Part 131 (1/2)

And pretty little Alice grew more settled in her mind, She nevermore was guilty of a weakness of the kind, Until at length good Robber Brown bestowed her pretty hand On the promising young robber, the lieutenant of his band.

_W. S. Gilbert._

THE STORY OF PRINCE AGIB

Strike the concertina's melancholy string!

Blow the spirit-stirring harp like anything!

Let the piano's martial blast Rouse the Echoes of the Past, For of Agib, Prince of Tartary, I sing!

Of Agib, who, amid Tartaric scenes, Wrote a lot of ballet music in his teens: His gentle spirit rolls In the melody of souls-- Which is pretty, but I don't know what it means.

Of Agib, who could readily, at sight, Strum a march upon the loud Theodolite.

He would diligently play On the Zoetrope all day, And blow the gay Pantechnicon all night.

One winter--I am shaky in my dates-- Came two starving Tartar minstrels to his gates; Oh, Allah be obeyed, How infernally they played!

I remember that they called themselves the ”Ouaits.”

Oh! that day of sorrow, misery, and rage I shall carry to the Catacombs of Age, Photographically lined On the tablet of my mind, When a yesterday has faded from its page!

Alas! Prince Agib went and asked them in; Gave them beer, and eggs, and sweets, and scent, and tin.

And when (as sn.o.bs would say) They had ”put it all away,”

He requested them to tune up and begin.

Though its icy horror chill you to the core, I will tell you what I never told before,-- The consequences true Of that awful interview, _For I listened at the keyhole in the door!_

They played him a sonata--let me see!

”_Medulla oblongata_”--key of G.

Then they began to sing That extremely lovely thing, ”_Scherzando! ma non troppo, ppp._”

He gave them money, more than they could count, Scent from a most ingenious little fount, More beer, in little kegs, Many dozen hard-boiled eggs, And goodies to a fabulous amount.

Now follows the dim horror of my tale And I feel I'm growing gradually pale, For, even at this day, Though its sting has pa.s.sed away, When I venture to remember it, I quail!

The elder of the brothers gave a squeal, All-overish it made me for to feel; ”Oh, Prince,” he says, says he, ”_If a Prince indeed you be_, I've a mystery I'm going to reveal!

”Oh, listen, if you'd shun a horrid death, To what the gent who's speaking to you saith: No 'Ouaits' in truth are we, As you fancy that we be; For (ter-remble!) I am Aleck--this is Beth!”

Said Agib, ”Oh! accursed of your kind, I have heard that ye are men of evil mind!”

Beth gave a fearful shriek-- But before he'd time to speak I was mercilessly collared from behind.

In number ten or twelve, or even more, They fastened me full length upon the floor.

On my face extended flat, I was walloped with a cat For listening at the keyhole of a door.