quite so clean:

For while one wheel one stall engaged,

Its fellow took the other;

Dire was the clash; down fell the booths,

And made a dreadful pother.

Nuts, oranges, and gingerbread,

And figs here rolled around;

And scissors, knives, and thimbles there

Bestrewed the glittering ground.

The fall of boards, the shouts and cries,

Urged on the horses faster;

And as they flew, at every step,

They caused some new disaster.

Here lay o’erturned, in woful plight,

A pedlar and his pack;

There, in a showman’s broken box,

All London went to wrack.

But now the fates decreed to stop

The ruin of the day,

And make the gig and driver too

A heavy reckoning pay.

A ditch there lay both broad and deep,

Where streams as black as Styx

From every quarter of the town

Their muddy currents mix.

Down to its brink in heedless haste

The frantic horses flew,

And in the midst, with sudden jerk,

Their burden overthrew.

The prostrate gig with desperate force

They soon pulled out again,

And at their heels in ruin dire

Dragged lumbering o’er the plain.

Here lay a wheel, the axle there,

The body there remained,

Till severed limb from limb, the car

Nor name nor shape retained.

But Jehu must not be forgot,

Left floundering in the flood,

With clothes all drenched, and mouth and eyes

Beplastered o’er with mud.

In piteous case he waded through

And gained the slippery side,

Where grinning crowds were gathered round

To mock his fallen pride.

They led him to a neighbouring pump

To clear his dismal face,

Whence cold and heartless home he slunk,

Involved in sore disgrace.

And many a bill for damage done

His father had to pay.

Take warning, youthful drivers, all!

From Jehu’s first essay.