A Selection from the Works of Frederick Locker With illustrations by Richard Doyle |
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| II. |
TO PARENTS AND GUARDIANS. |
 | A Selection from the Works of Frederick Locker |  |
154
TO PARENTS AND GUARDIANS.
Papa was deep in weekly bills,
Mama was doing Fanny's frills,
Her gentle face full
Of woe; said she, “I do declare
He can't go back in such a Pair,
They're too disgraceful!”
Mama was doing Fanny's frills,
Her gentle face full
Of woe; said she, “I do declare
He can't go back in such a Pair,
They're too disgraceful!”
“Confound it,” quoth Papa—perhaps
The ban was deeper, but the lapse
Of time has drowned it:
Besides, 'tis badness to suppose
A worse, when goodness only knows
He meant Confound it.
The ban was deeper, but the lapse
Of time has drowned it:
Besides, 'tis badness to suppose
A worse, when goodness only knows
He meant Confound it.
The butchers book—that unctuous diary—
Had made my Parent's temper fiery,
And bubble over:
So quite in spite he flung it down,
And spilt the ink, and spoilt his own
Fine table-cover
Had made my Parent's temper fiery,
And bubble over:
So quite in spite he flung it down,
And spilt the ink, and spoilt his own
Fine table-cover
155
Of scarlet cloth! Papa cried “pish!”
Which did not mean he did not wish
He'd been more heedful:
“Good luck,” said he, “this cloth will dip,
And make a famous pair—get Snip
To do the needful.”
Which did not mean he did not wish
He'd been more heedful:
“Good luck,” said he, “this cloth will dip,
And make a famous pair—get Snip
To do the needful.”
'Twas thus that I went back to school
In garb no boy could ridicule,
And eft becoming
A jolly child—I plunged in debt
For tarts—and promised fair to get
The prize for summing.
In garb no boy could ridicule,
And eft becoming
A jolly child—I plunged in debt
For tarts—and promised fair to get
The prize for summing.
But, no! my schoolmates soon began
Again to mock my outward man,
And make me hate 'em!
Long sitting will broadcloth abrade,
The dye wore off—and so displayed
A red substratum!
Again to mock my outward man,
And make me hate 'em!
Long sitting will broadcloth abrade,
The dye wore off—and so displayed
A red substratum!
To both my Parents then I flew—
Mama shed tears, Papa cried “Pooh,
Come, stop this racket:”
He'd still some cloth, so Snip was bid
To stitch me on two tails; he did,
And spoilt my jacket!
Mama shed tears, Papa cried “Pooh,
Come, stop this racket:”
He'd still some cloth, so Snip was bid
To stitch me on two tails; he did,
And spoilt my jacket!
156
And then the boys, despite my wails,
Would slily come and lift my tails,
And smack me soundly.
O, weak Mama! O, wrathful Dad!
Although your exploits drove me mad,
Ye loved me fondly.
Would slily come and lift my tails,
And smack me soundly.
O, weak Mama! O, wrathful Dad!
Although your exploits drove me mad,
Ye loved me fondly.
Good Friends, our little ones (who feel
Such bitter wounds, which only heal
As wisdom mellows)
Need sympathy in deed and word;
So never let them look absurd
Beside their fellows.
Such bitter wounds, which only heal
As wisdom mellows)
Need sympathy in deed and word;
So never let them look absurd
Beside their fellows.
My wife, who likes the Things I've doft,
Sublimes her sentiments, for oft,
She'll take, and . . . air them!
—You little Puss, you love this pair,
And yet you never seem to care
To let me wear them.
Sublimes her sentiments, for oft,
She'll take, and . . . air them!
—You little Puss, you love this pair,
And yet you never seem to care
To let me wear them.
| A Selection from the Works of Frederick Locker | |