The herald., 1896-02-16
G!BES AT THE NEW LAUREATE

1t is to be hoped that the rumor is true
that the new poet laureate is entitled to
arrearages in salary since the death of his
predecessor, for Alfred Austin must be in
sore need of balm for his bruised and bat
tered self-respect. His appointment is de-
plored alike by his political bed-fellows
and his foes; the most gentle literary
journals refer to IL with sorrow, and the
others are moved to laughter or rage. The
Bookman, which made the first announce
ment of the coming appointment in its De-
ceuiber issue, says:
"Doubtless Mr.. Alfred Austins muse Will
emit in a somewhat squeaky voice the neces-
sary number OF nerveless nothings whenever
royal parsonage Is born. or betrothcd, or
buried; but this is all. Alfred the Great has
gi en- way TO Alfred the Little. Let us draw
veil over the sight. 1t ~ too melancholy 10
contemplate or to write about"
Not only tue present but the past also is
levied upon for missiles to shy at this tar
get of the moment. One of the concluding
stanzas of Robert Browning's poem, Of
Pacchiarotto. and How He Wrought in Dis
temper, in which he addresses his critics,
ru follows:
"rroop nll of you--man or homunculus.
Quick march. for Xanthippe, my housematd.
II once on your pates she Il souse made,
With what pan or pot, bowl or skoramis.
First comes to her hand-things were more
amlss
Recipient OF slops ON the basin!
You. he-tireen, leaf-and- iggishness
Won't save dry thread on your priggish-
ness
While as for Quilp-Fop-o'my. y.Thumb there.
Banjo-Eyron that 'twangs the strum strum
He'll think. as the pickle he curses
I've discharged OH his pat his own versesl
'pwarfs ar s1ucy,' says Dickens; SO, sauccd-in
Your own sauce
This blank Browning ernnhasized in a
foot-note:
"No. lease!
Who would be satirical
On thing SO very small?"
i rinter's Devil
The London Sketch fills in the hiatus in
the stan2a with ''are you Alfred AUSTIN,
Meanwhile the rhymesters continue to
reap harvest while tine sun of publicity
shines on Mr.. Aus in, turning out parodies
by the score. Punch's New Y ears Day''
is the most pungent of these:
"Iou must ke and call ME Laureate, Poet
Laureate. br thren dear,
For tomorrow I'll be the happiest bard of all
this glad New Year;
My glad Muse chimes, not 'yapid rhymes.
but the maddesi, merriest lay,
For am queens Poet today, brethren l am
Court Minstrel today!
"Th res many gushing muse, men say, but
none can gush like IN ine;
There's Arnold and here's Morris, both can
lip the laureate line;
they say.
So I'm to be foet laureate, brethren, all upon
New Years Day!
"Pll now sleep sound o. nights. from dreadful
dreams no more I'll wake,
That Algernon or William they will Poet
Laureate make.
But must gather howcry tropes and hatter-
les fine and gay,
For I'm Alfred the CIR ,ats successor brethren,
dating from New Years dayl
az wonder now if Alfred the Great-and gruff-
with joy would thrill
If he saw me twanging the Laureate Tyre on
the ParnaSsial hill?
He once was leetle rude to me when on him
had said my say
Like Lytton to him; out I'm, Laureate now, all
upon New Years dayl
$50 you must take and call me Laureate, Poe
Laureate, brethren ar,
And am sure tnat Edwin, and Lewis, and
William will wish me Happy New Year.
MY Satire and its Censors have not stood in
my upward way;
Ambition lded' Pm Laureate-at last-upon
New Years day -
The New York Sun, from which we re-
Gently quoted an amusing parody on
'Jameson's Ride" has another dig at Mr..
Austin in a recent issue, in which it says:
The Hon. Alfred AUSTIN who does a general
jcbbing and commission poetry business at
London and Swineford. began work yesterday
morning on threnody, and at a Ia e hour last
night he was still keeping the neighbors up
with the sound of the axe and saw. The work
OF pref m1nary surveying and measurement
was set up late in the afternoon. The Swine
ford Messenger OF Thursday night contained
pecimens of the first piece. Among them are
the following:
Weep, weep my heart; sigh, sigh, my song .
For life is short, though time is long"
"With tears pipe the laur ate lay;
Mourn, mighty muse, and your pEy,'
"With sorrow dire string the Tyre;
With sacred fire pile the pyre,
And pen an elegy for hire!'
Altogether, it is safe to say that the new
Iaureate's couch is not bed of roses.
While we are on this subject of politico-
literary parodies, we may as we'll quote
gibe at the German "War Lord" which
appears in the London World. 1t is built
on the lines of the old English song ''You
Are Old, Father William" and is as fol.
lows:
''YoU AEE YOUNG. KAISER WILLIAM"
""You are young. Kaiser William, tho cid
man exclaimed.
And your wisdom teeth barely are through.
And yet by your deeds the whole world is in
famed
Do yoq think this is proper o.. your
'As baby dotted on playing with fire.
Replied the irascitle prince,
And though 1 was spanked by my excellent
sire,
I've been doing the same ever since.v
"You are young, said the sage, and your
juvenile legs
Are not what one would call fully grown;
Yet you point ou. to grandmamma how to
suck eggs
Why adopt this preposterous toner
'As child, said the youth, i perceived that
my head
Wouldn't ever allow me to learn,
So made up my mind to tart teaching in
stead,
And I've taughteverybody in turn
The Argonaut.