A PENNY FOR YOUR THOUGHTS!
(By a Perplexed Reader of the Penny Papers.)
When you're lying awake, with a horrid headache (to adopt a suggestion of GILBERT's),
When too freely you've dined, or too heavily wined, or munched too many walnuts or filberts;
When your brain is a maze, and creation a haze, then each queer social craze—there are many!—
Gets your wits in a spool, and there isn't a fool for your thoughts would advance you a penny.
You can't sleep a wink, so the question of Drink, though you timidly shrink from it, harries you.
Your wit's in a whirl, as you think, if some girl with a penchant for you, ups and marries you.
And ties you for life to the thing called a Wife,—that figment, that fraud, that illusion,
Where, what will you be? And you can't find a key to the epoch's chaotic confusion.
It seems Local Option is sure of adoption, and what a tyrannic majority
May "opt" for one day, you're unable to say, and in vain you appeal to Authority.
The Law of the Land is a labyrinth grand, which you can't understand, nor can anyone,
And that is a thought, with delirium fraught, an appalling, if 'tis not a penny one.
Now Law, the Old Antic, seems utterly frantic, absurdly romantic and maundering;
And Cool Common Sense has gone dotty and dense, in dim deserts of Sentiment wandering.
Now Reason and Right, hydrocephalous quite, are both Della-Cruscan and drivelling,
Life (barring the fun) like "The Mulberry One," seems a mixture of diddling and snivelling.
There's LAWSON who jaws on the Abstinence Cause on, and would lay his claws on the Nation,
And put sudden stopper on all that's improper (as he thinks) without compensation;
And then there's Sir EDWARD, who, when he goes bedward, must have his reflections nightmarish!
It seems, from such rigs, that our biggest Big Wigs are scarcest to govern a parish.
MCDOUGALL again, is agog to restrain all that gives his soul pain—it's a squeamish one!—
He thinks he's a stayer as Jabberwock-slayer, mere Angry Boy he, not a Beamish One!
These Oracles windy do raise such a shindy, and kick such a doose of a dust up,
One would think without them we were wrong stern and stem, and the whole of creation would bust up.
But verily why men should new worship Hymen,—who, just as unshackled as Cupid,—
(See decision Re JACKSON), take burdens their backs on, I cannot conceive. It seems stupid
Beyond all expression to have a "possession" whose "ownness" there's desperate doubt of,
And which (if she's nous) you can't keep in your house, nor yet (if she's "savvy") keep out of!
What is "Hymen's halter"? I fidget and falter! The Beaks seem to palter and fumble.
In such a strange fashion, I fly in a passion, and vow that the world is a jumble.
Law seems a wigged noodle, as tame as a poodle, the whole darned caboodle (as 'ARRY sees)
Is ructions and "rot," and our "rulers" a lot of confounded old foodles and Pharisees!
Yes, that's what I think about Marriage and Drink—if you may call it thought, which with frenzy is fraught, and gives me a "head" like bad whiskey; whose dread is on me day and night, makes me wake in a fright, from visions most solemn of column on column of such "printed matter" and paragraph chatter, as makes me feel flatter than cold eggless batter upon a lead platter—as mad as a hatter, and who will relieve me? Can anyone?
I tell you it's dreadful to face a whole bedful of spectres and spooks (born of papers and books) with, most horrible looks, limbs contorted in crooks, and bat-wings with big hooks, which haunt all the nooks of tester and curtain, and which, I am certain, will drive me insane if some one can't explain where the mischief we are, 'midst the jumble and jar of factions and fads, of crotchets and cads, of Tolstois and Jeunes, and Ibsens (whose lunes are more lunatic still). Oh, I'd learn with a will from any or aught, who could bring me, fresh caught, with lucidity fraught (what so long I have sought) a Clear Comforting Thought—though a Penny One!
IN RE THE INFLUENZA.
(An Autobiographical Note on the appearance of the Epidemic in the Law Courts.)
Owing to recent sentimental legislation, many members of the learned profession, to which I have the honour to belong, have found their practice becoming (to quote the poet) "small by degrees and beautifully less." Times were when I could scarcely pass a week in term time without appearing in Court holding a consent brief, or armed with authority to move (unopposed) for the appointment of a receiver. But that was long ago—a deep contrast with to-day—when my admirable and excellent Clerk PORTINGTON, finds an hour a day ample, almost too ample, time for posting up to date my Fee Book. However, occasionally a gleam of the old sunshine illumines, so to speak, the chambers I occupy, and such a gleam was my retention for the Defence in the cause of Quicksilver v. Nore. It was a Patent Case, and one of the deepest possible interest. It is my good fortune to know the Defendant, personally, and it was through his kind offices that the instructions to appear for him were left at my chambers. My friend and client (who is unjustly said to be eccentric in his habits) has recently patented and produced a most important invention, which greatly facilitates the retention of dinner-napkins, after those useful, nay, necessary articles have been used for the purpose for which they are manufactured. Like all really valuable inventions, the patent is simplicity itself, the napkin-ring consisting of the section of the thicker end of an elephant's tusk cut to an appropriate size and hollowed out. It is necessary to fold the dinner-napkin in such a fashion that, when inserted through the ring, its shape is retained by the adherent properties inseparable from the ivory. The patent can also be produced in other materials, such as gold, silver and jewels for the wealthy, and in bone, tin and even glass for purchasers of smaller means. I must say that when the ring was shown to me I was greatly struck with the cleverness and simplicity of the idea, and could not understand how Mr. QUICKSILVER could have allowed himself to be so badly advised as to bring an action for infringement, merely on the strength of his patent being also a dinner-napkin-holder with the ring element so far introduced that it consisted of a circle closed and opened by a hinge. However, it was no part of my duty to advise the other side, so I set to work to get up my case (as I invariably do) con amore. I hunted up all the causes in the Digest, that seemed to be on all-fours with the matter in dispute, and spent days in the Public Library of the Patent Office searching for patents having to do with table-napkins. As the specifications were not consecutively published, I had to wade through a large number of these interesting documents that treated of other subjects. For instance, the first specification I would take out of the box in which it was kept, would perhaps have to do with house-raising without disturbance to the foundations, the second would prove to be an article half umbrella, half revolver, while in the third I would perhaps find an extremely quaint notion for a portable pocket corkscrew. I myself picked up many ideas for future use, and hope some day, if I do nothing else, at least to perfect a clever little contrivance of my own for arousing the inmates of a house invaded by burglars by casement concussions. I propose calling this valuable little instrument (which is founded to some extent on the simple construction by which the figures in a child's box of wooden soldiers are enabled to advance and retire in a scissors-like fashion), when produced, the Policeman's Upper Floor Window Tapper.
The day for the hearing at length arrived, and, armed with a mass of carefully selected information, I was in my seat ready to defend the originality of the Nore Napkin Ring, so to speak, to the death. In my notes before me I had the skeleton of a really fine oration, which I felt (if I mastered my normal nervousness) would bristle with epigram, and thrill with heartfelt, brain-inspired eloquence. So deeply interested was I in the matter, that I scarcely listened to my friend's opening, and only became aware of what was happening in Court by the rising of the Judge. Suddenly his Lordship bowed, and disappeared. I looked at the clock—it was only noon—and, consequently, an hour and thirty minutes in advance of the time usually selected for the mid-day adjournment. And then, to my dismay, I found that his Lordship was suffering from the influenza! Well, there was nothing to do but to collect my papers, and, assisted by PORTINGTON, return to my chambers. The next day my head ached violently, and I could not move. Then I have a recollection of dictating to my wife long telegrams to PORTINGTON, which I subsequently discovered were neither despatched nor delivered.
When I awoke, I found that the matter of Quicksilver v. Nore had been arranged and settled—out of Court!
Pump-handle Court. (Signed) A. BRIEFLESS, JUNIOR.
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