University of Virginia Library

Search this document 

107

A FABLE FOR JUDGES.

Darby had jogged with Joan along
For years, and never thought it wrong
(Nor does one husband in a million,
If we the honest truth must own)
That he should ride in front, and Joan
Should sit behind him, on a pillion.
The road was long, and sometimes rough,
And Dobbin's legs, though stout enough,
Might have been just a thought more supple;
But still their way, well pleased, they went;
They jogged along, I say, content,
A simple-minded country couple.
Well, as it fell upon a day,
While journeying on their usual way,
Little suspecting what hung o'er them,
Behold! attired in full-dress “rig”
Of gown, and bands, and horse-hair wig,
Three learnèd lawyers stood before them.
“Here! hi! you two!” their lordships said
(One of them went to Dobbin's head),
With air imperious, almost regal,

108

“In all our lives we never saw
Such bold defiance of the law,
This mode of riding's quite illegal.
“'Twill be a gross contempt of court
If you, sir, dare maintain the sort
Of attitude in which we find you;
You can't, whoever owns the horse,
Allege the slightest right, of course,
To make the lady sit behind you.
“This is undoubted law, we know,
And hold that it was always so
From earliest times of Celt and Saxon;
But be that matter as it may,
At any rate 'tis law to-day,
For see ‘Ex parte Emily Jackson.’”
Poor Darby stared: his law was weak;
The man was naturally meek;
And when they cried, “Alight, dear madam!”
'Twas vain, he could not but perceive,
To cite the judgment in “Re Eve,”
Or try them with “Ex parte Adam.”
His wife was struck by the advice,
Dame Joan dismounted in a trice,
While sheepish Darby, fain to follow,
Stood gazing pensive on the ground,
And turned the judgment round and round,
Like something which he couldn't swallow.

109

At last he stammered out the words,
“Is she to ride in front, my Lords?”
(How that would have amazed Justinian!)
But straight came back the answer pat,
“We guard ourselves from saying that,
On that we offer no opinion.
“Our judgment's only gist and brunt
Is that you may not ride in front
On any plea; and if you do, sir,
Your wife acquires the right, we say,
To have another horse straightway,
And have the bill sent in to you, sir.”
On this, their lordships left the place
With that sedate and solemn pace
Affected by the learnèd classes;
Joan looked at Darby, he at her,
But neither seemed inclined to stir,
And Dobbin browsed the roadside grasses.
Some minutes after, Darby spoke,
Prepared, unhappy man, to joke
On what might prove a life's estrangement.
“I mustn't ride in front, 'tis true,”
Said he; “but neither, dear, may you,
So what's to be the new arrangement?”
Now plans may in a flash arise
Which, usually to devise,
Would take the most inventive man years.

110

And thus inspired the husband cried,
“If side by side we needs must ride,
Let me suggest—a pair of panniers!”
Joan answered not; she would not talk;
She neither cared to ride nor walk;
She mused, she sulked, she wanted rousing.
Darby, good soul, resolved to wait;
He lit a pipe, and climbed a gate,
While Dobbin still continued browsing.
But if I'm asked, my married friends,
To tell you how this story ends,
And what are now that pair's positions,
I frankly own I do not know;
I really cannot say—although
I entertain my own suspicions.
Judges are influential men,
They awe the simple citizen,
And their pronouncements ought to bind him.
But yet—but yet—when once these twain
Remount, I think you'll find again
Darby in front, and Joan behind him.

141

THE PROGRESS OF HUMANITY.

Dr. Juenemann has compounded a fluid which, in his opinion, is destined entirely to revolutionise modern warfare, and put a stop to the horrible carnage with which wars are at present inevitably conducted. His plan is to burst a shell containing this fluid, which, on liberation, is converted into a gas, under the effect of which every living being within a considerable space becomes unconscious, and remains so for two or three hours.

I.

Near the nineteenth century's closing
(All the world in peace reposing)
Suddenly the rumour ran,
“War's grim horrors, felt too often,
Good Juenemann will soften”
(Please pronounce “You-any-man”).
“Now he's made the thing a study
War will cease from being bloody,
And will only cause a smell.
Blessings, then, on modern science
And its last humane appliance,
The Narcotic Vapour Shell!
“Boom of gun and rifle's rattle
Shall no more be heard in battle
Once the Doctor's shell has burst;

142

All the interest will be focussed
On the question who are hocussed
By their adversaries first.
“Softly these will sink to slumber,
While their weapons, useless lumber,
At their feet abandoned lie;
Which secured and piled, the others
Will approach their sleeping brothers,
And restoratives apply.
“‘Waken, brethren, foes no longer,’
Stronger thus, and ever stronger,
Will arise the friendly shout.
‘Ended ere we'd well begun it
Is the fight; our shell has won it;
Now be yours the shelling out.’
“Blessings then on modern science
For its last humane appliance,
And on him who framed the plan.
War's no more a brutal battue.”
So they raised a stately statue
To the good Juenemann.

II.

Years rolled on and times grew milder,
All the primitive and wilder
Human passions sank to rest;
And the public admiration
For the Doctor's innovation
Was less heartily expressed.

143

Men began to view with coldness
One who with such callous boldness
Could an army drug by stealth,
Careless, his designs pursuing,
How much harm he might be doing
To that army's future health.
“How could he,” in accents fretful
Murmured they, “be thus forgetful,
Wrapped in his unscrupulous art,
That the rifle or the sabre
May be borne by men who labour
With affections of the heat?
“Some perchance may not recover,
All of them are bound to suffer
In the body or the mind,
More or less, from that reaction
Which narcotic stupefaction
Almost always leaves behind.”
So the local papers trounced him,
Crowds assembled and denounced him
Till they made their victim flinch,
Smashed his windows, broke his image
Mobbed him in an ugly scrimmage,
Threatened him with Justice Lynch.
Then the conscience-stricken Doctor
Doubtful whether to be shocked or
Furious at his altered plight,

144

Making but a weak contention
For his devilish invention,
Gave it up and took to flight.
Fled beyond his country's border,
Entered a monastic order
For his life's remaining span;
And, from all his fellows parted,
Lingered on, a broken-hearted,
Penitent Juenemann.

161

A NEW YEAR'S VISION.

I.

Far on the outside edge of things,
Within a measurable distance
Of those Nineteen Concentric Rings
That gird the Realm of Non-existence,
A traveller in that region sees
A sort of Purgatorial Limbo,
Where sits, each New Year's Day, at ease,
A cynic Spirit, arms a-kimbo,
With many thousand spirit-clerks,
Who enter in their shadowy ledgers,
Each with appropriate remarks,
The vows of many million pledgers.
The books are kept till twelve at night,
Then closed to further contributions,
And on the backs these words they write,
“New Year,” and “Virtuous Resolutions.”
They wrap them in a piece of sky,
And seal them up for safe deposit,
And for a twelvemonth let them lie
Locked in the Transcendental Closet.

162

II.

I'm told that on the thirty-first
Of every following December,
To hear those books' contents rehearsed
Is—well, is something to remember.
The Chief recites the righteous deeds
That each man's virtuous New Year's will meant;
The clerk who made the entry reads
Statistics of the vow's fulfilment.
'Tis said—I do not vouch it true;
It may be a malicious sally—
That on comparison, the two
Do not invariably tally.
Their difference causes, 'tis believed,
A shock to optimistic notions,
And its discovery is received
With quite a mixture of emotions.
Some spirits weep, while others muse
Like surgeons o'er experience clinic.
The Registrar's acquired the views
Of an incorrigible cynic.
And 'tis from that contempt unchecked
For all mankind, which he alleges,
That he permits me to inspect
The year's new batch of New Year's pledges.

163

III.

Ay! here they are, a long array,
Close written, pages upon pages,
With countless signatures to-day
Of either sex, and all the ages.
The sick, the well, the sage, the dunce,
Of every rank and every calling;
The sinner who has stumbled once,
The sinner who is always falling.
The gay, the grave, the dull, the bright,
The wild, the mild, the weak, the able,
The statesman on the Speaker's right,
The statesman from across the table.
The lawyers, doctors, and divines,
The will-be wise, and would-be witty;
The man who “does a bit in mines”;
The man who's “something in the City.”
The money-lender and the heirs,
The callow youths with expectations,
The beggars and the millionaries,
The wealthy aunts, and poor relations.
Jockeys, and journalists, and cooks,
And drunkards, and excessive smokers,
Tipsters and pigeons, touts and rooks,
Play-actors, painters, bankers, brokers.

164

IV.

And then their resolutions! Well!
You couldn't, had you seen, forget them.
These votaries vowing to expel
The sin that chiefly doth beset them.
Conceive the “party man” self-bound
To steer a course of moral beauty,
And grow, before the year comes round,
A backbone, and a sense of duty!
The Irish patriot pledged to curb
The tongue that runs a thought too gaily,
And “do with” one expressive verb
And three “descriptive” epithets daily!
The preacher eloquent, self-shorn
To quarter-of-an-hourly sermons!
The scientific person, sworn
To own his borrowings from the Germans!
The high financier, self-confined
To undertakings safe as churches!
The smart promoter quite resigned
To “place” no shares he wouldn't purchase!
The bad, in short, to goodness vowed,
Irascibility to meekness,
To sweet humility the proud,
To strength and honour shame and weakness.

165

V.

So, as I close the book, I say,
“All earnestly though men assert you,
O moral promises-to-pay,
And I.O.U.'s from Man to Virtue,
“I fear that when the day comes round
(That thirty-first of next December),
The audit will again be found
To be—well, something to remember.
“Yet though, one knows, fulfilment's scope
Can hardly equal your dimensions,
It still would be but kind to hope
That most of you, O Good Intentions,
“Throughout the year your ground may hold,
All pressure of temptation braving,
And relatively few be sold
By contract, for infernal paving.”

189

THE PASSING OF THE AGED PSYCHOPATH.

In Russia, where obscure and imaginary mental ailments are, for all legal and most practical purposes, confounded with insanity of behaviour, the word psychopath,—meaning a person who enjoys all the rights of a sane man, and many of the privileges of a lunatic,— though coined but a few years ago, is most extensively used by all classes of society. So many persons now describe themselves as psychopaths that it no longer confers upon them the least distinction. —Lanin.

Come hither, little Vladimir,
And listen and take heed;
I've sent for you that you may hear
Your grandsire's dying rede.
I ever sought distinction's niche
Throughout my life, and you,
My Vladimir Ivanovitch,
Must be distinguished too.
Then take not up, O grandson mine,—
Or dread my ghostly wrath,—
So common and so cheap a line
As that of psychopath.
For you must shun the vulgar herd;
And nowadays, my lad,

190

To name yourself by such a word
Would stamp you as a cad.
Far otherwise it was with me,
Thank Heaven! when I was young,
And my well-marked psychopathy
Employed the public tongue.
When, as a child, in childish play
I chanced to break a limb,
And got my tutor sent away
By charging it on him;
All deemed my case with interest fraught,
Whom thus, ere yet a youth,
A nervous system highly-wrought
Forbade to speak the truth.
In like emotion, too, they joined
When, in my boyhood's spring,
I irresponsibly purloined
My father's diamond ring.
Then as my morbid instincts throve,
And paralysed my will,
Men's curiosity inwove
A stronger feeling still.
And awe and wonder were complete
When, with no purposed aim,
I was impelled to counterfeit
My uncle's honoured name.

191

Why dwell upon the homicides
And criminal assaults
For which psychopathy provides
Excuse as venial faults?
Suffice it that a case so rare
Through mouths of mortals ran,
Till I was reckoned everywhere
A most distinguished man.
But now, alas! the psychopath
Is everywhere on view—
Ah, boy, avert my ghostly wrath,
And shun the common crew!
Ascribe your thefts to simple greed,
Plead hatred when you slay,
Account for every wicked deed
In the old-fashioned way.
To shame these imitative times
The novel sight present
Of one who perpetrates his crimes
With criminal intent.
And ever this distinction proud
To psychopaths oppose,
That you, unlike that vulgar crowd,
Could help it if you chose.