MY GARDENERESS.
["Lady Carlisle is training an entire staff of women gardeners, who, she hopes, will keep the grounds of her Yorkshire home in as perfect a condition as their male predecessors have done."—Pall Mall Gazette.]
Come into the garden, Maud,
Why has not the grass been mown?
Come into the garden, Maud,
Those seeds have never been sown;
I fear you've been taking your walks abroad—
You blush like a rose full-blown.
When the early snail first moves,
Before the sun is on high,
Beginning to gnaw the leaves he loves
On the beds, you should always try
To pick him off with your garden gloves,
And stamp on him—he must die.
You can't touch snails? Let that pass,
I will smash each one in his shell;
But when it rains you can roll the grass,
When dry can water it well.
You say you can't wet your boots—alas!—
Nor work when it's warm, ma belle?
And yet your wages you claim;
I should like to know what you do.
In truth I can't bear to blame
Such a sweet pretty girl as you;
So stop as my gardener all the same—
I'll be master and workman too.
Queen rose of the rosebud garden of girls,
Rough work should never be done
By delicate hands as white as pearls,
You only began for fun;
So sit, with your parasol over your curls,
Whilst I dig like mad in the sun.
IMPROVED COSTUME FOR THE METROPOLITAN POLICE DURING THE GREAT HEAT OF 1893.
WHO IS IT?
A Political Enigma. Compounded from the Press of the Period.
He's hopeless of heaven, he's too bad for ——,
(So say Unionist bards, and they ought to know well,)
He is Judas-cum-Cain with a soupçon of Oates,
An imperious despot, who grovels for votes;
A mean truckling tyrant, an autocrat slave;
A Knave who plays King, and a King who plays Knave.
A haughty Commander, the tool of his troops,
A swayer of "items," nose-led by his dupes;
A Dog-despot, wagged by the tip of his tail,
A Conspirator potent, whose plot's bound to fail;
The land's greatest danger, because such a dolt;
As ruler a scourge, because breeding revolt;
As political guide ever banefully strong,
Because the majority sees he is wrong.
A prolix Polonius who proves his senility
By taking the shine out of youth and ability:
A veteran lagging superfluous, whose age
Puts him "out of it" so, that he fills the whole stage:
So old that his age gives him every claim,
Save to decent respect, which, of course, is a shame,
And absurd "fetish-worship." As Lucifer proud
And imperious, yet supple of knee to the crowd;
A Coriolanus who plays the Jack Cade;
A coward of nothing and no one afraid;
A blundering batsman whom none can bowl out;
A craven who staggers opponents most stout;
A traitor who gives his whole life to the State,
Whose zeal proves his spite, and his service his hate.
A truckler to treason and trickster for place,
Whose stubbornness oft throws him out of the race;
A lover of power and public applause,
Who dares to oppose the most popular cause.
A talkative sophist who will not explain;
A bad-tempered man, ever bland and urbane:
A casuist no one can half understand,
But whose sinister purpose is plain as your hand;
A vituperative and venomous foe,
Whose speeches with calm magnanimity glow.
In short, an old dolt, who inflicts dire defeat
On the smartest young foes he can manage to meet;
A powerless provoker of dreadful disasters,
A master of slaves whose mere slaves are his masters;
A voluble sphinx, and a simple chimæra
The Age's conundrum, the crux of his æra!
Mem.:
If you can't give a guess at the theme of these rhymes,
Why, peruse all the papers, and move with the times!