FLIGHT.

O memory! that which I gave thee

To guard in thy garner yestreen -

Little deeming thou e'er could'st behave thee

Thus basely — hath gone from thee clean!

Gone, fled, as ere autumn is ended

The yellow leaves flee from the oak -

I have lost it for ever, my splendid

Original joke.

What was it? I know I was brushing

My hair when the notion occurred:

I know that I felt myself blushing

As I thought, “How supremely absurd!

“How they'll hammer on floor and on table

As its drollery dawns on them — how

They will quote it” — I wish I were able

To quote it just now.

I had thought to lead up conversation

To the subject — it's easily done -

Then let off, as an airy creation

Of the moment, that masterly pun.

Let it off, with a flash like a rocket's;

In the midst of a dazzled conclave,

Where I sat, with my hands in my pockets,

The only one grave.

I had fancied young Titterton's chuckles,

And old Bottleby's hearty guffaws

As he drove at my ribs with his knuckles,

His mode of expressing applause:

While Jean Bottleby — queenly Miss Janet -

Drew her handkerchief hastily out,

In fits at my slyness — what can it

Have all been about?

I know‘ twas the happiest, quaintest

Combination of pathos and fun:

But I've got no idea — the faintest -

Of what was the actual pun.

I think it was somehow connected

With something I'd recently read -

Or heard — or perhaps recollected

On going to bed.

What HAD I been reading? The Standard:

“Double Bigamy;” “Speech of the Mayor.”

And later — eh? yes! I meandered

Through some chapters of Vanity Fair.

How it fuses the grave with the festive!

Yet e'en there, there is nothing so fine -

So playfully, subtly suggestive -

As that joke of mine.

Did it hinge upon “parting asunder?”

No, I do n't part my hair with my brush.

Was the point of it “hair?” Now I wonder!

Stop a bit — I shall think of it — hush!

There's HARE, a wild animal — Stuff!

It was something a deal more recondite:

Of that I am certain enough;

And of nothing beyond it.

Hair — LOCKS! There are probably many

Good things to be said about those.

Give me time — that's the best guess of any -

“Lock” has several meanings, one knows.

Iron locks — IRON-GRAY LOCKS — a “deadlock” -

That would set up an everyday wit:

Then of course there's the obvious “wedlock;”

But that was n't it.

No! mine was a joke for the ages;

Full of intricate meaning and pith;

A feast for your scholars and sages -

How it would have rejoiced Sidney Smith!

‘ Tis such thoughts that ennoble a mortal;

And, singing him out from the herd,

Fling wide immortality's portal -

But what was the word?

Ah me!‘ tis a bootless endeavour.

As the flight of a bird of the air

Is the flight of a joke — you will never

See the same one again, you may swear.

‘ Twas my firstborn, and O how I prized it!

My darling, my treasure, my own!

This brain and none other devised it -

And now it has flown.