Fiddle-De-Dee.

Pawkins the editor sat in his chair,
With a bumptious, important, self-satisfied air,
And a letter he read with arguments fair,
The writer of which was desirous to dare
The bankers and lawyers and mortgagees,
To show why a National Bank shouldn't please
—Not them—but, the people.
(Sometimes however, "Salus populi suprema est lex"
Is a quotation calculated an Editor to vex.)

But Pawkins the Editor says, says "we,"
Our valuable journal's the propertee
Of a wealthy and powerful companee,
And the banker, the lawyer, and mortgagee
Love the present rates of high usuree,
And a National Bank they don't want to see.
A National Bank ! Bah ! ! Fiddle-de-dee ! !!

And our Sir Julius Vogel, K.C.M.G.,
The New Zealand Colonial Treasurer, he,
Who's a very great statesman, (according to "we")
And as bold a financier as often you see;
Says, that he wishes no conflict may be
With the interests of such a big companee,
Or companies, who now make such a jolly big fee,
Or fees,—by means of generous usuree.
A National Bank ! Bah ! Fiddle-de-dee!
We mustn't tease the mortgagees!

No man's so blind as he who will not see,
So deaf as he who will not hear can be!
And as far as a State Bank goes, it is our policee
To be gazing far away,—into infinitee.
What! State Bank Notes ! A forced currencee!
To bring down interest from ten per cent, to three!
We dare not quarrel with our bread, our butter, and cheese,
By so upsetting the bankers, the lawyers, and mortgagees,
And so we'll meet your arguments with Fiddle-de-dees!

A National Bank ! Bah ! Fiddle-de-dee!
"Our reasons explain for our disdain !"
You may write again, again, and again;
We mean to restrain with our might and main
page 8 All correspondence that would give unnecessary pain
To the tender heart of the mortgagee!
Understand then quite plain, if you write again
The fire shall retain the paper you stain.
(But "we" shall not respond, and no doubt he'll despond,
For what can he do ? Some poor Cockatoo!

Some weeks passed away and then one fine day
Pawkins the Editor sat down in his chair,
And opening a packet gave a start and a stare;
" That letter of Maori's," why what have we here ?
"The Condition of—"; confound that pamphleteer!
It would have been better
To have printed his letter;
Why didn't we print it ?
A poor Cockatoo ! A poor Mortgagor!
How dare he write thus of our great Legislator!
Let him sow!
Let him mow!
Let it snow!
Let him hoe!
Let him owe!
Let it blow!
Let his interest grow!
May the merchants, the lawyers, and mortgagees
Take all his profits in commission, percentage and fees.

Confound that pamphlet! I'll just trampl' it!
I'd like to smash it; I'd like to crash it;
I'd like to hash it; but that would flash it.
I'd like to chastise it,
But that would advertise it.
What can I do?

Pawkins the Editor jumped up out of his chair,
As mad as a wetted hen, as cross as a bear.
He knitted his brows, he tore out his hair.
"'Tis the sport," says Shakespeare, "when the engineer
Is hoist with his own petar."

Now any one may read in the Lyttelton Times
(Although it is not written in rhymes),
April twenty-eight, eighty-five the date;
"The day is far distant when a learned body could successfully remark,
'I am Sir Oracle, let no dog bark !'
The most dogmatic and infallible decision
Will meet now with nothing but derision
If its unsupported by proper arguments and reason."

This piquant sauce of the Lyttelton Times' Editor's
Was no doubt extremely good for the health of the University Senators,
Who wished to insist
That nothing should be missed,
While girls and boys should list
To Swift's Tale of a Tub, and together should read
In Terence's Plays, and in Voltaire's Candide.

There was a letter from "Pater," and one from "Scrutator"
The letter from "rater" declared that such literature
As Terence's Plays wasn't fit for our days,
And that 'was debasing, defiling, disgusting;
page 9 But "Scrutator," he thought, that girls wore nought,
That boys ought to be taught, such books ought to be bought,
Their beauties be sought, and that no infection need be caught.

Said Mr. Editor, "Why doesn't some Senator try
To make some better reply ? Educated people do cry,
Because they can give no better reason, you see."
(Than Fiddle-de-dee, Fiddle-de-dee!
Indeed if you want a degree,
You must just read Terence's Adelphi!)

Moral :
Says the Ingoldsby bard, "It's uncommonly hard
If an Editor can't draw a moral."
"What's sauce for the gander is sauce for the goose,"
Is a very old proverb, and will do for our use.

If an Editor cannot reply,
And cannot give a reason why,
Educated people will certainly cry,
Its because they can give no better reason, you see,
Than Fiddle-de-dee! Gammon and Spinach ! Fiddle-de-dee!