VANISHED GLORY.
(The Life-tragedy of a Military Wag.)
Time was I rocked the crowded tents
With laughter loud and hearty,
Librettist to the regiment's
Diverting concert party;
With choice of themes so very small
The task was far from tiring;
There really was no risk at all
Of any joke misfiring.
I found each gibe at army rules
Appreciated fully;
I sparkled when describing mules
As "embryonic bully,"
Or, aided by some hackneyed tune,
Increased my easy laurels
By stringing verses to impugn
The quartermaster's morals.
And so I vowed on my demob.
To shun the retrogression
To any sort of office job;
I'd jest as a profession
And burst upon the world a new
Satirical rebuker,
Acquiring fame and maybe too
A modicum of lucre.
But vain are all my jeux de mot,
No lip is loosed in laughter;
I send them to the Press, but no
Acceptance follows after;
And if, as formerly, I try
Satiric themes my gibe'll
Be certain to be hampered by
The common law of libel.
In short, my hopes begin to fade;
The yawning gulf has rent them
Twixt finding subjects ready made
And having to invent them.
Shattered my foolish dreams recede
And pass into the distance,
And I must search for one in need
Of clerical assistance.
"Soldier Breaks Window and Bolts with Two Cakes."—Daily Paper.
You can only do this kind of thing with the refreshment-room variety.
"For Sceptic Throats use Iodized Throat Tablets."—Local Paper.
This distressing complaint is the very reverse of "clergyman's sore throat."
"Lady wishes to Exchange, from 15th July to 15th September, Young Englishman for Young Frenchman."—Daily Paper.
We fear she is a flirt.