The Reward Of Merit

DR. BELVILLE was regarded as the CRICHTON of his age: His tragedies were reckoned much too thoughtful for the stage; His poems held a noble rank, although it's very true That, being very proper, they were read by very few. He was a famous Painter, too, and shone upon the "line," And even MR. RUSKIN came and worshipped at his shrine; But, alas, the school he followed was heroically high-- The kind of Art men rave about, but very seldom buy; And everybody said "How can he be repaid-- This very great--this very good--this very gifted man?" But nobody could hit upon a practicable plan!

He was a great Inventor, and discovered, all alone, A plan for making everybody's fortune but his own; For, in business, an Inventor's little better than a fool, And my highly-gifted friend was no exception to the rule. His poems--people read them in the Quarterly Reviews-- His pictures--they engraved them in the Illustrated News-- His inventions--they, perhaps, might have enriched him by degrees, But all his little income went in Patent Office fees; And everybody said "How can he be repaid-- This very great--this very good--this very gifted man?" But nobody could hit upon a practicable plan!

At last the point was given up in absolute despair, When a distant cousin died, and he became a millionaire, With a county seat in Parliament, a moor or two of grouse, And a taste for making inconvenient speeches in the House! Then it flashed upon Britannia that the fittest of rewards Was, to take him from the Commons and to put him in the Lords! And who so fit to sit in it, deny it if you can, As this very great--this very good--this very gifted man? (Though I'm more than half afraid That it sometimes may be said That we never should have revelled in that source of proper pride, However great his merits--if his cousin hadn't died!)

THE GHOST, THE GALLANT, THE GAEL, AND THE GOBLIN

O'er unreclaimed suburban clays Some years ago were hobblin' An elderly ghost of easy ways, And an influential goblin. The ghost was a sombre spectral shape, A fine old five-act fogy, The goblin imp, a lithe young ape, A fine low-comedy bogy.

And as they exercised their joints, Promoting quick digestion, They talked on several curious points, And raised this pregnant question: "Which of us two is Number One-- The ghostie, or the goblin?" And o'er the point they raised in fun They fairly fell a-squabblin'.

They'd barely speak, and each, in fine, Grew more and more reflective, Each thought his own particular line By far the more effective. At length they settled some one should By each of them be haunted, And so arranged that either could Exert his prowess vaunted.

"The Quaint against the Statuesque"-- By competition lawful-- The goblin backed the Quaint Grotesque, The ghost the Grandly Awful. "Now," said the goblin, "here's my plan-- In attitude commanding, I see a stalwart Englishman By yonder tailor's standing.

"The very fittest man on earth My influence to try on-- Of gentle, p'raps of noble birth, And dauntless as a lion! Now wrap yourself within your shroud-- Remain in easy hearing-- Observe--you'll hear him scream aloud When I begin appearing!"

The imp with yell unearthly--wild-- Threw off his dark enclosure: His dauntless victim looked and smiled With singular composure. For hours he tried to daunt the youth, For days, indeed, but vainly-- The stripling smiled!--to tell the truth, The stripling smiled inanely.

For weeks the goblin weird and wild, That noble stripling haunted; For weeks the stripling stood and smiled Unmoved and all undaunted. The sombre ghost exclaimed, "Your plan Has failed you, goblin, plainly: Now watch yon hardy Hieland man, So stalwart and ungainly.

"These are the men who chase the roe, Whose footsteps never falter, Who bring with them where'er they go A smack of old SIR WALTER. Of such as he, the men sublime Who lead their troops victorious, Whose deeds go down to after-time, Enshrined in annals glorious!

"Of such as he the bard has said 'Hech thrawfu' raltie rawkie! Wi' thecht ta' croonie clapperhead And fash' wi' unco pawkie!' He'll faint away when I appear Upon his native heather; Or p'raps he'll only scream with fear, Or p'raps the two together."

The spectre showed himself, alone, To do his ghostly battling, With curdling groan and dismal moan And lots of chains a-rattling! But no--the chiel's stout Gaelic stuff Withstood all ghostly harrying, His fingers closed upon the snuff Which upwards he was carrying.

For days that ghost declined to stir, A foggy, shapeless giant-- For weeks that splendid officer Stared back again defiant! Just as the Englishman returned The goblin's vulgar staring, Just so the Scotchman boldly spurned The ghost's unmannered scaring.

For several years the ghostly twain These Britons bold have haunted, But all their efforts are in vain-- Their victims stand undaunted. Unto this day the imp and ghost (Whose powers the imp derided) Stand each at his allotted post-- The bet is undecided.