Boycotted Part 7

And Jill was so alarmed that she.

Let drop the pail immediately And fell down too, and sprained her hand, And had to go to Dr Bland And get it looked to; while poor Jack Was put to bed upon his back.

Number 4 regarded his performance with a certain amount of pride. He said it was after the manner of Wordsworth, and was a protest against the inflated style of most modern poetry, which seemed to have for its sole object to conceal its meaning from the reader. We had a good specimen of this kind of writing from Number 5, who wrote in blank verse, as he said, "after the German."

I know not why--why seek to know? Is not All life a problem? and the tiniest pulse Beats with a throb which the remotest star Feels in its...o...b..t? Why ask me? Rather say Whence these vague yearnings, whither swells this heart, Like some wild floweret leaping at the dawn?

'Tis not for me, 'tis not for thee to tell, But Time shall be our teacher, and his voice Shall fall unheard, unheeded in the midst!

Still art thou doubtful? Then arise and sing Into the Empyrean vault, while I Drift in the vagueness of the Ambrosian night.

We none of us dared inquire of Number 5 what was the particular bearing of these masterly lines upon the history of Jack and Jill. I can picture the smile of pitying contempt with which such a preposterous question would have been met. And I observe by the figures noted at the back of this poem that it received very few marks short of the highest award.

Number 6 posed as democratic poet, who appealed to the ear of the populace in terms to which they are best accustomed.

'Twas a lovely day in August, at the top of Ludgate Hill I met a gay young couple, and I think I see them still; They were drinking at the fountain to cool their parching lips, And they said to one another, looking up between their sips--

_Chorus_--I'd sooner have it hot, love; I'd rather have it hot; It's nicer with the chill off--much nicer, is it not?

They took a four-wheel growler for a drive all round the town, And told the knowing cabby not to let his _gee-gee_ down; But they'd scarcely got to Fleet Street when their off-hind-wheel went bang, And they pitched on to the kerb-stone, while the crowd around them sang--

_Chorus_--I'm glad you've got it hot, love; I'm pleased you've got it hot; It's nicer with the chill off--much nicer, is it not?

Moral.

Now all you gay young couples, list to my fond appeal, Beware of four-wheel growlers with spokes in their off-hind-wheel; And when you go up Ludgate Hill, all on a summer day, Don't drink much at the fountain; or if you do, I say-- Be sure and take it hot, love; be sure and take it hot; It's nicer with the chill off--much nicer, is it not?

This poem was not highly marked, although Number 6 confessed he had sat up all night writing it. He thought we had missed the underlying philosophy of his version, and was sorry for it. As he said, the first essential of a poem is that it should be read, and he believed no one could deny that he had at least written up to that requirement.

There was a more serious moral hidden in Number 7's version, which was stated to be on the models of the early sonnets:--

Two lovers on one common errand bound, One common fate o'erwhelms; and so, me-seems, A fable have we of our daily round, Who in these groves of learning here are found Climbing Parna.s.sus' slopes. Our aim is one, And one the path by which we strive to soar; Yet, truer still, or ere the prize be won, A common ruin hurls us to our doom.

'Twere best we parted, you and I; so, Fate, Baulked of her double prey, may seek in vain, And miss us both upon the shadowy plain.

The writer of Number 8 I always suspected of being a borrower of other people's ideas. In fact it seemed as if he must have had "A Thousand and One Gems" open before him while he was at work, and to have drawn liberally from its pages.

The way was long, the night was cold, And Jack and Jill were young and bold.

"Try not the hill," the old man said, "Dark lowers the tempest overhead."

A voice replied far up the height, "We've many a step to walk this night."

Ah, luckless speech! ah, bootless boast!

Two minutes more and they were lost.

Who would not weep for Jack and Jill?

They died, though much against their will.

And the birds of the air all fell sobbing and sighing As they heard of these two unfortunates dying.

The concluding line (which was the only original one in the poem) was specially weak, and Number 8, I observe, only received one vote, and that was probably given by himself.

But, for originality and humour, Number 9's version was the most distinguished of the lot. With it I conclude, and if I may express an unbia.s.sed opinion, many years after the memorable contest, I consider it far and away the best version of the story of Jack and Jill I have ever met with.

Jack and Jill Went up a hill To fetch a pail of water, Jack fell down And broke his crown, And Jill came tumbling after.

CHAPTER FOUR.

Sub-Chapter I.

EIGHTEEN HOURS WITH A "KID."

_[Copy of a holiday letter from Gus. Cutaway, of the Upper Remove, Sh.e.l.lboro', to his particular chum and messmate. Joseph Rackett]_:--

Dear Jossy,--If you want a motto in life, I'll give you one--"'Ware kids!" Don't you have anything to do with kids, unless you want to lose all your pocket money, and be made a fool of before the fellows, and get yourself in a regular high old mess all round.

You needn't think I don't know what I'm talking about. I do. Promise you'll never say a word to anybody, especially to any of the fellows, and I'll tell you.

It was on breaking-up day. You know, all of you went off by the 2 train, and I had to wait till the 3:15. That's the worst of going through London; the trains never go at the right time. It came in up to time, for a wonder, and I bagged a second-cla.s.s carriage to myself, and laid in some grub and a _B.O.P._ and made up my mind to enjoy myself.

What do you think? Just as the bell was ringing, a female with a kid rushed on to the platform and made a dive for my carriage. I can tell you I was riled. But that wasn't half of it.

"Are you going to Waterloo, young gentleman?" asks the female, as out of breath as you like.

"Yes--why?" said I.

"Would you be so kind as to look after Tommy? His father will be there to meet him. He's got his ticket; haven't you, Tommy? Say `Thank you'

to the kind young gentleman. Bye, bye; be a good boy."

"Right forward," sings out the guard.

"Love to daddy," says the female.

"Stand away from the train," shouts the porter.

And then we were off. And here was I, left alone in a carriage with a kid called Tommy, that I was to give over to a chap called daddy at Waterloo!

How would _you_ have liked it yourself, Jossy? I was awfully disgusted.

And, of course, till the train was off, I never thought of saying, "I can't," and then it was too late. I can tell you it's a bit rough on a fellow to be served that way. If ever you're going by train and see a female and a kid coming along, hop out of the carriage till you see which carriage they get into; and then go and get into another.

I made up my mind I'd leave the little cad to himself, so I started to read. At least I pretended to. Really I took a good squint at him while he wasn't looking. He was a kid of about four and a half, I fancy, with a turnippy head and a suit of togs that must have been new, he was so jolly proud of them. He sat staring at the lamp and swinging his legs for a good bit. Then he got hold of the window-strap and fooled about with that. Then he remembered his swagger togs and looked himself all over, and stuck his hands in his pocket. He twigged me looking at him as he did so.

"I've got a knife," he said, as cool as if he'd known me a couple of terms.

"Who said you hadn't?" I responded.

"It's in my pocket," he said.

"Oh," said I. I didn't want to encourage him.

He pulled it out, staring at me all the time. Then he slipped down off the seat and brought it up to me.

"Open it," he said.

"Open it yourself," said I.