Page:Notes and Queries - Series 10 - Volume 7.djvu/23

 10 s. vii. JAN. 5, 1907.] NOTES AND QUERIES.

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MB. HEMS supplies the chorus. The song was very popular with the street boy of the i period, and the chorus was the subject ol much parody. I give the first and, I think, last verses :

The morn of life is past,

And evening conies at last ;

It brings me a dream

Of a once happy day,

Of many forms I've seen,

Upon the village green,

Sporting with my old Dog Tray. Chorus Old Dog Tray 's ever faithful, &c.

The forms I called my own

Have vanished one by one ;

The loved ones, the dear ones,

Have all passed away.

Their happy smiles are flown,

Their gentle voices gone ;

I 've nothing left but old Dog Tray. Chorus Old Dog Tray 's ever faithful, &c.

A. W. Wigan.

MABOH 25 AS NEW YBAB'S DAY (10 S. vi. 368, 431, 471). Notwithstanding the opening words of 24 Geo. II., c. 23, " Whereas iihe legal supputation of the year of our Lord in .... England, according to which the year beginneth on the 25th day of March," I think it may be difficult to adduce any authority for the making of that day and month the beginning of the legal year. Coke (2 'Inst.,' fol. 675) says: "The day of the moneth, year of our Lord, and year of the king's reign, are the usual dates of deeda." In some ' Reports of Cases ' for the first three years of Charles I. there is a note to " Johnson's Case " : " Doderidge dit, * Que en volunts le ecclesiastical ley prist notice solement del Anno Dom. mes commun ley del Anno Regis.' " Both Pepys and Evelyn, in their respective diaries, constantly allude to 1 January as New Year's Day. All the above italics are mine. MISTLETOE.

AUSONE DE CHANCEL (10 S. vi. 166, 216, 233, 335). At the last reference MR. LATHAM was somewhat sceptical as to the existence of a letter from Leon de Monte- na.eken, which I said at p. 234 had been printed in The Literary World. That paper used to appear weekly, but itis nowa monthly, and the number for December lies before me. After vainly turning over my papers, among which I thought I should find a copy of the Belgian poet's letter, I wrote to the Editor of The Literary World, who has, with great kindness, sent me an exact transcript of the original, which is of a much later date -than I had thought. It appeared with some

slight omissions in the number for 3 June, 1904, under the editorial title of ' The Real Thing.' I propose to give the very words of the letter, because MB. LATHAM said, " I should and so would other readers of 'N. & Q.' like to read it." I hope our Editor will permit me to gratify such a laudable curiosity :

Villa Leona, Sevilla, May 27, 1904. To the Editor of The Literary World. DEAR SIR, \Vhen in your number of the 13th inst. you attributed a poem of mine to Alfred de Musset, I had no reason to complain, but, when in the following number, dated May 20th, you allow others to publish, as my poem, a piece which, although, at first sight, only slightly different, in my opinion is quite another thing, I must state that my verses were written as follows, and only thus : Peu de Chose et Presque Trop. La vie est vaine : Un peu d'amour, Un peu de haine Et puis bonjour !

La vie est breve : Un peu d'espoir, Un peu de reve Et puis bonsoir !

La vie est telle Que Dieu la fit ; Et, telle quelle, Elle sufiit ! My own English translation of same reads thus I

Nought and Too Much. (To Mrs. Mary F. Johnston.) Life is but play : A throb, a tear ; A sob, a sneer And then good day !

Life is but jest : A dream, a doom ; A gleam, a gloom And then good rest !

Life is but such As wrought God's will ; 'Tis nought, and still 'Tis oft too much !

As to Dyer's quatrain in ' Grongar Hill,' n closer curious resemblance to it, than my poem, may, perhaps, be remarked in the following lines ot

A little stout, a little ale, A sandwich sometimes stale Is all the critic, poor sinner, Gets between breakfast and dinner. I am, dear Sir, yours truly,

LEON DE MONTEXAEKEN.

I have noiw given the author's own text of the lines w th his English translation, which I had completely forgotten. Whether they may be called poetry, either in French or English, is a matter for each one's judgment ; but I am convinced that they have not a spark of the poetic fire that burns in every