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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/36702-8.txt b/36702-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..a283845 --- /dev/null +++ b/36702-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,4569 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Verse and Worse, by Harry Graham + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Verse and Worse + +Author: Harry Graham + +Release Date: July 11, 2011 [EBook #36702] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK VERSE AND WORSE *** + + + + +Produced by Mark C. Orton, Diane Monico, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This +book was produced from scanned images of public domain +material from the Google Print project.) + + + + + + + + + + + +VERSE AND WORSE + + + + +VERSE AND WORSE + + + + +VERSE AND WORSE + +BY + +HARRY GRAHAM +('COL. D. STREAMER') + +AUTHOR OF 'BALLADS OF THE BOER WAR,' 'RUTHLESS RHYMES +FOR HEARTLESS HOMES,' 'MISREPRESENTATIVE MEN,' +'FISCAL BALLADS,' ETC., ETC. + + +LONDON +EDWARD ARNOLD +41 & 43 MADDOX STREET, BOND STREET, W. + +1905 + +[_All rights reserved_] + + + + +NOTE + + +THE BABY'S BAEDEKER and PERVERTED PROVERBS have been published in +America by Mr. R. H. Russell and Messrs. Harper Bros. of New York. + +'The Ballad of Ping-pong,' 'Bill,' and 'The Place where the Old Cleek +Broke,' have appeared in _The Century Magazine_, _The Outlook_, and +_Golf_ respectively. + +'Uncle Joe,' 'Aunt Eliza,' 'John,' 'The Cat,' and 'Bluebeard,' were +included in Mr. Russell's American edition of _Ruthless Rhymes for +Heartless Homes_. + + + + +CONTENTS + + + PAGE + +AUTHOR'S PREFACE ix + +FOREWORD xi + + +PART I + +_THE BABY'S BAEDEKER_ + +I. ABROAD 3 + +II. UNITED STATES OF AMERICA 6 + +III. GREAT BRITAIN 9 + +IV. SCOTLAND 11 + +V. IRELAND 13 + +VI. WALES 15 + +VII. CHINA 16 + +VIII. FRANCE 19 + +IX. GERMANY 21 + +X. HOLLAND 23 + +XI. ICELAND 26 + +XII. ITALY 27 + +XIII. JAPAN 30 + +XIV. PORTUGAL 32 + +XV. RUSSIA 33 + +XVI. SPAIN 36 + +XVII. SWITZERLAND 39 + +XVIII. TURKEY 41 + +XIX. DREAMLAND 44 + +XX. STAGELAND 47 + +XXI. LOVERLAND 48 + +XXII. HOMELAND 53 + + +PART II + +_CHILDISH COMPLAINTS AND OTHER RUTHLESS RHYMES_ + +CHILDISH COMPLAINTS-- + +PRELUDE 57 + +APPENDICITIS 61 + +WHOOPING-COUGH 61 + +MEASLES 62 + +ADENOIDS 62 + +CROUP 62 + + +RUTHLESS RHYMES-- + +I. MOTHER-WIT 63 + +II. UNCLE JOE 64 + +III. AUNT ELIZA 65 + +IV. ABSENT-MINDEDNESS 66 + +V. JOHN 68 + +VI. BABY 71 + +VII. THE CAT 72 + + +PART III + +_PERVERTED PROVERBS_ + +I. 'VIRTUE IS ITS OWN REWARD' 77 + +II. 'ENOUGH IS AS GOOD AS A FEAST' 86 + +III. 'DON'T BUY A PIG IN A POKE' 89 + +IV. 'LEARN TO TAKE THINGS EASILY' 91 + +V. 'A ROLLING STONE GATHERS NO MOSS' 92 + +VI. 'IT IS NEVER TOO LATE TO MEND' 96 + +VII. 'A BAD WORKMAN COMPLAINS OF HIS TOOLS' 99 + +VIII. 'DON'T LOOK A GIFT-HORSE IN THE MOUTH' 100 + +IX. POTPOURRI 103 + + +PART IV + +_OTHER VERSES_ + +BILL 111 + +THE LEGEND OF THE AUTHOR 114 + +THE MOTRIOT 128 + +THE BALLAD OF THE ARTIST 130 + +THE BALLAD OF PING-PONG 135 + +THE PESSIMIST 138 + +THE PLACE WHERE THE OLD CLEEK BROKE 140 + +THE HOMES OF LONDON 143 + +THE HAPPIEST LAND 146 + +A LONDON INVOLUNTARY 151 + +BLUEBEARD 154 + +THE WOMAN WITH THE DEAD SOLES 166 + +ROSEMARY (A BALLAD OF THE BOUDOIR) 170 + +PORTKNOCKIE'S PORTER 172 + +THE BALLAD OF THE LITTLE JINGLANDER 176 + +AFTWORD 182 + +ENVOI 185 + + + + +AUTHOR'S PREFACE + + + With guilty, conscience-stricken tears, + I offer up these rhymes of mine + To children of maturer years + (From Seventeen to Ninety-nine). + A special solace may they be + In days of second infancy. + + The frenzied mother who observes + This volume in her offspring's hand, + And trembles for the darling's nerves, + Must please to clearly understand, + If baby suffers by and by + The Publisher's at fault, not _I_! + + But should the little brat survive, + And fatten on this style of Rhyme, + To raise a Heartless Home and thrive + Through a successful life of crime, + The Publisher would have you see + That _I_ am to be thanked, not _he_! + + Fond parent, you whose children are + Of tender age (from two to eight), + Pray keep this little volume far + From reach of such, and relegate + My verses to an upper shelf; + Where you may study them yourself. + + + + +FOREWORD + + + The Press may pass my Verses by + With sentiments of indignation, + And say, like Greeks of old, that I + Corrupt the Youthful Generation; + I am unmoved by taunts like these-- + (And so, I think, was Socrates). + + Howe'er the Critics may revile, + I pick no journalistic quarrels, + Quite realising that my Style + Makes up for any lack of Morals; + For which I feel no shred of shame-- + (And Byron would have felt the same). + + I don't intend a Child to read + These lines, which are not for the Young; + For, if I did, I should indeed + Feel fully worthy to be hung. + (Is 'hanged' the perfect tense of 'hang'? + Correct me, Mr. Andrew Lang!) + + O Young of Heart, tho' in your prime, + By you these verses may be seen! + Accept the Moral with the Rhyme, + And try to gather what I mean. + But, if you can't, it won't hurt me! + (And Browning would, I know, agree.) + + Be reassured, I have not got + The style of Stephen Phillips' heroes, + Nor Henry Jones's pow'r of Plot, + Nor wit like Arthur Wing Pinero's! + (If so, I should not waste my time + In writing you this sort of rhyme.) + + I strive to paint things as they Are, + Of Realism the true Apostle; + All flow'ry metaphors I bar, + Nor call the homely thrush a 'throstle.' + Such synonyms would make me smile. + (And so they would have made Carlyle.) + + My Style may be, at times, I own, + A trifle cryptic or abstruse; + In this I do not stand alone, + And need but mention, in excuse, + A thousand world-familiar names, + From Meredith to Henry James. + + From these my fruitless fancy roams + To Aesop's or La Fontaine's Fable, + From Doyle's or Hemans' 'Stately Ho(l)mes,' + To t'other of The Breakfast Table; + Like Galahad, I wish (in vain) + 'My wit were as the wit of Twain! + + Had I but Whitman's rugged skill, + (And managed to escape the Censor), + The Accuracy of a Mill, + The Reason of a Herbert Spencer, + The literary talents even + Of Sidney Lee or Leslie Stephen, + + The pow'r of Patmore's placid pen, + Or Watson's gift of execration, + The sugar of Le Gallienne, + Or Algernon's alliteration, + One post there is I'd not be lost in, + --Tho' I might find it most ex-Austin'! + + Some day, if I but study hard, + The public, vanquished by my pen, 'll + Acclaim me as a Minor Bard, + Like Norman Gale or Mrs. Meynell; + And listen to my lyre a-rippling + Imperial banjo-spasms like Kipling. + + Were I, like him, a syndicate, + Which publishers would put their trust in; + A Walter Pater up-to-date, + Or flippant scholar like Augustine; + With pen as light as lark or squirrel, + I'd love to kipple, pate and birrell. + + So don't ignore me. If you should, + 'Twill touch me to the very heart oh! + To be as much misunderstood + As once was Andrea del Sarto; + Unrecognised, to toil away, + Like Millet,--(not, of course, Mill_ais_). + + And, pray, for Morals do not look + In this unique agglomeration, + --This unpretentious little book + Of Infelicitous Quotation. + I deem you foolish if you do, + (And Mr. Arnold thinks so, too). + + + + +PART I + +_THE BABY'S BAEDEKER_ + + +An International Guide-Book for the young of all ages; +peculiarly adapted to the wants of first and second Childhood. + + + + +I + +ABROAD + + Abroad is where we tourists spend, + In divers unalluring ways, + The brief occasional week-end, + Or annual Easter holidays; + And earn the (not ill-founded) charge + Of being lunatics at large. + + Abroad, we lose our self-respect; + Wear whiskers; let our teeth protrude; + Consider any garb correct, + And no display of temper rude; + Descending, when we cross the foam, + To depths we dare not plumb at home. + + (Small wonder that the natives gaze, + With hostile eyes, at foreign freaks, + Who patronise their Passion-plays, + In lemon-coloured chessboard breeks; + An op'ra-glass about each neck, + And on each head a cap of check.) + + Abroad, where needy younger sons, + When void the parent's treasure-chest, + Take refuge from insistent duns, + At urgent relatives' request; + To live upon their slender wits, + Or sums some maiden-aunt remits. + + Abroad, whence (with a wisdom rare) + Regardless of nostalgic pains, + The weary New York millionaire + Retires with his oil-gotten gains, + And learns how deep a pleasure 'tis + To found our Public Libraries. + + For ours is the primeval clan, + From which all lesser lights descend; + Is Crockett not our countryman? + And call we not Corelli friend? + Our brotherhood has bred the brain + Whose offspring bear the brand of Caine. + + Tho' nowadays we seldom hear + Miss Proctor, who mislaid a chord, + Or Tennyson, the poet peer, + Who came into the garden, Mord; + Tho' Burns be dead, and Keats unread, + We have a prophet still in Stead. + + And so we stare, with nose in air; + And speak in condescending tone, + Of foreigners whose climes compare + So favourably with our own; + And aliens we cannot applaud + Who call themselves At Home Abroad! + + +II + +UNITED STATES OF AMERICA + + This is the Country of the Free, + The Cocktail and the Ten Cent Chew; + Where you're as good a man as me, + And I'm a better man than you! + (O Liberty, how free we make! + Freedom, what liberties we take!) + + 'Tis here the startled tourist meets, + 'Mid clanging of a thousand bells, + The railways running through the streets, + Skyscraping flats and vast hotels, + Where rest, on the resplendent floors, + The necessary cuspidors. + + And here you may encounter too + The pauper immigrants in shoals, + The Swede, the German, and the Jew, + The Irishman, who rules the polls + And is employed to keep the peace, + A venal and corrupt police. + + They are so busy here, you know, + They have no time at all for play; + Each morning to their work they go + And stay there all the livelong day; + Their dreams of happiness depend + On making more than they can spend. + + The ladies of this land are all + Developed to a pitch sublime, + Some inches over six foot tall, + With perfect figures all the time. + (For further notice of their looks + See Mr. Dana Gibson's books.) + + And, if they happen to possess + Sufficient balance at the bank, + They have the chance of saying 'Yes!' + To needy foreigners of rank; + The future dukes of all the earth + Are half American by birth. + + + _MORAL_ + + A 'dot' combining cash with charms + Is worth a thousand coats-of-arms. + + +III + +GREAT BRITAIN + + The British are a chilly race. + The Englishman is thin and tall; + He screws an eyeglass in his face, + And talks with a reluctant drawl. + 'Good Gwacious! This is doosid slow! + By Jove! Haw demmy! Don't-cher-know!' + + The English_woman_ ev'rywhere + A meed of admiration wins; + She has a crown of silken hair, + And quite the loveliest of skins. + (Go forth and seek an English maid, + Your trouble will be well repaid.) + + Where Britain's banner is unfurled + There's room for nothing else beside, + She owns one-quarter of the world, + And still she is not satisfied. + The Briton thinks himself, by birth, + To be the lord of all the earth. + + Some call his manners wanting, or + His sense of humour poor, and yet + Whatever he is striving for + He as a rule contrives to get; + His methods may be much to blame, + But he arrives there just the same. + + + _MORAL_ + + If you can get your wish, you bet it + Doesn't much matter _how_ you get it! + + +IV + +SCOTLAND + + In Scotland all the people wear + Red hair and freckles, and one sees + The men in women's dresses there, + With stout, décolleté, low-necked knees. + ('Eblins ye dinna ken, I doot, + We're unco guid, so hoot, mon, hoot!') + + They love 'ta whuskey' and 'ta Kirk'; + I don't know which they like the most. + They aren't the least afraid of work; + No sense of humour can they boast; + And you require an axe to coax + The canny Scot to see your jokes. + + They play an instrument they call + The bagpipes; and the sound of these + Is reminiscent of the squall + Of infant pigs attacked by bees; + Music that might drive cats away + Or make reluctant chickens lay. + + + _MORAL_ + + Wear kilts, and, tho' men look askance, + Go out and give your knees a chance. + + +V + +IRELAND + + The Irishman is never quite + Contented with his little lot; + He's ever thirsting for a fight, + A grievance he has always got; + And all his energy is bent + On trying not to pay his rent. + + He lives upon a frugal fare + (The few potatoes that he digs), + And hospitably loves to share + His bedroom with his wife and pigs; + But cannot settle even here, + And gets evicted once a year. + + In order to amuse himself, + At any time when things are slack, + He takes his gun down from the shelf + And shoots a landlord in the back; + If he is lucky in the chase, + He may contrive to bag a brace. + + + _MORAL_ + + Procure a grievance and a gun + And you can have no end of fun. + + +VI + +WALES + + The natives of the land of Wales + Are not a very truthful lot, + And the imagination fails + To paint the language they have got; + Bettws-y-coed-llan-dud-nod- + Dolgelly-rhiwlas-cwn-wm-dod! + + + _MORAL_ + + If you _must_ talk, then do it, pray, + In an intelligible way. + + +VII + +CHINA + + The Chinaman from early youth + Is by his wise preceptors taught + To have no dealings with the Truth, + In fact, romancing is his 'forte.' + In juggling words he takes the prize, + By the sheer beauty of his lies. + + For laundrywork he has a knack; + He takes in shirts and makes them blue; + When he omits to send them back + He takes his customers in too. + He must be ranked in the 'élite' + Of those whose hobby is deceit. + + For ladies 'tis the fashion here + To pinch their feet and make them small, + Which, to the civilised idea, + Is not a proper thing at all. + Our modern Western woman's taste + In pinching leans towards the waist. + + The Chinese Empire is the field + Where foreign missionaries go; + A poor result their labours yield, + And they have little fruit to show; + For, if you would convert Wun Lung, + You have to catch him very young. + + The Chinaman has got a creed + And a religion of his own, + And would be much obliged indeed + If you could leave his soul alone; + And he prefers, which may seem odd, + His own to other people's god. + + Yet still the missionary tries + To point him out his wickedness, + Until the badgered natives rise,-- + And there's one missionary less! + Then foreign Pow'rs step in, you see, + And ask for an indemnity. + + + _MORAL_ + + Adhere to facts, avoid romance, + And you a clergyman may be; + To lie is wrong, except perchance + In matters of Diplomacy. + And, when you start out to convert, + Make certain that you don't get hurt! + + +VIII + +FRANCE + + The natives here remark 'Mon Dieu!' + 'Que voulez-vous?' 'Comment ça va?' + 'Sapristi! Par exemple! Un peu!' + 'Tiens donc! Mais qu'est-ce que c'est que ça?' + They shave one portion of their dogs, + And live exclusively on frogs. + + They get excited very quick, + And crowds will gather before long + If you should stand and wave your stick + And shout, 'À bas le Presidong!' + Still more amusing would it be + To say, 'Conspuez la Patrie!' + + The French are so polite, you know, + They take their hats off very well, + And, should they tread upon your toe, + Remark, 'Pardon, Mademoiselle!' + And you would gladly bear the pain + To see them make that bow again. + + Their ladies too have got a way + Which even curates can't resist; + 'Twould make an Alderman feel gay + Or soothe a yellow journalist; + And then the things they say are so + Extremely--well, in fact,--you know! + + + _MORAL_ + + The closest scrutiny can find + No morals here of any kind. + + +IX + +GERMANY + + The German is a stolid soul, + And finds best suited to his taste + A pipe with an enormous bowl, + A fraulein with an ample waist; + He loves his beer, his Kaiser, and + (Donner und blitz!) his Fatherland! + + He's perfectly contented if + He listens in the Op'ra-house + To Wagner's well-concealed 'motif,' + Or waltzes of the nimble Strauss; + And all discordant bands he sends + Abroad, to soothe his foreign friends. + + When he is glad at anything + He cheers like a dyspeptic goat, + 'Hoch! hoch!' You'd think him suffering + From some affection of the throat. + A disagreeable noise, 'tis true, + But pleases him and don't hurt you! + + + _MORAL_ + + A glass of lager underneath the bough, + A long 'churchwarden' and an ample 'frau' + Beside me sitting in a Biergarten, + Ach! Biergarten were paradise enow! + + +X + +HOLLAND + + This country is extremely flat, + Just like your father's head, and were + It not for dykes and things like that + There would not be much country there, + For, if these banks should broken be, + What now is land would soon be sea. + + So, any child who glory seeks, + And in a dyke observes a hole, + Must hold his finger there for weeks, + And keep the water from its goal, + Until the local plumbers come, + Or other persons who can plumb. + + The Hollanders have somehow got + The name of Dutch (why, goodness knows!), + But Mrs. Hollander is not + A 'duchess' as you might suppose; + Mynheer Von Vanderpump is much + More used to style her his 'Old Dutch.' + + Their cities' names are somewhat odd, + But much in vogue with golfing men + Who miss a 'put' or slice a sod, + (Whose thoughts I would not dare to pen), + 'Oh, Rotterdam!' they can exclaim, + And blamelessly resume the game. + + The Dutchman's dress is very neat; + He minds his little flock of goats + In cotton blouse, and on his feet + He dons a pair of wooden boats. + (He evidently does not trust + Those dykes I mentioned not to bust). + + He has the reputation too + Of being what is known as 'slim,' + Which merely means he does to you + What you had hoped to do to him; + He has a business head, that's all, + And takes some beating, does Oom Paul. + + + _MORAL_ + + Avoid a country where the sea + May any day drop in to tea, + Rememb'ring that, at golf, one touch + Of bunker makes the whole world Dutch! + + +XI + +ICELAND + + The climate is intensely cold; + Wild curates would not drag me there; + Not tho' they brought great bags of gold, + And piled them underneath my chair. + If twenty bishops bade me go, + I should decidedly say, 'No!' + + + _MORAL_ + + If ev'ry man has got his price, + As generally is agreed, + You will, by taking my advice, + Let yours be very large indeed. + Corruption is not nice at all, + Unless the bribe be far from small. + + +XII + +ITALY + + In Italy the sky is blue; + The native loafs and lolls about, + He's nothing in the world to do, + And does it fairly well, no doubt; + (Ital-i-ans are disinclined + To honest work of any kind). + + A light Chianti wine he drinks, + And fancies it extremely good; + (It tastes like Stephens' Blue-black Inks);-- + While macaroni is his food. + (I think it must be rather hard + To eat one's breakfast by the yard). + + And, when he leaves his country for + Some northern climate, 'tis his dream + To be an organ grinder, or + Retail bacilli in ice-cream. + (The French or German student terms + These creatures '_Paris_ites' or '_Germs_.') + + Sometimes an anarchist is he, + And wants to slay a king or queen; + So with some dynamite, may be, + Concocts a murderous machine; + 'Here goes!' he shouts, 'For Freedom's sake!' + Then blows himself up by mistake. + + Naples and Florence both repay + A visit, and, if fortune takes + Your toddling little feet that way, + Do stop a moment at The Lakes. + While, should you go to Rome, I hope + You'll leave your card upon the Pope. + + + _MORAL_ + + Don't work too hard, but use a wise discretion; + Adopt the least laborious profession. + Don't be an anarchist, but, if you must, + Don't let your bombshell prematurely bust. + + +XIII + +JAPAN + + Inhabitants of far Japan + Are happy as the day is long + To sit behind a paper fan + And sing a kind of tuneless song, + Desisting, ev'ry little while, + To have a public bath, or smile. + + The members of the fairer sex + Are clad in a becoming dress, + One garment reaching from their necks + Down to the ankles more or less; + Behind each dainty ear they wear + A cherry-blossom in their hair. + + If 'Imitation's flattery' + (We learn it at our mother's lap), + A flatterer by birth must be + Our clever little friend the Jap, + Who does whatever we can do, + And does it rather better too. + + + _MORAL_ + + Be happy all the time, and plan + To wash as often as you can. + + +XIV + +PORTUGAL + + You are requested, if you please, + To note that here a people lives + Referred to as the Portuguese; + A fact which naturally gives + The funny man a good excuse + To call his friend a Portugoose. + + + _MORAL_ + + Avoid the obvious, if you can, + And _never_ be a funny man. + + +XV + +RUSSIA + + The Russian Empire, as you see, + Is governed by an Autocrat, + A sort of human target he + For anarchists to practise at; + And much relieved most people are + Not to be lodging with the Czar. + + The Russian lets his whiskers grow, + Smokes cigarettes at meal-times, and + Imbibes more 'vodki' than 'il faut'; + A habit which (I understand) + Enables him with ease to tell + His name, which nobody could spell. + + The climate here is cold, with snow, + And you go driving in a sleigh, + With bells and all the rest, you know, + Just like a Henry Irving play; + While, all around you, glare the eyes + Of secret officers and spies! + + The Russian prisons have no drains, + No windows or such things as that; + You have no playthings there but chains, + And no companion but a rat; + When once behind the dungeon door, + Your friends don't see you any more. + + I further could enlarge, 'tis true, + But fear my trembling pen confines; + I have no wish to travel to + Siberia and work the mines. + (In Russia you must write with care, + Or the police will take you there.) + + + _MORAL_ + + If you hold morbid views about + A monarch's premature decease, + You only need a--Hi! Look out! + Here comes an agent of police! + . . . . . + (In future my address will be + 'Siberia, Cell 63.') + + +XVI + +SPAIN + + 'Tis here the Spanish onion grows, + And they eat garlic all the day, + So, if you have a tender nose, + 'Tis best to go the other way, + Or else you may discern, at length, + The fact that 'Onion is strength.' + + The chestnuts flourish in this land, + Quite good to eat, as you will find, + For they are not, you understand, + The ancient after-dinner kind + That Yankees are accustomed to + From Mr. Chauncey M. Depew. + + The Spanish lady, by the bye, + Is an alluring person who + Has got a bright and flashing eye, + And knows just how to use it too; + It's quite a treat to see her meet + The proud hidalgo on the street. + + He wears a sort of soft felt hat, + A dagger, and a cloak, you know, + Just like the wicked villains that + We met in plays of long ago, + Who sneaked about with aspect glum, + Remarking, 'Ha! A time will come!' + + His blood, of blue cerulean hue, + Runs in his veins like liquid fire, + And he can be most rude if you + Should rob him of his heart's desire; + 'Caramba!' he exclaims, and whack! + His dagger perforates your back! + + If you should care to patronise + A bull-fight, as you will no doubt, + You'll see a horse with blinded eyes + Be very badly mauled about; + By such a scene a weak inside + Is sometimes rather sorely tried. + + And, if the bull is full of fun, + The horse is generally gored, + So then they fetch another one, + Or else the first one is encored; + The humour of the sport, of course, + Is not so patent to the horse. + + + _MORAL_ + + Be kind to ev'ry bull you meet, + Remember how the creature feels; + Don't wink at ladies in the street; + And don't make speeches after meals; + And lastly, I need not explain, + If you're a horse, don't go to Spain. + + +XVII + +SWITZERLAND + + This atmosphere is pure ozone! + To climb the hills you promptly start; + Unless you happen to be prone + To palpitations of the heart; + In which case swarming up the Alps + Brings on a bad attack of palps. + + The nicest method is to stay + Quite comfortably down below, + And, from the steps of your chalet, + Watch other people upwards go. + Then you can buy an alpenstock, + And scratch your name upon a rock. + + + _MORAL_ + + Don't do fatiguing things which you + Can pay another man to do. + Let friends assume (they may be wrong), + That you each year ascend Mong Blong. + Some things you can _pretend_ you've done, + And climbing up the Alps is one. + + +XVIII + +TURKEY + + The Sultan of the Purple East + Is quite a cynic, in his way, + And really doesn't mind the least + His nickname of 'Abdul the ----' (Nay! + I might perhaps come in for blame + If I divulged this monarch's name.) + + The Turk is such a kindly man, + But his ideas of sport are crude; + He to the poor Armenian + Is not intentionally rude, + But still it is his heartless habit + To treat him as _we_ treat the rabbit. + + If he wants bracing up a bit, + His pleasing little custom is + To take a hatchet and commit + A series of atrocities. + I should not fancy, after dark, + To meet him, say, in Regent's Park. + + A deeply married man is he, + 'Early and often' is his rule; + He practises polygamy + Directly after leaving school, + And so arranges that his wives + Live happy but secluded lives. + + If they attend a public place, + They have to do so in disguise, + And so conceal one-half their face + That nothing but a pair of eyes + Suggests the hidden charm that lurks + Beneath the veils of lady Turks. + + Then too in Turkey all the men + Smoke water-pipes and cross their legs; + They watch their harem as a hen + That guards her first attempt at eggs. + (If you don't know what harems are, + Just run and ask your dear papa.) + + + _MORAL_ + + Wives of great men oft remind us + We should make our wives sublime, + But the years advancing find us + Vainly working over-time. + We could minimise our work + By the methods of the Turk. + + +XIX + +DREAMLAND + + Here you will see strange happenings + With absolutely placid eyes; + If all your uncles sprouted wings + You would not feel the least surprise; + The oddest things that you can do + Don't seem a bit absurd to you. + + You go (in Dreamland) to a ball, + And suddenly are shocked to find + That you have nothing on at all,-- + But somehow no one seems to mind; + And, naturally, _you_ don't care, + If they can bear what you can bare! + + Then, in a moment, you're pursued + By engines on a railway track! + Your legs are tied, your feet are glued, + The train comes snorting down your back! + One last attempt at flight you make + And so (in bed) perspiring wake. + + You feel so free from weight of cares + That, if the staircase you should climb, + You gaily mount, not single stairs, + But whole battalions at a time; + (My metaphor is mixed, may be, + I quote from Shakespeare, as you see). + + If you should eat too much, you pay + (In dreams) the penalty for this; + A nightmare carries you away + And drops you down a precipice! + Down! down! until, with sudden smack, + You strike the mattress with your back. + + + _MORAL_ + + At meals decline to be a beast; + 'Too much is better than a feast.' + + +XX + +STAGELAND + + The customs of this land have all + Been published in a bulky tome. + The author is a man they call + Jer_ome_ K. J_er_ome _K_. Jer_ome_. + So, lest on his preserves I poach, + This subject I refuse to broach. + + + _MORAL_ + + The moral here is plain to see. + If true the hackneyed witticism + Which stamps Originality + As 'undetected plagiarism,' + What a vocation I have miss'd + As undetected plagiarist! + + +XXI + +LOVERLAND + + This is the land where minor bards + And other lunatics repair, + To live in houses made of cards, + Or build their castles in the air; + To feed on hope, and idly dream + That things are really what they seem. + + The natives are a motley lot, + Of ev'ry age and creed and race, + But each inhabitant has got + The same expression on his face; + They look, when this their features fills, + Like angels with internal chills. + + The lover sits, the livelong day, + Quite inarticulate of speech; + He simply brims with things to say; + Alas! the words he cannot reach, + And, silent, lets occasion pass, + Feeling a fulminating ass. + + It is the lady lover's wont + To blush, and look demure or coy, + To say, 'You mustn't!' and, 'Oh! don't!' + Or, 'Please leave off, you naughty boy!' + (But this, of course, is just her way, + She wouldn't wish you to obey.) + + The lover, in a trembling voice, + Demands the hand of his lovee, + And begs the lady of his choice + To share some cottage-by-the-sea; + With _her_ a prison would be nice, + A coal-cellar a Paradise! + + 'Love in a cottage' sounds so well; + But oh, my too impatient bride, + No drainage and a constant smell + Of something being over-fried + Is not the sort of atmosphere + That makes for wedded bliss, my dear. + + And when the bills are rather high, + And when the money's rather low, + See poor Virginia sit and sigh, + And ask why Paul _must_ grumble so! + He slams the door and strides about, + And, through the window, Love creeps out. + + 'Tis said that Cupid blinds our sight + With fire of passion from above, + Nor ever bids us see aright + The many faults in those we love; + Ah no! I deem it otherwise, + For lovers have the clearest eyes. + + They see the faults, the failures, and + The great temptations, and they know, + Although they cannot understand, + That they would have the loved one so. + Believe me, Love is never blind, + His smiling eyes are wise and kind. + + Tho' lovers quarrel, yet, I ween, + 'Tis but to make it up again; + The sunshine seems the more serene + That follows after April rain; + And love should lead, if love be true, + To perfect understanding too. + + If in our hearts this love beats strong, + We shall not ever seek to earn + Forgiveness for some fancied wrong, + Nor need to pardon in return; + But learn this lesson as we live, + 'To understand is to forgive.' + + And all you little girls and boys + Will find this out yourselves, some day, + When you have done with childish toys + And put your infant books away. + Ah! then I pray that hand-in-hand + You tread the paths of Loverland. + + + _MORAL_ + + Don't fall in love, but, when you do, + Take care that he (or she) does too; + And, lastly, to misquote the bard, + If you _must_ love, don't love too hard. + + +XXII + +HOMELAND + + The tour is over! We must part! + Our mutual journey at an end. + O bid farewell, with aching heart, + To guide, philosopher, and friend; + And note, as you remark 'Good-bye!' + The kindly tear that dims his eye. + + The tour is ended! Sad but true! + No more together may we roam! + We turn our lonely footsteps to + The spot that's known as Home, Sweet Home. + Nor time nor temper can afford + A more protracted trip abroad. + + O Home! where we must always be + So hopelessly misunderstood; + Where waits a tactless family, + To tell us things 'for our own good'; + Where relatives, with searchlight eyes, + Can penetrate our choicest lies. + + Where all our kith and kin combine + To prove that we are worse than rude, + If we should criticise the wine + Or make complaints about the food. + Thank goodness, then, to quote the pome, + Thank goodness there's 'no place like Home!' + + + + +PART II + +_CHILDISH COMPLAINTS_ + +AND + +_OTHER RUTHLESS RHYMES_ + + + + +CHILDISH COMPLAINTS + + +PRELUDE + +(_By Way of Advertisement_) + + I have no knowledge of disease, + No notion what ill-health may be, + Since Housemaid's Throat and Smoker's Knees + Mean something different to me + To what they do to other folk. + (This is, I vow, no vulgar joke.) + + Of course, when young, I had complaints, + And little childish accidents; + For twice I ate a box of paints, + And once I swallowed eighteen pence. + (_N.B._, I missed the paints a lot, + But got the coins back on the spot.) + + But no practitioner has seen + My tongue since then, down to the present, + And I, alas! have never been + An interesting convalescent. + Ah! why am I alone denied + The Humour of a weak inside? + + Why is it? I will tell you why; + A certain mixture is to blame. + One day for fun I chanced to try + A bottle of--what _is_ the name? + That thing they advertise a lot,-- + (Oh, what a memory I've got!) + + It's stuff you must, of course, have seen, + Retailed in bottles, tins, or pots, + In cakes or little pills, I mean-- + (Oh goodness me! I've bought such lots, + That I am really much to blame + For not remembering the name!) + + Still, let me recommend a keg + (With maker's name, be sure, above it), + 'Tis sweeter than a new-mown egg, + And village idiots simply love it; + Old persons sit and scream for it,-- + I do so hope you'll try a bit! + + So efficacious is this stuff, + Its virtue and its strength are such, + One single bottle is enough,-- + In fact, at times, 'tis far too much. + (The patient dies in frightful pain, + Or else survives, and tries again.) + + An aunt of mine felt anyhow, + All kind-of-odd, and gone-to-bits, + Had freckles badly too; but now + She doesn't have a thing but fits. + She's just as strong as any horse,-- + Tho' still an invalid, of course. + + I had an uncle, too, that way, + His health was in a dreadful plight; + Would often spend a sleepless day, + And lie unconscious half the night. + He took two bottles, large and small, + And now--he has no health at all! + + The Moral plainly bids you buy + This stuff, whose name I have forgotten; + You won't regret it, if you try-- + (My memory is simply rotten!) + My funds will profit, in addition, + Since I enjoy a small commission! + + +CHILDISH COMPLAINTS + +_No. 1 (Appendicitis)_ + + I've got Appendicitis + In my Appendicit, + But I don't mind, + Because I find + I'm quite 'cut out' for it. + + +_No. 2. (Whooping-cough)_ + + If only I had Whooping-cough! + I'd join a Circus troupe! + And folks would clamour at the door, + And pay a shilling--even more, + To see me 'Whoop The Whoop.' + + +_No. 3. (Measles)_ + + Of illnesses like chickenpox + And measles I've had lots; + I do not like them much, you know, + They are not really nice, altho' + They're rather nice in spots. + + +_No. 4. (Adenoids)_ + + A Cockney maid produced such snores, + Folks left the City to avoid them; + And all becos, + She said, it was + Her adenoids that 'ad annoyed them! + + +_No. 5. (Croup)_ + + I had the Croup, in years gone by, + And that is why to-day, + Altho' no longer youthful, I + Am still a Croupier. + + + + +RUTHLESS RHYMES + + +I + +MOTHER-WIT + + When wilful little Willie Black + Threw all the tea-things at his mother, + She murmured, as she hurled them back, + 'One good Tea-urn deserves another!' + + +II + +UNCLE JOE + + Poor Uncle Joe has gone, you know, + To rest beyond the stars. + I miss him, oh! I miss him so,-- + He had _such_ good cigars. + + +III + +AUNT ELIZA + + In the drinking-well + (Which the plumber built her) + Aunt Eliza fell,---- + We must buy a filter. + + +IV + +ABSENT-MINDEDNESS + + Absent-minded Edward Brown + Drove his lady into town; + Suddenly the horse fell down! + Mrs. Ned + (Newly wed) + Threw a fit and lay for dead. + + Edward, lacking in resource, + Chafed the fetlocks of his horse, + Sitting with unpleasant force + (Just like lead) + On the head + Of the prostrate Mrs. Ned. + + She demanded a divorce, + Jealous of the favoured horse. + Edward had it shot, of course. + + . . . . . + + Years have sped; + She and Ned + Drive a motor now instead. + + +V + +JOHN + + John, across the broad Atlantic, + Tried to navigate a barque, + But he met an unromantic + And extremely hungry shark. + + John (I blame his childhood's teachers) + Thought to treat this as a lark, + Ignorant of how these creatures + Do delight to bite a barque. + + Said, 'This animal's a bore!' and, + With a scornful sort of grin, + Handled an adjacent oar and + Chucked it underneath the chin. + + At this unexpected juncture, + Which he had not reckoned on, + Mr. Shark he made a puncture + In the barque--and then in John. + + . . . . . + + Sad am I, and sore at thinking + John had on some clothes of mine; + I can almost see them shrinking, + Washed repeatedly in brine. + + I shall never cease regretting + That I lent my hat to him, + For I fear a thorough wetting + Cannot well improve the brim. + + Oh! to know a shark is browsing, + Boldly, blandly, on my boots! + Coldly, cruelly carousing + On the choicest of my suits! + + Creatures I regard with loathing, + Who can calmly take their fill + Of one's Jaeger underclothing:-- + Down, my aching heart, be still! + + +VI + +BABY + + Baby roused its father's ire, + By a cold and formal lisp; + So he placed it on the fire, + And reduced it to a crisp. + Mother said, 'Oh, stop a bit! + This is _overdoing_ it!' + + +VII + +THE CAT + +(_Advice to the Young_) + + My children, you should imitate + The harmless, necessary cat, + Who eats whatever's on his plate, + And doesn't even leave the fat; + Who never stays in bed too late, + Or does immoral things like that; + Instead of saying, 'Shan't!' or 'Bosh!' + He'll sit and wash, and wash, and wash! + + When shadows fall and lights grow dim, + He sits beneath the kitchen stair; + Regardless as to life and limb, + A shady lair he chooses there; + And if you tumble over him, + He simply loves to hear you swear. + And, while bad language _you_ prefer, + He'll sit and purr, and purr, and purr! + + + + +PART III + +_PERVERTED PROVERBS_ + + + + +I + +'VIRTUE IS ITS OWN REWARD' + + Virtue its own reward? Alas! + And what a poor one, as a rule! + Be Virtuous, and Life will pass + Like one long term of Sunday-school. + (No prospect, truly, could one find + More unalluring to the mind.) + + The Model Child has got to keep + His fingers and his garments white; + In church he may not go to sleep, + Nor ask to stop up late at night. + In fact he must not ever do + A single thing he wishes to. + + He may not paddle in his boots, + Like naughty children, at the sea; + The sweetness of Forbidden Fruits + Is not, alas! for such as he. + He watches, with pathetic eyes, + His weaker brethren make mud-pies. + + He must not answer back, oh no! + However rude grown-ups may be; + But keep politely silent, tho' + He brim with scathing repartee; + For nothing is considered worse + Than scoring off Mamma or Nurse. + + He must not eat too much at meals, + Nor scatter crumbs upon the floor; + However vacuous he feels, + He may not pass his plate for more; + --Not tho' his ev'ry organ ache + For further slabs of Christmas cake. + + He is commanded not to waste + The fleeting hours of childhood's days, + By giving way to any taste + For circuses or matinées; + For him the entertainments planned + Are 'Lectures on the Holy Land.' + + He never reads a story-book + By Rider H. or Winston C., + In vain upon his desk you'd look + For tales by Arthur Conan D., + Nor could you find upon his shelf + The works of Rudyard--or myself! + + He always fears that he may do + Some action that is _infra dig._, + And so he lives his short life through + In the most noxious rôle of Prig. + ('Short Life' I say, for it's agreed + The Good die very young indeed.) + + Ah me! how sad it is to think + He could have lived like me--or you! + With practice, and a taste for drink, + Our joys he might have known, he too! + And shared the pleasure _we_ have had + In being gloriously bad! + + The Naughty Boy gets much delight + From doing what he should not do; + But, as such conduct isn't Right, + He sometimes suffers for it, too. + Yet, what's a spanking to the fun + Of leaving vital things Undone? + + The Wicked flourish like the bay, + At Cards or Love they always win, + Good Fortune dogs their steps all day, + They fatten while the Good grow thin. + The Righteous Man has much to bear; + The Bad becomes a Bullionaire! + + For, though he be the greatest sham, + Luck favours him, his whole life through; + At 'Bridge' he always makes a Slam + After declaring 'Sans atout'; + With ev'ry deal his fate has planned + A hundred Aces in his hand. + + Yes, it is always just the same; + He somehow manages to win, + By mere good fortune, any game + That he may be competing in. + At Golf no bunker breaks his club, + For him the green provides no 'rub.' + + At Billiards, too, he flukes away + (With quite unnecessary 'side'); + No matter what he tries to play, + For him the pockets open wide; + He never finds both balls in baulk, + Or makes miss-cues for want of chalk. + + He swears; he very likely bets; + He even wears a flaming necktie; + Inhales Egyptian cigarettes, + And has a 'Mens Inconscia Recti'; + Yet, spite of all, one must confess + That nought succeeds like his excess. + + There's no occasion to be Just, + No need for motives that are fine, + To be Director of a Trust, + Or Manager of a Combine; + Your Corner is a public curse, + Perhaps, but it will fill your purse. + + Then stride across the Public's bones, + Crush all opponents under you, + Until you 'rise on stepping-stones + Of their dead selves'; and, when you do, + The widow's and the orphan's tears + Shall comfort your declining years! + + . . . . . + + Myself, how lucky I must be, + That need not fear so gross an end; + Since Fortune has not favoured me + With many million pounds to spend. + (Still, did that fickle Dame relent, + I'd show you how they _should_ be spent!) + + I am not saint enough to feel + My shoulder ripen to a wing, + Nor have I wits enough to steal + His title from the Copper King; + And there's a vasty gulf between + The man I Am and Might Have Been; + + But tho' at dinner I may take + Too much of Heidsick (extra dry), + And underneath the table make + My simple couch just where I lie, + My mode of roosting on the floor + Is just a trick and nothing more. + + And when, not Wisely but too Well, + My thirst I have contrived to quench, + The stories I am apt to tell + May be, perhaps, a trifle French;-- + (For 'tis in anecdote, no doubt, + That what's Bred in the Beaune comes out.)-- + + It does not render me unfit + To give advice, both wise and right, + Because I do not follow it + Myself as closely as I might; + There's nothing that I wouldn't do + To point the proper road to _you_. + + And this I'm sure of, more or less, + And trust that you will all agree-- + The Elements of Happiness + Consist in being--just like Me; + No sinner, nor a saint perhaps, + But--well, the very best of chaps. + + Share the Experience I have had, + Consider all I've known and seen, + And Don't be Good, and Don't be Bad, + But cultivate a Golden Mean. + + . . . . . + + What makes Existence _really_ nice + Is Virtue--with a dash of Vice. + + +II + +'ENOUGH IS AS GOOD AS A FEAST' + + What is Enough? An idle dream! + One cannot have enough, I swear, + Of Ices or Meringues-and-Cream, + Nougat or Chocolate Éclairs, + Of Oysters or of Caviar, + Of Prawns or Pâté de Foie _Grar_! + + Who would not willingly forsake + Kindred and Home, without a fuss, + For Icing from a Birthday Cake, + Or juicy fat Asparagus, + And journey over countless seas + For New Potatoes and Green Peas? + + They say that a Contented Mind + Is a Continual Feast;--but where + The mental frame, and how to find, + Which can with Turtle Soup compare? + No mind, however full of Ease, + Could be Continual Toasted Cheese. + + For dinner have a sole to eat + (Some Perrier Jouet, '92), + An Entrée then (and, with the meat, + A bottle of Lafitte will do), + A quail, a glass of port (just one), + Liqueurs and coffee, and you've done. + + Your tastes may be of simpler type;-- + A homely pint of 'half-and-half,' + An onion and a dish of tripe, + Or headpiece of the kindly calf. + (Cruel perhaps, but then, you know, + ''_Faut tout souffrir pour être veau_!') + + 'Tis a mistake to eat too much + Of any dishes but the best; + And you, of course, should never touch + A thing you _know_ you can't digest; + For instance, lobster:--if you _do_, + Well,--I'm amayonnaised at you! + + Let this be your heraldic crest: + A bottle (chargé) of Champagne, + A chicken (gorged) with salad (dress'd), + Below, this motto to explain-- + 'Enough is Very Good, may be; + Too Much is Good Enough for Me!' + + +III + +'DON'T BUY A PIG IN A POKE' + + Unscrupulous Pigmongers will + Attempt to wheedle and to coax + The ignorant young housewife till + She purchases her pigs in pokes; + Beasts that have got a Lurid Past, + Or else are far Too Good to Last. + + So, should you not desire to be + The victim of a cruel hoax, + Then promise me, ah! promise me, + You will not purchase pigs in pokes! + ('Twould be an error just as big + To poke your purchase in a pig.) + + Too well I know the bitter cost, + To turn this subject off with jokes; + How many fortunes have been lost + By men who purchased pigs in pokes. + (Ah! think on such when you would talk + With mouths that are replete with pork!) + + And, after dinner, round the fire, + Astride of Grandpa's rugged knee, + Implore your bored but patient sire + To tell you what a Poke may be. + The fact he might disclose to you-- + Which is far more than _I_ can do. + + . . . . . + + The Moral of The Pigs and Pokes + Is not to make your choice too quick. + In purchasing a Book of Jokes, + Pray poke around and take your pick. + Who knows how rich a mental meal + The covers of _this_ book conceal? + + +IV + +'LEARN TO TAKE THINGS EASILY' + + To these few words, it seems to me, + A wealth of sound instruction clings; + O Learn to Take things easily-- + Espeshly Other People's Things; + And Time will make your fingers deft + At what is known as Petty Theft. + + 'Fools and Their Money soon must part!' + And you can help this on, may be, + If, in the kindness of your Heart, + You Learn to Take things easily; + And be, with little education, + A Prince of Misappropriation. + + +V + +'A ROLLING STONE GATHERS NO MOSS' + + I never understood, I own, + What anybody (with a soul) + Could mean by offering a Stone + This needless warning not to Roll; + And what inducement there can be + To gather Moss, I fail to see. + + I'd sooner gather anything, + Like primroses, or news perhaps, + Or even wool (when suffering + A momentary mental lapse); + But could forgo my share of moss, + Nor ever realise the loss. + + 'Tis a botanical disease, + And worthy of remark as such; + Lending a dignity to trees, + To ruins a romantic touch; + A timely adjunct, I've no doubt, + But not worth writing home about. + + Of all the Stones I ever met, + In calm repose upon the ground, + I really never found one yet + With a desire to roll around; + Theirs is a stationary rôle. + (A joke,--and feeble on the whole.) + + But, if I were a stone, I swear + I'd sooner move and view the World, + Than sit and grow the greenest hair + That ever Nature combed and curled. + I see no single saving grace + In being known as 'Mossyface'! + + Instead, I might prove useful for + A weapon in the hand of Crime, + A paperweight, a milestone, or + A missile at Election-time; + In each capacity I could + Do quite incalculable good. + + When well directed from the Pit, + I might promote a welcome death, + If fortunate enough to hit + Some budding Hamlet or Macbeth, + Who twice each day the playhouse fills,-- + (For Further Notice see Small Bills). + + At concerts, too, if you prefer, + I could prevent your growing deaf + By silencing the amateur + Before she reached that upper F; + Or else, in lieu of half-a-brick, + Restrain some local Kubelik. + + Then, human stones, take my advice, + (As you should always do, indeed); + This proverb may be very nice, + But don't you pay it any heed, + And, tho' you make the critics cross, + Roll on, and never mind the moss! + + +VI + +'IT IS NEVER TOO LATE TO MEND' + + Since it can never be too late + To change your life, or else renew it, + Let the unpleasant process wait, + Until you are _compelled_ to do it. + The State provides (and gratis too) + Establishments for such as you. + + Remember this, and pluck up heart, + That, be you publican or parson, + Your ev'ry art must have a start, + From petty larceny to arson; + And even in the burglar's trade, + The cracksman is not born, but made. + + So, if in your career of crime, + You fail to carry out some 'coup,' + Then try again a second time, + And yet again, until you _do_; + And don't despair, or fear the worst, + Because you get found out at first. + + Perhaps the battle will not go, + On all occasions, to the strongest; + You may be fairly certain tho' + That He Laughs Last who Laughs the Longest. + So keep a good reserve of laughter, + Which may be found of use hereafter. + + Believe me that, howe'er well meant, + A good resolve is always brief; + Don't let your precious hours be spent + In turning over a new leaf. + Such leaves, like Nature's, soon decay, + And then are only in the way. + + The Road to--well, a certain spot + (A road of very fair dimensions), + Has, so the proverb tells us, got + A parquet-floor of Good Intentions. + Take care, in your desire to please, + You do not add a brick to these. + + For there may come a moment when + You shall be mended, willy-nilly, + With many more misguided men, + Whose skill is undermined with skilly. + Till then procrastinate, my friend; + 'It _Never_ is Too Late to Mend!' + + +VII + +'A BAD WORKMAN COMPLAINS OF HIS TOOLS' + + This pen of mine is simply grand, + I never loved a pen so much; + This paper (underneath my hand) + Is really a delight to touch; + And never in my life, I think, + Did I make use of finer ink. + + The subject upon which I write + Is ev'rything that I could choose; + I seldom knew my wits more bright, + More cosmopolitan my views; + Nor ever did my head contain + So surplus a supply of brain! + + +VIII + +'DON'T LOOK A GIFT-HORSE IN THE MOUTH' + + I knew a man who lived down South; + He thought this maxim to defy; + He looked a Gift-horse in the Mouth; + The Gift-horse bit him in the Eye! + And, while the steed enjoyed his bite, + My Southern friend mislaid his sight. + + Now, had this foolish man, that day, + Observed the Gift-horse in the _Heel_, + It might have kicked his brains away, + But that's a loss he would not feel; + Because, you see (need I explain?), + My Southern friend has got no brain. + + When any one to you presents + A poodle, or a pocket-knife, + A set of Ping-pong instruments, + A banjo or a lady-wife, + 'Tis churlish, as I understand, + To grumble that they're second-hand. + + And he who termed Ingratitude + As 'worser nor a servant's tooth' + Was evidently well imbued + With all the elements of Truth; + (While he who said 'Uneasy lies + The tooth that wears a crown' was wise). + + 'One must be poor,' George Eliot said, + 'To know the luxury of giving'; + So too one really should be dead + To realise the joy of living. + (I'd sooner be--I don't know which-- + I'd _like_ to be alive and rich!) + + _This_ book may be a Gift-horse too, + And one you surely ought to prize; + If so, I beg you, read it through, + With kindly and uncaptious eyes, + Not grumbling because this particular line doesn't happen to scan, + And this one doesn't rhyme! + + +IX + +POTPOURRI + + There are many more Maxims to which + I would like to accord a front place, + But alas! I have got + To omit a whole lot, + For the lack of available space; + And the rest I am forced to boil down and condense + To the following Essence of Sound without Sense: + + Now the Pitcher that journeys too oft + To the Well will get broken at last. + But you'll find it a fact + That, by using some tact, + Such a danger as this can be past. + (There's an obvious way, and a simple, you'll own, + Which is, if you're a Pitcher, to Let Well alone.) + + Half a loafer is never well-bred, + And Self-Praise is a Dangerous Thing. + And the mice are at play + When the Cat is away, + For a moment, inspecting a King. + (Tho' if Care kills a Cat, as the Proverbs declare, + It is right to suppose that the King will take care.) + + Don't Halloo till you're out of the Wood, + When a Stitch in Good Time will save Nine, + While a Bird in the Hand + Is worth Two, understand, + In the Bush that Needs no Good Wine. + (Tho' the two, if they _Can_ sing but Won't, have been known, + By an accurate aim to be killed with one Stone.) + + Never Harness the Cart to the Horse; + Since the latter should be _à la carte_. + Also, Birds of a Feather + Come Flocking Together, + --Because they can't well Flock Apart. + (You may cast any Bread on the Waters, I think, + But, unless I'm mistaken, you can't make it Sink.) + + It is only the Fool who remarks + That there Can't be a Fire without Smoke; + Has he never yet learned + How the gas can be turned + On the best incombustible coke? + (Would you value a man by the checks on his suits, + And forget '_que c'est le premier passbook qui Coutts?_') + + Now '_De Mortuis Nil Nisi Bonum_,' + Is Latin, as ev'ry one owns; + If your domicile be + Near a Mortuaree, + You should always avoid throwing bones. + (I would further remark, if I could,--but I couldn't-- + That People Residing in Glasshouses shouldn't.) + + You have heard of the Punctual Bird, + Who was First in presenting his Bill; + But I pray you'll be firm, + And remember the Worm + Had to get up much earlier still; + (So that, if you _can't_ rise in the morning, then Don't; + And be certain that Where there's a Will there's a Won't.) + + You can give a bad name to a Dog, + And hang him by way of excuse; + Whereas Hunger, of course; + Is by far the Best Sauce + For the Gander as well as the Goose. + (But you shouldn't judge any one just by his looks, + For a Surfeit of Broth ruins too many Cooks.) + + With the fact that Necessity knows + Nine Points of the Law, you'll agree. + There are just as Good Fish + To be found on a Dish + As you ever could catch in the Sea. + (You should Look ere you Leap on a Weasel Asleep, + And I've also remarked that Still Daughters Run Cheap.) + + The much trodden-on Lane _will_ Turn, + And a Friend is in Need of a Friend; + But the Wisest of Saws, + Like the Camel's Last Straws, + Or the Longest of Worms, have an end. + So, before out of Patience a Virtue you make, + A decisive farewell of these maxims we'll take. + + + + +PART IV + +_OTHER VERSES_ + + + + +BILL + +(_Told by the Hospital Orderly_) + + At Modder, where I met 'im fust, + I thought as 'ow ole Bill was dead; + A splinter, from a shell wot bust, + 'Ad fetched 'im somewheres in the 'ead; + But there! It takes a deal to kill + Them thick-thatched sort o' blokes like Bill. + + In the field-'orspital, nex' day, + The doctors was a-makin' out + The 'casualty returns,' an' they + Comes up an' pulls ole Bill about; + Ole Colonel Wilks, 'e turns to me, + 'Report this "dangerous,"' sez 'e. + + But Bill, 'oo must 'ave 'eard it too, + 'E calls the doctor, quick as thought: + 'I'd take it kindly, sir, if you + 'Could keep me out o' the report. + 'For tho' I'm 'it, an' 'it severe, + 'I doesn't want my friends to 'ear. + + 'I've a ole mother, 'way in Kent, + ''Oo thinks the very world o' me; + 'I'd thank you if I wasn't sent + 'As "wounded dangerous,"' sez 'e; + 'For if she 'ears I'm badly hit, + 'I lay she won't get over it. + + 'At Landman's Drift she lost a lad + '(With the 18th 'Ussars 'e fell), + 'Poor soul, she'd take it mighty bad + 'To think o' losin' me as well; + 'So please, sir, if it's hall the same, + 'I'd ask you not to send my name.' + + The Colonel bloke 'e thinks a bit, + 'Oh, well,' sez 'e, 'per'aps you're right. + 'And, now I come to look at it, + 'I'll send you in as "scalp-wound, slight." + 'O' course it's wrong of me, but still--' + 'Gawd bless you, sir, an' thanks!' sez Bill. + + . . . . . . + + 'E didn't die; 'e scrambled through. + They hoperated on 'is 'ead, + An' Gawd knows wot they didn't do,-- + 'Tripoded' 'im, I think they said. + I see'd 'im, Toosday, in Pall Mall, + Nor never knowed 'im look so well. + + Yes, Bill 'e's going strong just now, + In London, an' employed again; + Tho' it's a fact, 'e sez, as 'ow + The doctors took out 'alf 'is brain! + Ho well, 'e won't 'ave need o' this-- + 'E's working at the War Office. + + +THE LEGEND OF THE AUTHOR + +(_A long way after Ingoldsby_) + + When Anthony Adamson first went to school + The reception he got was decidedly cool; + And, because he was utterly hopeless at games, + He was given all sorts of opprobrious names, + Which ranged the whole gamut from 'fat-head' to 'fool'; + For boys as a rule, Are what nurses call 'crool,' + 'Tis their natural instinct, which nobody blames, + Any more than the habits Peculiar to rabbits, + To label a duffer 'old woman' or 'muff,' or + Some name calculated to cause him to suffer. + They failed in their treatment this time, on the whole, + Since our Anthony thoroughly pitied the rôle + Of the oaf who is muddied, (For Kipling he'd studied), + However strong-hearted, broad-limbed, and warm-blooded, + Who sits in a goal, Quite deficient of soul, + And as blind to the beauties of Life as a mole. + He was rather a curious boy, was this youth, + And a bit of a prig, if you must know the truth, + And his comrades considered him weird and uncouth, + For he didn't much mind When they left him behind, + And, intent upon cricket, Went off to the wicket; + Some other less heating employment he'd find, + And, while his young playfellows fielded and batted, + This curious fat-head, Ink-fingered, hair-matted, + Would take a new pen from his pocket, and lick it, + Then into the ink-bottle thoughtfully stick it, + And, chewing the holder ('Twas fashioned of gold, + Or at least so 'twas sold By a stationer bold, + And at any rate furnished a good imitation), + In deep rumination, With much mastication, + And wonderful patience, Await inspirations; + And brilliant ideas would arrive on occasions; + When frequently followed, The pen being swallowed, + As up to his eyes in the inkpot he wallowed. + + So all the day long and for half of the night + Would young Anthony Adamson nibble and write, + With extravagant feelings of joy and delight, + And it may sound absurd, But 'twas thus, as I've heard, + That he learnt to acquire the appropriate word; + And altho' composition, Which was his ambition, + At first proved a trifle untamed and refractory; + Arrived in a while At evolving a style + Which a Stevenson even might deem satisfactory. + + Now when Anthony A. was as yet in his 'teens + He began to take aim at the big magazines, + With articles, verses, and little love-scenes; + And short stories he wrote, Which he sent with a note + (Which I haven't the space nor the leisure to quote), + Containing a humble request, and a hope, + And some stamps and a clearly addressed envelope. + + Now a few of these got to the Editor's desk, + And he found them well-written and quite picturesque, + And he sighed to see talent like this go to waste + On what couldn't appeal to the popular taste. + For the Public, you see (With a capital P), + Doesn't care what it reads, just so long as it be + Something really exciting, however bad writing, + With wonderful heroes, And villains like Neroes, + Who, running as serials, Wearing imperials, + Revel in bloodshed and bombast and fighting. + + So back to the Author his manuscript went; + Altho' sometimes a friendly old Editor sent + An encouraging letter, To say he'd do better + To lower his style to the popular level; + When Anthony proudly (Of course not out loudly, + But mentally) told him to go to the devil! + + But a few of his articles never came back, + And their whereabouts no one was able to track, + For some persons who edited, (Can it be credited?) + Finding it paid them, Unduly mislaid them + (Behaviour most rare Nowadays anywhere, + And to ev'ry tradition entirely opposed), + And grew fat on the numerous stamps he enclosed. + Tho' to this I am really unable to swear, + Or at any rate haven't the courage to dare. + + Now when Anthony Adamson grew rather older, + And wiser, and bolder, And broader of shoulder, + He thought he'd a fancy to write for the Press,-- + 'Tis a common idea with the young, more or less;-- + And he saw himself doing Critiques and reviewing + The latest new books as they came from the printers; + To set them on thrones or to smash them to splinters, + To damn with faint praise, Or with eulogies raise, + As he banned or he blest, Just whatever seemed best + To the wit and the wisdom of twenty-three winters. + But when he had carefully read thro' the papers, + Arranged to the taste of our nation of drapers, + And wisely as Solomon Studied each column, an + Awful attack of despair and depression + Assailed him, and then, As he threw down his pen, + He was forced to confess To no hope of success, + If he entered the great journalistic profession. + + For the only description of 'copy' that pays, + In the journals that ev'ry one reads nowadays, + Is the personal matter, Impertinent chatter, + The tales of the tailor, the barber, the hatter; + Society small talk, And mere servants'-hall talk, + The sort of what's-nobody's-business-at-all-talk; + And those who can handle The latest big scandal + With the taste of a Thug and the tact of a Vandal, + Whatever society paper they write in, + Can always provide what their readers delight in. + An article, vulgarly written, which deals + With the food that celebrities eat at their meals + To the popular intellect always appeals. + People laugh themselves hoarse At the latest divorce, + While a peer's breach of promise is comic, of course; + How eager each face is, As ev'ry one races + To read the details of the Cruelty cases! + And a magistrate's pun Is considered good fun, + And arouses the bench of reporters from torpor, + When it's at the expense of some broken-down pauper! + + So Anthony pondered the different ways + Of attaining and gaining the popular praise; + And selected a score of his brightest essays, + Just enough for a book, Which he hopefully took + To some publishers, thinking perhaps they would look + At what might (as he couldn't help modestly hinting) + Repay the expense and the trouble of printing. + Now the publishers all were extremely polite, + And encouraging quite, For they saw he could write; + But the answer they gave him was always the same. + 'You are not,' so they said, 'in the least bit to blame, + And your style is so good, Be it well understood, + We'd be happy to publish your work if we could; + But alas! All the people who know are agreed + This is not what the Public demands, or would read. + 'It is over the head Of the people,' they said. + 'If you'd only write down to the popular level!' + (Once more, he replied, they could go to the devil!) + The result to our author was not unexpected, + And, as on his failures he sadly reflected, + He took out his pen and a nib he selected, + Then wrote (and his verses Were studded with curses) + This poem, the Lay of the Author (Rejected). + + _The rejected Author's cup + Comes from out a bitter bin, + Constable won't 'take him up,' + Chambers will not 'take him in.'_ + + _Publishers, when interviewed, + Each alas! in turn looks Black; + De la Rue is De-la-rude, + Nutt is far too hard to crack._ + + _Author, humble as a vassal + (He is feeling Low as well), + Sadly waits without the Cassell, + Vainly tries to press the Bell._ + + _Author, hourly growing leaner, + Finds each day his jokes more rare, + Asks the Longman if he's Green, or + Spottiswoode to take the Eyre._ + + _Author, blithe as lark each morning, + Finds each night his tale unheard, + And, when Fred'rick gives him Warn(e)ing, + Is not Gay as any Bird._ + + _Author, to his writings partial, + Musters their array en bloc, + Which the Simpkins will not Marshall, + And the Elliot will not Stock._ + + _Tho' for little he be yearning, + Yet that little Long he'll want, + When the Lane has got no turning, + And the Richards will not Grant._ + + Now when Anthony's life it grew harder and harder; + Less coal in the cellar, less meat in the larder; + He thought for a while, And at last (with a smile) + He determined to sacrifice even his style. + So he wrote just whatever came into his head, + Without any regard for the living or dead, + Or for what his friends thought or his enemies said. + From his style he effaced, As incentives to waste, + All the canons of grammar and even good taste; + And so book after book after book he brought out, + Which you've probably read, and you know all about; + For the publishers bought them, And ev'ry one thought them + So splendidly vulgar, that no one had ever + Read anything quite so improperly clever. + + He tried ev'ry style, from the fashion of Ouida's + (His characters being Society Leaders; + The Heroine, suited to middle-class readers,-- + A governess she, who might well have been humbler; + The Hero a Duke, an inveterate grumbler; + And a Guardsman who drank crême-de-menthe from a tumbler) + To that of another more popular lady, + And wrote about aristocrats who were shady, + And showed that the persons you happen to meet + In the Very Best Houses are always effete; + That they gamble all night, in particular sets, + And (Oh, hasn't she said it, Tho' can it be credit- + Ed?) have no intention of paying their debts! + + His best, which the Critics said 'teemed with expression,' + Was the one-volume novel 'A Drunkard's Confession'; + The next, 'My Good Woman. A Love Tale'; another, + Most popular this, 'The Flirtations of Mother'; + And lastly, the crowning success of his life, + 'How the Other Half Lives. By a Baronet's Wife.' + And the Publishers now are all down on their knees, + As they offer what fees He may happen to please; + And success he discerns As with rapture he learns + The amount that he earns From his roy'lty returns. + (N.B.--I omit the last 'a' here in Royalty, + For reasons of scansion and not from disloyalty.) + + The moral of this is quite easy to see; + If a popular author you're anxious to be, + You won't care a digamma For truth or for grammar, + Be far from straitlaced Upon questions of taste, + And don't trouble to polish your style or to bevel, + But always write down to the popular level; + Be vulgar and smart, And you'll get to the heart + Of the persons directing the lit'rary mart, + And your writings must reach (It's a figure of speech) + The--(well, what shall we call it--compositor's) devil! + + +THE MOTRIOT + +(_After Robert Browning_) + + 'It was chickens, chickens, all the way, + With children crossing the road like mad; + Police disguised in the hedgerows lay, + Stop-watches and large white flags they had, + At nine o'clock o' this very day. + + 'I broke the record to Tunbridge Wells, + And I shouted aloud, to all concerned, + "Give room, good folk, do you hear my bells?" + But my motor skidded and overturned; + Then exploded--and afterwards, what smells! + + 'Alack! it was I rode over the son + Of a butcher; rolled him all of a heap! + Nought man could do did I leave undone; + And I thought that butcher's boys were cheap,-- + But this, poor man, 'twas his only one. + + 'There's nobody in my motor now,-- + Just a tangled car in the ditch upset; + For the fun of the fair is, all allow, + At the County Court, or, better yet, + By the very foot of the dock, I trow. + + . . . . . + + 'Thus I entered, and thus I go; + In Court the magistrate sternly said, + "Five guineas fine, and the costs you owe!" + I might not question, so promptly paid. + Henceforth I _walk_; I am safer so.' + + +THE BALLAD OF THE ARTIST + + Archibald Ames is an artist, + And a widely renowned R.A., + For albeit his pictures are thoroughly bad, + The greatest success he has always had, + And he makes his profession pay. + + He has no idea of proportion, + No notion of colour or line, + But perhaps for such there is little need, + Since everybody is fully agreed + That his _subjects_ are quite divine. + + His pictures are sweetly simple; + The ingredients all must know,-- + Just a fair-haired child and a dog or two, + A very old man, and a baby's shoe, + And some bunches of mistletoe. + + In some, an angelic infant + Is helping a kitten to play, + Or dressing a cat in Grandpapa's hat + (Which is equally hard on the hat and the cat), + Or teaching a 'dolly' to pray. + + Or else there's a runaway couple, + With a distant view of papa, + An elderly party with rich man's gout, + Who swears himself rapidly inside out, + In a broken-down motor-car. + + Or it may be a scene in the Workhouse, + Where a widow of high degree, + With almost suspiciously puce-coloured hair, + Has arrived in a gorgeous carriage-and-pair, + To distribute a pound of tea. + + Sometimes he portrays a battle, + With a 'square' like a Rugby scrum, + Where a bugler, the colours grasped in his hand, + And making a final determined stand, + Plays 'God Save the King' on a drum. + + This is the kind of subject + That he gives to us day by day; + You may jeer at the absence of all technique, + But these are the pictures the people seek + From this justly renowned R.A. + + In distant suburban boudoirs + You will find them, in gilded frames, + 'The Prodigal Calf' (a homely scene) + 'Grandmamma's Boots,' or 'To Gretna Green,' + The Works of Archibald Ames. + + And, if they appeal to the public, + In the usual course of events, + Some enterprising manager comes, + And buys them up for enormous sums, + And they serve as advertisements. + + Where the child is painting the kitten + With Potter's Indelible Dye, + While Grandpapa shows to the reckless cat + McBride's Indestructible Gibus Hat, + (Which Ev'ry one ought to buy). + + And the Gretna Green arrangement + An interest new acquires, + By depicting how great the advantages are + Of the Patented Spoofenhauss Auto-car, + With unpuncturable tyres. + + And the widow (Try Kay's for mourning), + As black as Stevenson's Ink, + Is curing the paupers of sundry ills + By the gift of a box of the Palest Pills + For persons who may be Pink. + + And the bugler-boy in the battle, + With trousers of Blackett's Blue, + Unshrinking as Simpson's Serge, and free + As Winkleson's Patent Ear-drum he, + And steadfast as Holdhard's Glue. + + This is the modern fashion + In the popular art of the day, + And this is the reason that Archibald Ames + Ranks high among other familiar names + As a very well-known R.A. + + +THE BALLAD OF PING-PONG + +(_After Swinburne_) + + The murmurous moments of May-time, + What bountiful blessings they bring! + As dew to the dawn of the day-time, + Suspicions of Summer to Spring! + + Let others imagine the time light, + With maidens or books on their knee, + Or live in the languorous limelight + That tinges the trunk of the Tree. + + Let the timorous turn to their tennis, + Or the bowls to which bumpkins belong, + But the thing for grown women and men is + The pastime of ping and of pong. + + The game of the glorious glamour! + The feeling to fight till you fall! + The hurricane hail and the hammer! + The batter and bruise of the ball! + + The glory of getting behind it! + The brief but bewildering bliss! + The fear of the failure to find it! + The madness at making a miss! + + The sound of the sphere as you smack it, + Derisive, decisive, divine! + The riotous rush of your racket, + To mix and to mingle with mine! + + The diadem dear to the King is, + How sweet to the singer his song; + To me so the plea of the ping is, + And the passionate plaint of the pong. + + I live for it, love for it, like it; + Delight of my dearest of dreams! + To stand and to strive and to strike it,-- + So certain, so simple it seems! + + Then give me the game of the gay time, + The ball on its wandering wing, + The pastime for night or for day-time, + The Pong, not to mention the Ping! + + +THE PESSIMIST + +(_After Maeterlinck_) + + Life's bed is full of crumbs and rice, + No roses float on my lagoon; + There are no fingers, white and nice, + To rub my head with scented ice, + Or feed me with a spoon. + + I think of all the days gone by, + Replete with black and blue regret; + No comets light my glaucous sky, + My tears are hardly ever dry, + I never can forget! + + I see the yellow dog, Desire, + That strains against the lead of Hope, + With lilac eyes and lips of fire, + As all in vain he strives to tire + The hand that holds the rope. + + I see the kisses of the past, + Like lambkins dying in the snow, + The honeymoon that did not last, + The tinted youth that flew so fast, + And all this vale of woe. + + So, raising high my raucous cry, + I ask (and Fates no answer give), + Why am I pre-ordained to die? + O cruel Fortune, tell me, why + Am I allowed to live? + + +THE PLACE WHERE THE OLD CLEEK BROKE + +(_After Whyte-Melville_) + +Life is hollow to the golfer, of however high his rank, + If the dock-leaf and the nettle grow too free, +If a bramble bar his progress, if he's bunkered by a bank, + If his golf-ball jerks and wobbles off the tee. +There's a ditch I never pass, full of stones and broken glass, + And I'd sooner lift my ball and count a stroke, +For the tears my vision blot when I see the fatal spot, + 'Tis the place where my old cleek broke. + +There's his haft upon the table, there's his head upon a chair; + And a better never felt the summer rain; +I may curse and I may swear, my umbrella-stand is bare, + I shall never use my gallant cleek again! +With what unaccustomed speed would he strike the Golf-ball teed! + How it sounded on his metal at each stroke! +Not a flyer in the game such parabolas could claim, + At the place where the old cleek broke! + +Was he cracked? I hardly think it. Did he slip? I do not know. + He had struck the ball for forty yards or more; +He was driving smooth and even, just as hard as he could go, + I had never seen him striking so before. +But I hardly can complain, for there must have been a strain + I had forced beyond the compass of a joke-- +And no club, however strong, could have lasted over long + At the place where the old cleek broke! + +There are men, both staid and sound, who hold it happiness unique, + At which only the irreverent can scoff, +That is reached by means of brassey, driver, niblick, spoon, or cleek, + And that life is not worth living without Golf. +Well, I hope it may be so; for myself I only know + That I never more shall try another stroke; +Yes, I've wearied of the sport, since a lesson I was taught, + At the place where the old cleek broke. + + +THE HOMES OF LONDON + +(_After Mrs. Hemans_) + + The happy homes of London, + How beautiful they stand! + The crowded human rookeries + That mar this Christian land. + Where cats in hordes upon the roof + For nightly music meet, + And the horse, with non-adhesive hoof, + Skates slowly down the street. + + The merry homes of London! + Around bare hearths at night, + With hungry looks and sickly mien, + The children wail and fight. + There woman's voice is only heard + In shrill, abusive key, + And men can hardly speak a word + That is not blasphemy. + + The healthy homes of London! + With weekly wifely wage, + The hopeless husbands, out of work, + Their daily thirst assuage. + The overcrowded tenement + Is comfortless and bare, + The atmosphere is redolent + Of hunger and despair. + + The blessed homes of London! + By thousands, on her stones, + The helpless, homeless, destitute, + Do nightly rest their bones. + On pavements Piccadilly way, + In slumber like the dead, + Their wan pathetic forms they lay, + And make their humble bed. + + The free, fair homes of London! + From all the thinking throng, + Who mourn a nation's apathy, + The cry goes up, 'How long!' + And those who love old England's name, + Her welfare and renown, + Can only contemplate with shame + The homes of London town. + + +THE HAPPIEST LAND + +(_After Longfellow_) + + There sat one day in a tavern, + Somewhere near Lincoln's Inn, + Six sleepy-looking working men, + Imbibing 'twos' of gin. + + The Potman filled their tankards + With the liquor each preferred, + Torpid and somnolent they sat, + And spake not one rude word. + + But when the potman vanished, + A brawny Scot stood forth; + 'Change here,' quoth he, 'for Aberdeen, + Strathpeffer and the North! + + 'No country in the world, I ken, + With Scotia can compare, + With all the dour and canny men, + And the bonnie lasses there. + + 'I hae a wee bit hoosie, + An' a burn runs greetin' by, + An' unco crockit Minister + An' a bairn to milk the ki'; + + 'I hae a muckle haggis, + A bap an' a skian-dhu, + A cairngorm and a bannock, + An' a sonsy kailyard too!' + + 'Bejabers!' said an Irishman, + 'Acushla and Ochone! + There's but one country on the Earth, + Ould Oireland stands alone! + + 'Give me the Emerald Isle, avick! + With murphies for to ate, + An' as many pigs and childer + As the fingers on me _fate_.' + + Exclaimed a Frenchman, 'Par Exemple! + Donnez-moi ma Patrie! + Vin ordinaire and savoir faire + Are good enough for me! + + 'Have you the penknife of my Aunt? + Mais non, hélas! but then, + The female gardener has got + Some paper and a pen!' + + Then spoke a Greek, 'The Isles of Greece! + What can compare with those? + Thalassa! and Eurêka! + Rhododaktylos êôs!' + + 'On London streets I'm working, + With a vat of asphalt stew, + Putting off the old macadam, + And a-laying down the new; + + 'But the country of my childhood + Is the best that man may know, + Oh didêmi also phêmi, + Zôê mou sas agapô!' + + Straight rose a German and remarked + 'Vot of die Vaterland? + Ach Himmel! Unberüfen! + And the luffly German band? + + 'Gif me some Gotterdammerung, + And nuddings more I need, + But ewigkeit and sauerkraut + And niebelungenlied!' + + 'Nonsense!' exclaimed an Englishman. + ('I surely ought to know!) + Old England is the only place + Where any man should go! + + 'Show me the something furriner + Who such a fact denies, + And, if I can't convince 'im, + I can black 'is bloomin' eyes!' + + Then entered in the potman, + And pointed to the door; + 'Outside,' said he, 'is where _you_'ll go, + If I have any more!' + + . . . . . + + It was six friendly working men, + Brimming with 'twos' of gin, + Who crept from out the tavern, + As the Dawn came creeping in. + + +A LONDON INVOLUNTARY + +(_After W. E. Henley_) + +_Spizzicato non poco skirtsando_ + + Old Palace Yard! + Hark how their breath draws lank and hard, + The sallow stern police! + Breaking the desultory midnight peace + With plangent call, to cry + 'Division'! This their first especial charge. + And now, low, luminous, and large, + The slumbrous Member hurries by. + Let us take cab, Dear Heart, take cab and go + From out the lith of this loud world (I know + The meaning of the word). Come, let us hie + To where the lamp-posts ouch the troubled sky,-- + (And if there is one thing for which I vouch + It is my knowledge of the verb to ouch.) + So, as we steal + Homeward together, we shall feel + The buxom breeze,-- + (Observe the epithet; an apt one, if you please.) + Down through the sober paven street, + Which, purged and sweet, + Gleams in the ambient deluge of the water-cart, + Bemused and blurred and pinkly lustrous, where + The blandest lion in Trafalgar Square + Seems but a part + Of the great continent of light,-- + An attribute of the embittered night,-- + How new, how naked and how clean! + Couchant, slow, shimmering, superb! + Constant to one environment, nor even seen + Pottering aimlessly along the kerb. + Lo! + On the pavement, one of those + Grim men who go down to the sea in ships, + Blaspheming, reeling in a foul ellipse, + Home to some tangled alley-bedside goes,-- + Oozing and flushed, sharing his elemental mirth + With all the jocund undissembling earth; + Drooping his shameless nose, + Nor hitching up his drifting, shifting clothes. + And here is Piccadilly! Loudly dense, + Intractable, voluminous, immense! + (Dear, dear my heart's desire, can I be talking sense?) + + +BLUEBEARD + + Yes, I am Bluebeard, and my name + Is one that children cannot stand; + Yet once I used to be so tame + I'd eat out of a person's hand; + So gentle was I wont to be, + A Curate might have played with me. + + People accord me little praise, + Yet I am not the least alarming; + I can recall, in bygone days, + A maid once said she thought me charming. + She was my friend,--no more I vow,-- + And--she's in an asylum now. + + Girls used to clamour for my hand, + Girls I refused in simple dozens; + I said I'd be their brother, and + They promised they would be my cousins. + (One I accepted,--more or less,-- + But I've forgotten her address.) + + They worried me like anything + By their proposals ev'ry day; + Until at last I had to ring + The bell, and have them cleared away; + They longed to share my lofty rank, + Also my balance at the bank. + + My hospitality to those + Whom I invite to come and stay + Is famed; my wine like water flows,-- + Exactly like, some people say; + But this is mere impertinence + To one who never spares expense. + + When through the streets I walk about, + My subjects stand and kiss their hands, + Raise a refined metallic shout, + Wave flags and warble tunes on bands; + While bunting hangs on ev'ry front,-- + With my commands to let it bunt! + + When I come home again, of course, + Retainers are employed to cheer, + My paid domestics get quite hoarse + Acclaiming me, and you can hear + The welkin ringing to the sky,-- + Ay, ay, and let it welk, say I! + + And yet, in spite of this, there are + Some persons who, at diff'rent times, + --(Because I am so popular)-- + Accuse me of most awful crimes; + A girl once said I was a flirt! + Oh my! how the expression hurt! + + I _never_ flirted in the least, + Never for very long, I mean,-- + Ask any lady (now deceased) + Who partner of my life has been;-- + Oh well, of course, sometimes, perhaps, + I meet a girl, like other chaps,-- + + And, if I like her very much, + And if she cares for me a bit, + Where is the harm of look or touch, + If neither of us mentions it? + It isn't right, I don't suppose, + But no one's hurt if no one knows! + + One should not break oneself _too_ fast + Of little habits of this sort, + Which may be definitely classed + With gambling, or a taste for port; + They should be _slowly_ dropped, until + The Heart is subject to the Will. + + I knew a man (in Regent Street) + Who, at a very slight expense, + By persevering, was complete- + Ly cured of Total Abstinence + An altered life he has begun + And takes a glass with any one. + + I knew another man, whose wife + Was an invet'rate suicide; + She daily strove to take her life, + And (naturally) nearly died; + But some such system she essayed, + And now--she's eighty in the shade. + + Ah, the new leaves I try to turn! + But, like so many men in town, + I seem (as with regret I learn) + Merely to turn the corner down; + A habit which, I fear, alack! + Makes it more easy to turn back. + + I have been criticised a lot; + I venture to inquire what for? + Because, forsooth, I have not got + The instincts of a bachelor! + Just hear my story, you will find + How grossly I have been maligned. + + I was unlucky with my wives, + So are the most of married men; + Undoubtedly they lost their lives,-- + Of course, but even so, what then? + I loved them like no other man, + And I _can_ love, you bet I can! + + My first was little Emmeline, + More beautiful than day was she; + Her proud, aristocratic mien + Was what at once attracted me. + I naturally did not know + That I should soon dislike her so. + + But there it was! And you'll infer + I had not very long to wait + Before my red-hot love for her + Turned to unutterable hate. + So, when this state of things I found, + I had her casually drowned. + + My next was Sarah, sweet but shy, + And quite inordinately meek; + Yes, even now I wonder why + I had her hanged within the week; + Perhaps I felt a bit upset, + Or else she bored me. I forget. + + Then came Evangeline, my third, + And when I chanced to be away, + She, so I subsequently heard, + Was wont (I deeply grieve to say) + With my small retinue to flirt. + I strangled her. I hope it hurt. + + Isabel was, I think, my next,-- + (That is, if I remember right),-- + And I was really very vexed + To find her hair come off at night; + To falsehood I could not connive, + And so I had her boiled alive. + + Then came Sophia, I believe, + Her coiffure was at least her own; + Alas! she fancied to deceive + Her friends, by altering its tone. + She dyed her locks a flaming red! + I suffocated her in bed. + + Susannah Maud was number six, + But she did not survive a day; + Poor Sue, she had no parlour tricks, + And hardly anything to say. + A little strychnine in her tea + Finished her off, and I was free. + + Yet I did not despair, and soon, + In spite of failures, started off + Upon my seventh honeymoon, + With Jane; but could not stand her cough. + 'Twas chronic. Kindness was in vain. + I pushed her underneath the train. + + Well, after her, I married Kate, + A most unpleasant woman. Oh! + I caught her at the garden gate, + Kissing a man I didn't know; + And, as that didn't suit me quite, + I blew her up with dynamite. + + Most married men, so sorely tried + As this, would have been rather bored. + Not I, but chose another bride, + And married Ruth. Alas! she snored! + I served her just the same as Kate, + And so she joined the other eight. + + My last was Grace; I am not clear, + I _think_ she didn't like me much; + She used to scream when I came near, + And shuddered at my lightest touch. + She seemed to wish to keep aloof, + And so I threw her off the roof. + + This is the point I wish to make;-- + From all the wives for whom I grieve, + Whose lives I had perforce to take, + Not one complaint did I receive; + And no expense was spared to please + My spouses at their obsequies. + + My habits, I would have you know, + Are perfect, as they've always been; + You ask if I am good, and go + To church, and keep my fingers clean? + I do, I mean to say I am, + I have the morals of a lamb. + + In my domains there is no sin, + Virtue is rampant all the time, + Since I so thoughtfully brought in + A bill which legalises crime; + Committing things that are not wrong + Must pall before so very long. + + And if what you imagine vice + Is not considered so at all, + Crime doesn't seem the least bit nice, + There's no temptation then to fall; + For half the charm of things we do + Is knowing that we oughtn't to. + + Believe me, then, I am not bad, + Though in my youth I had to trek, + Because I happened to have had + Some difficulties with a cheque. + What forgery in some might be + Is absent-mindedness in me! + + I know that I was much abused, + No doubt when I was young and rash, + But I should not have been accused + Of misappropriating cash. + I may have sneaked a silver dish;-- + Well, you may search me if you wish! + + So, now you see me, more or less, + As I would figure in your thoughts; + A trifle given to excess, + And prone perhaps to vice of sorts; + When tempted, rather apt to fall, + But still--a good chap after all! + + +'THE WOMAN WITH THE DEAD SOLES' + +(_After Stephen Phillips_) + + Attracted to the frozen river's brink, + Where on a small impromptu snow-swept rink, + The happy skaters darted left and right, + Or circled amorously out of sight, + Some self-supporting; some, like falling stars, + Spread-eagling ankle-weak parabolas; + I watched the human swarm, and I was 'ware + A woman, disarranged, knelt on a chair. + She had cold feet on which she could not run, + And piteously she thawed them in the sun. + Those feet were of a woman that alone + Was kneeling; a pink liquid by her shone, + Which raising to her luminous, lantern jaw, + She sipped; or idly stirred it with a straw. + Upon her hat she wore a kind of fowl, + An hummingbird, I ween, or else an owl. + Then turned to me. I looked the other way, + Trembling; I knew the words she wished to say. + So warm her gaze the blood rushed to my head, + Instinctively I knew her feet were dead. + Amorphous feet, like monumental moons, + Pavement-obliterating, vast, pontoons, + Superbly varnished, to the ice had come, + And now, snow-kissed, frost-fettered, dangled numb. + Gently she spoke,--the while my senses whirled, + Of 'largest circulations in the world'; + Wildly she spoke, as babble men in dreams, + Of feeling life's blood 'rushing to extremes'; + But I ignored her with deliberate stare, + Until the indelicate thing began to swear. + Sensations as of pins and needles rose, + Apollinaris-like, in tingled toes. + She felt the hungry frost that punctured holes, + Like concentrated seidlitz, in her soles. + Feebly she stept; and sudden was aware + Her feet had gone,--they were no longer there,-- + And from her boots was willing to be freed; + She would not keep what she could never need. + Sullenly I consented, and withdrew + From either heel a huge chaotic shoe; + Yet for a time laboriously and slow + She journeyed with her ponderous boots, as though + Along with her she could not help but bear + The bargelike burdens she was wont to wear. + Towards me she reeled; and 'Oh! my Uncle,' cried, + 'My Uncle!' but I pushed her to one side, + Then smiled upon her so she could not stay,-- + (My smile can frighten motor-cars away):-- + While thus I grinned, not knowing what to do, + A belted beadle, in immaculate blue, + Plucked at my sleeve, and shattered my romance, + Wheeling on cushion tires an ambulance. + Deliberately then he laid her there, + Tucked in and bore away; I did not care! + + +ROSEMARY + +(_A Ballad of the Boudoir_) + + 'E'er August be turned to September, + Nor Summer to Autumn as yet, + My darling, you Autumn remember + What Summer so sure to forget. + + 'Though age may extinguish the ember + That glowed in our hearts when we met, + Remember, my love, to remember, + And I will forget to forget. + + 'Who knows but the winds of December + May drift us asunder, my pet; + And if I forget to remember, + Remember, my sweet, to forget! + + 'My beauty will fade, as the posy + You gave me that night on the stairs; + My lips will not always be rosy, + My head cannot give itself 'airs. + + 'Alas! as we both become older, + Existence draws nigh to a close; + So, until I've forgotten your shoulder, + You must not remember my nose. + + 'Our days were not all sunny weather; + Even so we have nought to regret,-- + Ah! let us remember together, + Until we forget to forget!' + + +PORTKNOCKIE'S PORTER + +(_With apologies to Porphyria's Lover_) + + The train came early in to-night, + The sullen guard was soon awake, + And threw my luggage down, for spite, + To where the platform seemed a lake; + And did his best my box to break. + When sidled up a porter; straight, + He mopped the platform with a broom, + And, kneeling, made the well-filled grate + Blaze up within the waiting-room, + And so dispelled the usual gloom. + Which done, he came and took his seat + Beside me, doffed his coat, untied + His bootlaces, and let his feet + Peep coyly out on either side; + Then called me. When no voice replied, + He rolled his shirt-sleeve up, and rose, + And laid his brawny biceps bare, + And, where my eyebrows meet my nose, + He slowly shook his fist, just there, + And seized me by my yellow hair. + Then roughly asked me, had I got + A head as empty as a bubble? + Bidding me sternly, did I not + Desire henceforth to see things double, + To give him something for his trouble. + Nor could my arguments prevail; + Entreaties, threats were all in vain! + Returned he to the twice-told tale + Of how, from out the midnight train, + He bore my luggage through the rain. + I fixed him with my cold grey eye, + But all in vain; at last I knew + That porter hated me; (though why + I cannot understand, can you?) + And what on earth was I to do! + Next moment, though I still perspire + To think of it, I quickly found + A thing to do; and on the fire + I pushed him backwards with a bound, + And piled the coal up all around. + Cremated him. No pain he felt. + As a shut coop that holds a hen, + I oped the register and smelt + An odour as of burnt quill-pen. + My laughter bubbled over then. + I seized him lightly, with the tongs + About his waist; and through the door + I bore him, burning with my wrongs, + And laid him on the line. What's more, + The down express was due at four. + + . . . . . + + The mark is on the metals still, + A gruesome stain, I must confess, + And, when I pass, it makes me ill + To note the somewhat painful mess + Concocted by the down express. + Portknockie's porter; so he died. + The date of inquest is deferred. + 'Tis thought a case of suicide; + And he who might have seen or heard,-- + The guard,--has never said a word. + + +THE BALLAD OF THE LITTLE JINGLANDER + +'WHEN THE MOTHER COUNTRY CALLS!' + +(_With apologies to all concerned_) + +_North and South and East and West, the message travels fast! +East and West and North and South, the bugles blare and blast! +North and West and East and South, the battle-cry grows plain! +West and South and North and East, it echoes back again!_ + +For the East is calling Westwards, and the North is speaking South, +There's a threat on ev'ry curling lip, an oath in ev'ry mouth; +'Tis the shadow of an Empire o'er the Universe that falls, +And the winds of Heaven wonder when the Mother-country calls! + +Now the call is carried coastwise, from Calay to Bungapore, +From the sunny South Pacific to the North Atlantic shore; +Gathers volume in its footsteps and grows grander as it goes, +From Jeboom to Pongawongo, where the Rumtumpootra flows. +The 'native-born' he sits alert beneath a deodar, +He sharpens up his 'cummerbund' and loads his 'khitmagar,' + +His 'ekkah' stands untasted, as he girds upon his brow +The 'syce' his father gave him, saying 'unkah punkah jow!' + + _Come forth, you babu jemadar, + No lackh of pice we bring, + Bid the ferash comb your moustashe, + And join the great White King!_ + +And Westward, where 'Our Lady of the Sunshine' (not 'the Snows') +Delights to herd the caribou, and where the chipmunk grows, +The 'habitant' he sits amid a grove of maple trees, +He decorates his shanty and he polishes his 'skis.' +And see! Through ranch or lumber-camp, where'er the news shall go, +The daughters cease to gather fruit, the sons to shovel snow! + +They love the dear old Mother-land that they have never seen, +The Empire that they advertise as 'vaster than has been'! + + _Come forth, you mild militiaman, + To conquer or to fail, + Who is it helps the Lion's whelps + Untwist the Lion's tail?_ + +The pride of race, the pride of place, and bond of blood they feel, +The Indies indicate it and New Zealand shows new zeal. +The daughters in their Mother's house are mistress in their own; +They are her heirs, her flesh is theirs, and they would share her bone! +Lo! Greater Britain stretches out her hands across the sea; +Australia forgets her impecuniositee; +On Afric's shore the wily Boer is ready now to fight, +For the Khaki and the rooinek, for the Empire and the Right! + + _Come forth, you valiant volunteer, + Come forth to do or die, + You give a hand to Mother, and + She'll help you by and by!_ + +Upon her score of distant shores the sun is always bright; +(And always in her empire, too, it must somewhere be night!) +Her birthplace is the Ocean, where her pennon braves the breeze; +Her motto, 'What is ours we'll hold (and what is not we'll seize!)' +Her rule is strong, her purse is long, her sons are stern and true, +With iron hands she holds her lands (and other people's too). +She sees her chance and cries 'Advance,' while others stand and gape, +Her oxengoads shall claim the roads from Cairo to the Cape. + + _Come out, you big black Fuzzy-Wuz, + You've got to take your share; + We'll make you sweat till you forget + You broke a British Square!_ + +_North and South and East and West, the message travels fast! +East and West and North and South, the bugles blare and blast! +Hear we but a whisper that the foe is at the walls, +And, by Gad, we'll show them something when the Mother Country calls!_ + + +AFTWORD + + 'Tis done! We reach the final page + With feelings of relief, I'm certain; + And there arrives, at such a stage, + The moment to ring down the Curtain. + (This metaphor is freely taken + From Shakespeare,--or perhaps from Bacon.) + + The Book perused, our Future brings + A plethora of blank to-morrows, + When memories of Happier Things + Will be our Sorrow's Crown of Sorrows. + (I trust you recognise this line + As being Tennyson's, not mine.) + + My verses may indeed be few, + But are they not, to quote the poet, + 'The sweetest things that ever grew + Beside a human door'? I know it! + (What an _in_human door would be, + Enquire of Wordsworth, please, not me.) + + 'Twas one of my most cherished dreams + To write a Moral Book some day;-- + What says the Bard? 'The best laid schemes + Of Mice and Men gang aft agley!' + (The Bard here mentioned, by the bye, + Is Robbie Burns, of course,--not I.) + + And tho' my pen records each thought + As swift as the phonetic Pitman, + Morality is not my 'forte,' + O Camarados! (_vide_ Whitman). + And, like the Porcupine, I still + Am forced to ply a fretful quill. + + We may be Masters of our Fate, + (As Henley was inspired to mention), + Yet am I but the Second Mate + Upon the s.s. 'Good Intention'; + For me the course direct is lacking,-- + I have to do a deal of tacking. + + To seek for Morals here's a task + Of which you well may be despairing; + 'What has become of them?' you ask. + They've given me the slip,--like Waring. + 'Look East!' said Browning once, and I + Would make a similar reply. + + Look East, where in a garret drear, + The Author works, without cessation, + Composing verses for a mere- + Ly nominal remuneration; + And, while he has the strength to write 'em, + Will do so still--_ad infinitum!_ + + +ENVOI + + Speed, flippant rhymes, throughout the land; + Disperse yourselves with patient zeal! + Go, perch upon the critic's hand, + Just after he has had a meal. + But should he still unfriendly be, + Unperch and hasten back to me. + + . . . . . + + O gentle maid, O happy boy, + This copy of my book is done; + But don't forget that I enjoy + A royalty on ev'ry one; + Just think how wealthy I should be, + If you would purchase two or three! + + + _MORAL_ + + No moral that I ever took + Seemed quite so evident before. + If purchasing an author's book + Will keep the wolf from his back-door, + It is our very obvious mission + To buy up the entire edition. + + +FINIS. + + +Printed by T. and A. CONSTABLE, Printers to His Majesty +at the Edinburgh University Press + + + + * * * * * + + + + +_BY THE SAME AUTHOR._ + +Fiscal Ballads. + +(SECOND IMPRESSION.) + +_Fcap. 8vo. 1s. net._ + +'The fiscal controversy has not been very fruitful in verse. So far as +we are aware, only one balladist has found any genuine inspiration in +it. That is Mr. Harry Graham, whose skill as a rhymer in other +directions has already been abundantly proved. The ballads for the most +part take a colloquial form, and while containing much humour, are full +of sound doctrine.... Mr. Graham, it will be seen, has great facility +in rhyme, and in all this rhyme there is reason. When the General +Election comes this book should be a gold-mine for the political +reciter.'--_Westminster Gazette_. + +'A most amusing contribution to the literature of the fiscal +controversy.'--_Daily Telegraph_. + +'True ballads, with abundant vigour and piquancy.'--_Aberdeen Free +Press_. + +'Good both in intention and execution.'--_Speaker_. + +'These ballads ... are very good. Indeed, we cannot remember any recent +example of political truths expressed with such exactness as well as +spirit in humorous verse. The fun is as good as the argument.... Of +this admirable little book we will only say, in conclusion, that it +will amuse and delight even those who had imagined that nothing more +worth reading could possibly be printed on the fiscal question. We +would strongly urge such persons to invest a shilling in "Fiscal +Ballads," for we are confident they will not be disappointed. If the +Free-Trade organisations are wise, they will seek leave to reprint +selections from them in leaflets which can be circulated by the +million.'--_Spectator_. + +LONDON: EDWARD ARNOLD, 41 & 43 MADDOX ST., W. + + + + +_BY THE SAME AUTHOR._ + +Ruthless Rhymes for Heartless Homes. + +ILLUSTRATED BY 'G. H.' + +_Oblong_ 4_to._ 3_s._ 6_d._ + + +'It is impossible not to be amused by some of the "Ruthless Rhymes for +Heartless Homes," by Colonel D. Streamer, nor can any one with a sense +of humour fail to appreciate the many amusing points in the +illustrations.'--_Westminster._ + +'"Ruthless Rhymes for Heartless Homes" is the name of a really charming +little book of rhymes. The words are by Col. D. Streamer, and the +illustrations by "G. H.," and 'tis hard to say whether words or +pictures are the cleverer.... The book is one which must, however, be +seen to be appreciated; to properly describe it is +impossible.'--_Calcutta Englishman._ + +'Wise parents will, however, keep strictly to themselves "Ruthless +Rhymes for Heartless Homes," by Col. D. Streamer. The illustrations by +"G. H." are very amusing, and especially happy is that to "Equanimity," +when + + "Aunt Jane observed the second time + She tumbled off a 'bus, + The step is short from the sublime + To the ridiculous."' + + --_Daily Telegraph._ + +'Another charming whimsicality published by Mr. Edward Arnold is +"Ruthless Rhymes for Heartless Homes."'--_Sydney Morning Herald._ + +'The veriest nonsense, possessing the quality that makes it akin to +Carroll's work.'--_New York Bookworm._ + +'It is difficult to see the humour of + + "Philip, foozling with his cleek, + Drove his ball through Helen's cheek. + Sad they bore her corpse away, + Seven up and six to play."' + + --_Scotsman._ + + +LONDON: EDWARD ARNOLD, 41 & 43 MADDOX ST., W. + + + + +_BY THE SAME AUTHOR._ + +Ballads of the Boer War. + +_Fcap. 8vo, buckram._ 3_s._ 6_d._ _net._ + +(_Second Edition._) + + +'There is unquestionably a good deal of human nature in the book, and +as an expression of sentiments which have remained hitherto +inarticulate, as a revelation not always edifying, but often +illuminating, of the heart of the man in the ranks, this little volume +is a distinct addition to the literature of the war.'--_Spectator._ + +'Racy expressions of Tommy Atkins' feelings in Tommy Atkins' +language.... "Coldstreamer's" verses in their kind are as good as any +we have seen.'--_Academy._ + +'These colloquial rhymes express the private soldier's views in his own +language.'--_The Times._ + +'These racy ballads make a book which many will read with interest and +sympathy.'--_Scotsman._ + +'As good as anything yet done in the vernacular of Mr. Thomas Atkins. A +book for every friend of the army.'--_Outlook._ + +'One of the liveliest books of light verse we have come across for a +long time.'--_County Gentleman._ + +'Vigorous Kiplingesque verses, with sound common-sense and genuine +feeling. Well worth reading and buying.'--_To-Day._ + +'Mephitic exhalations.'--_Daily News._ + + +LONDON: GRANT RICHARDS, 48 LEICESTER SQUARE, W.C. + + + + +_BY THE SAME AUTHOR._ + +Misrepresentative Men. + +ILLUSTRATED BY F. STROTHMAN. + +(_Second Edition._) + + +OPINIONS OF THE AMERICAN PRESS. + +'One of the most amusing books of the year. Mr. Graham is a fluent and +ingenious rhymester, with an alert mind and a well-controlled sense of +humour.'--_The Times_ (New York). + +'"Misrepresentative Men" shows so high-spirited a mastery of words and +metre (the result, we take it, of laborious days) that it will be read +with pleasure by the most fastidious lover of what is amusing.'--_The +Nation_ (New York). + +'Mr. Graham's verses are exceedingly clever, and Mr. Strothman's +illustrations add to their cleverness.'--_The Bookman_ (New York). + +'A very amusing little book, by that cleverly humorous versifier "Col. +D. Streamer," whose _Ruthless Rhymes for Heartless Homes_ has had such +a deserved vogue.'--_Town Topics_ (New York). + +'The most amusing biographical caricatures of celebrities that we have +read for a long time. There is not a dull line in the entire +collection.'--_The Bookseller_ (New York). + +'These satirical verses have the same ingenious humour as the writer's +previous rhymes. The book is altogether refreshing.'--_Town and +Country_ (New York). + +'The hit of the season.'--_The Lexington Herald._ + +'A most attractively humorous work.'--_The Pittsburg Despatch._ + +'A little book of really clever verse.'--_The Milwaukee Sentinel._ + + +LONDON: GAY AND BIRD, 22 BEDFORD STREET, STRAND. + + + + +SELECTIONS FROM +MR. EDWARD ARNOLD'S LIST +OF NEW AND RECENT BOOKS. + + +THE LIFE AND TIMES OF THE +RIGHT HON. CECIL JOHN RHODES. + +By the HON. SIR LEWIS MICHELL. + +_Illustrated._ _Two volumes, demy 8vo._, 30s. net. + +This important work will take rank as the authoritative biography of +one of the greatest of modern Englishmen. Sir Lewis Michell, who has +been engaged upon the work for five years, is an executor of Mr. +Rhodes' will, and a trustee of the Rhodes Estate. He was an intimate +personal friend of Mr. Rhodes for many years, and has had access to all +the papers at Groote Schuur. Hitherto, although many partial +appreciations of the great man have been published in the Press or in +small volumes, no complete and well-informed life of him has appeared. +The gap has now been filled by Sir Lewis Michell so thoroughly that we +have in these two volumes what will undoubtedly be the final estimate +of Mr. Rhodes' career for many years to come. + + +THE REMINISCENCES OF ADMIRAL MONTAGU. + +_With Illustrations._ _One volume, demy 8vo._, cloth, 15s. net. + +The Author of this entertaining book, Admiral the Hon. Victor Montagu, +has passed a long life divided between the amusements of aristocratic +society in this country and the duties of naval service afloat in many +parts of the world. His memory recalls many anecdotes of well-known +men, and he was honoured with the personal friendship of the late King +Edward VII. and of the German Emperor, by whom his seamanship, as well +as his social qualities, were highly esteemed. As a sportsman he has +something to say about shooting, fishing, hunting, and cricket, and his +stories of life in the great country houses where he was a frequent +guest have a flavour of their own. + + +LONDON: EDWARD ARNOLD, 41 & 43, MADDOX STREET, W. + + + + +NOVELS. + + +HOWARDS END. +By E. M. FORSTER, + +AUTHOR OF 'A ROOM WITH A VIEW,' 'THE LONGEST JOURNEY,' ETC. + +6s. + +_BY THE SAME AUTHOR._ + +A ROOM WITH A VIEW. 6s. + + +THE RETURN. +By WALTER DE LA MARE. + +6s. + +'The Return' is the story of a man suddenly confronted, as if by the +caprice of chance, with an ordeal that cuts him adrift from every +certain hold he has upon the world immediately around him. He becomes +acutely conscious of those unseen powers which to many, whether in +reality or in imagination, are at all times vaguely present, haunting +life with their influences. In this solitude--a solitude of the mind +which the business of everyday life confuses and drives back--he faces +as best he can, and gropes his way through his difficulties, and wins +his way at last, if not to peace, at least to a clearer and quieter +knowledge of self. + + +THE GRAY MAN. +By JANE WARDLE. + +6s. + +The writer is one of the very few present-day novelists who have +consistently followed up the aim they originally set themselves--that +of striking a mean between the Realist and the Romanticist. In her +latest novel, 'The Gray Man,' which Miss Wardle herself believes to +contain the best work she has so far produced, it will be found that +she has as successfully avoided the bald one-sidedness of miscalled +'Realism' on the one hand, as the sloppy sentimentality of the ordinary +'Romance' on the other. At the same time, 'The Gray Man' contains both +realism and romance in full measure, in the truer sense of both words. + +_BY THE SAME AUTHOR._ + +MARGERY PIGEON. 6s. +THE PASQUE FLOWER. 6s. + + +LONDON: EDWARD ARNOLD, 41 & 43, MADDOX STREET, W. + + + + +NOVELS. + + +THE PURSUIT. + +By FRANK SAVILE. + +6s. + +That the risk of being kidnapped, to which their great riches exposes +multi-millionaires, is a very real one, is constantly being reaffirmed +in the reports that are published of the elaborate precautions many of +them take to preserve their personal liberty. In its present phase, +where there is the great wealth on one side and a powerful gang--or +rather syndicate--of clever rascals on the other, it possesses many +characteristics appealing to those who enjoy a good thrilling romance. +Mr. Savile has already won his spurs in this field, but his new tale +should place him well in the front ranks of contemporary romancers. + +_BY THE SAME AUTHOR._ + +SEEKERS. _A Romance of the Balkans._ 6s. THE DESERT VENTURE. 6s. + + +ANNE DOUGLAS SEDGWICK'S LATEST NOVEL. + +FRANKLIN KANE. + +By ANNE DOUGLAS SEDGWICK, + +AUTHOR OF 'VALERIE UPTON,' 'AMABEL CHANNICE,' ETC. + +_Second Impression._ 6s. + +'Anne Sedgwick is in the first rank of modern novelists, and nobody who +cares for good work can afford to miss one line that she +writes.'--_Punch._ + +'A figure never to be forgotten.'--_Standard._ + +'There are no stereotyped patterns here.'--_Daily Chronicle._ + +'A very graceful and charming comedy.'--_Manchester Guardian._ + + +AN ADMIRABLE NOVEL BY A NEW WRITER. + +A STEPSON OF THE SOIL. + +By MARY J. H. SKRINE. + +_Second Impression._ 6s. + +'Mrs. Skrine's admirable novel is one of those unfortunately rare books +which, without extenuating the hard facts of life, maintain and raise +one's belief in human nature. The story is simple, but the manner of +its telling is admirably uncommon. Her portraits are quite +extraordinarily vivid.'--_Spectator._ + +LONDON: EDWARD ARNOLD, 41 & 43, MADDOX STREET, W. + + + + +BOOKS ON COUNTRY LIFE. + +FLY-LEAVES FROM A FISHERMAN'S DIARY. + +By CAPTAIN G. E. SHARP. + +_With Photogravure Illustrations. Crown 8vo._, 5s. net. + +This is a very charming little book containing the reflections on +things piscatorial of a 'dry-fly' fisherman on a south country stream. +Although the Author disclaims any right to pose as an expert, it is +clear that he knows well his trout, and how to catch them. He is an +enthusiast, who thinks nothing of cycling fifteen miles out for an +evening's fishing, and home again when the 'rise' is over. Indeed, he +confesses that there is no sport he loves so passionately, and this +love of his art--surely dry-fly fishing is an art?--makes for writing +that is pleasant to read, even as Isaac Walton's love thereof inspired +the immortal pages of 'The Compleat Angler.' + + +MEMORIES OF THE MONTHS. + +By the RIGHT HON. SIR HERBERT MAXWELL, Bart., + +AUTHOR OF 'SCOTTISH GARDENS,' ETC. + +_SERIES I. to V._ + +_With Photogravure Illustrations. Large crown 8vo._, 7s. 6d. each. + +Every year brings new changes in the old order of Nature, and the +observant eye can always find fresh features on the face of the +Seasons. Sir Herbert Maxwell goes out to meet Nature on the moor and +loch, in garden and forest, and writes of what he sees and feels. This +is what gives his work its abiding charm, and makes these memories fill +the place of old friends on the library bookshelf. + + +COLONEL MEYSEY-THOMPSON'S HANDBOOKS. + +A HUNTING CATECHISM. + +By COLONEL R. F. MEYSEY-THOMPSON, + +AUTHOR OF 'REMINISCENCES OF THE COURSE, THE CAMP, AND THE CHASE.' + +_Fcap. 8vo._, 3s. 6d. net. + + +A FISHING CATECHISM. 3s. 6d. net. + +A SHOOTING CATECHISM. 3s. 6d. net. + +LONDON: EDWARD ARNOLD, 41 & 43, MADDOX STREET, W. + + +A GAMEKEEPER'S NOTE-BOOK. By OWEN JONES and MARCUS WOODWARD. With +Photogravure Illustrations. Large crown 8vo., cloth, 7s. 6d. net. + +In this charming and romantic book we follow the gamekeeper in his +secret paths, stand by him while with deft fingers he arranges his +traps and snares, watch with what infinite care he tends his young game +through all the long days of spring and summer--and in autumn and +winter garners with equal eagerness the fruits of his labour. He takes +us into the coverts at night, and with him we keep the long +vigil--while poachers come, or come not. + +The authors know their subject through and through. This is a real +series of studies from life, and the note-book from which all the +impressions are drawn and all the pictures painted is the real +note-book of a real gamekeeper. + + +TEN YEARS OF GAME-KEEPING. By OWEN JONES. With numerous Illustrations +from Photographs by the Author. One volume, demy 8vo., cloth, 10s. 6d. +net. + +'This is a book for all sportsmen, for all who take an interest in +sport, and for all who love the English woodlands. Mr. Jones writes +from triple view-points--those of sportsman, naturalist, and +gamekeeper--and every page of his book reveals an intimate knowledge of +the ways of the English wild, a perfect mastery of all that the word +"woodcraft" may stand for, and a true instinct of sportsmanship. This +book at once takes its place as a standard work; and its freshness will +endure as surely as spring comes to the woods that inspired +it.'--_Evening Standard._ + + +REGINALD FARRER'S GARDENING BOOKS. + +IN A YORKSHIRE GARDEN. + +By REGINALD FARRER. + +_With numerous Illustrations. Demy 8vo._, 10s. 6d. net. + +MY ROCK-GARDEN. Fully Illustrated. Large crown 8vo., 7s. 6d. net. Third +Impression. + +ALPINES AND BOG-PLANTS. Fully Illustrated. Large crown 8vo., 7s. 6d. +net. + + +A BOOK ABOUT ROSES. By the late Very Rev. S. REYNOLDS HOLE, Dean of +Rochester. Illustrated by G. H. MOON and G. S. ELGOOD, R.I. +Twenty-fourth Impression. Presentation Edition, with Coloured Plates, +6s. Popular Edition, 3s. 6d. + +A BOOK ABOUT THE GARDEN AND THE GARDENER. By the late Very Rev. S. +REYNOLDS HOLE, Dean of Rochester. Popular Edition. Crown 8vo., 3s. 6d. + +LONDON: EDWARD ARNOLD, 41 & 43, MADDOX STREET, W. + + + + +BOOKS OF TRAVEL. + +FOREST LIFE AND SPORT IN INDIA. By SAINTHILL EARDLEY-WILMOT, C.I.E., +lately Inspector-General of Forests to the Indian Government; +Commissioner under the Development and Road Improvement Funds Act. +Fully Illustrated. Demy 8vo. 12s. 6d. net. + +The Author of this volume was appointed to the Indian Forest Service in +days when the Indian Mutiny was fresh in the minds of his companions, +and life in the department full of hardships, loneliness, and +discomfort. These drawbacks, however, were largely compensated for by +the splendid opportunities for sports of all kinds which almost every +station in the Service offered, and it is in describing the pursuit of +game that the most exciting episodes of the book are to be found. +Tigers, spotted deer, wild buffaloes, mountain goats, sambhar, bears, +and panthers, are the subject of endless yarns, in the relation of +which innumerable useful hints, often the result of failure and even +disasters, are given. + +IN FORBIDDEN SEAS: Recollections of Sea-Otter Hunting in the Kurils. By +H. J. SNOW, F.R.G.S. Illustrated. Demy 8vo. 12s. 6d. net. + +The Author of this interesting book has had an experience probably +unique in an almost unknown part of the world. The stormy wind-swept +and fog-bound regions of the Kuril Islands, between Japan and +Kamchatka, have rarely been visited save by the adventurous hunters of +the sea-otter, and the animal is now becoming so scarce that the +hazardous occupation of these bold voyagers is no longer profitable. + +SPORT AND NATURE IN SPAIN. By ABEL CHAPMAN and WALTER J. BUCK, British +Vice-Consul at Jerez. With 200 Illustrations by the AUTHORS, E. +CALDWELL, and others, Sketch Maps, and Photographs. + +In Europe Spain is certainly far and away the wildest of wild +lands--due as much to her physical formation as to any historic or +racial causes. Naturally the Spanish fauna remains one of the richest +and most varied in Europe. It is of these wild regions and of their +wild inhabitants that the authors write, backed by lifelong experience. +The present work represents nearly forty years of constant study, of +practical experience in field and forest, combined with systematic +note-taking and analysis by men who are recognized as specialists in +their selected pursuits. These comprise every branch of sport with rod, +gun, and rifle; and, beyond all that, the ability to elaborate the +results in the light of modern zoological science. + +LONDON: EDWARD ARNOLD, 41 & 43, MADDOX STREET, W. + + +TWENTY YEARS IN THE HIMALAYA. By Major the Hon. C. G. BRUCE, M.V.O., +Fifth Gurkha Rifles. Fully Illustrated. With Map. Demy 8vo., cloth. +16s. net. + +The Himalaya is a world in itself, comprising many regions which differ +widely from each other as regards their natural features, their fauna +and flora, and the races and languages of their inhabitants. Major +Bruce's relation to this world is absolutely unique--he has journeyed +through it, now in one part, now in another, sometimes mountaineering, +sometimes in pursuit of big game, sometimes in the performance of his +professional duties, for more than twenty years; and now his +acquaintance with it under all its diverse aspects, though naturally +far from complete, is more varied and extensive than has ever been +possessed by anyone else. + +RECOLLECTIONS OF AN OLD MOUNTAINEER. By WALTER LARDEN. Fully +Illustrated. Demy 8vo., cloth. 14s. net. + +There are a few men in every generation, such as A. F. Mummery and L. +Norman Neruda, who possess a natural genius for mountaineering. The +ordinary lover of the mountains reads the story of their climbs with +admiration and perhaps a tinge of envy, but with no thought of +following in their footsteps--such feats are not for him. The great and +special interest of Mr. Larden's book lies in the fact that he does not +belong to this small and distinguished class. He tells us, and +convinces us, that he began his Alpine career with no exceptional +endowment of nerve or activity, and describes, fully and with supreme +candour, how he made himself into what he very modestly calls a +second-class climber--not 'a Grepon-crack man,' but one capable of +securely and successfully leading a party of amateurs over such peaks +as Mont Collon or the Combin. + +THE MISADVENTURES OF A HACK CRUISER. By F. CLAUDE KEMPSON, Author of +'The _Green Finch_ Cruise.' With 50 Illustrations from the Author's +sketches. Medium 8vo., cloth. 6s. net. + +Mr. Kempson's amusing account of 'The _Green Finch_ Cruise,' which was +published last year, gave deep delight to the joyous fraternity of +amateur sailor-men, and the success that book enjoyed has encouraged +him to describe a rather more ambitious cruise he undertook +subsequently. Mr. Kempson is not an expert, but he shows how anyone +accustomed to a sportsman's life can, with a little instruction and +common sense, have a thoroughly enjoyable time sailing a small boat. +The book is full of 'tips and wrinkles' of all kinds, interspersed with +amusing anecdotes and reflections. The Author's sketches are +exquisitely humorous, and never more so than when he is depicting his +own substantial person. + +LONDON: EDWARD ARNOLD, 41 & 43, MADDOX STREET, W. + + +THE COTTAGE HOMES OF ENGLAND. + +CHARMINGLY ILLUSTRATED IN COLOUR BY MRS. ALLINGHAM. + +_With 64 Full-page Coloured Plates from Pictures by HELEN ALLINGHAM, +never before reproduced_. 8_vo._ (9-1/2 _in._ by 7 _in._), 21s. net. +_Also a limited Edition de Luxe_, 42s. net. + + +A HISTORY OF THE LONDON HOSPITAL. + +By E. W. MORRIS, + +SECRETARY OF THE LONDON HOSPITAL. + +_With Illustrations._ 6s. net. + +'Besant long ago wrote "All Sorts and Conditions of Men," and won and +built thereby the People's Palace. Here is a better book. Its people +are real, its romance is facts, its palace is a hospital of a thousand +beds.'--_Daily Telegraph._ + + +THE BOOK OF WINTER SPORTS. + +With an Introduction by the Rt. Hon. the EARL OF LYTTON, and +contributions from experts in various branches of sport. + +Edited by EDGAR SYERS. + +_Fully Illustrated. Demy 8vo._, 15s. net. + + +THE DUDLEY BOOK OF COOKERY AND HOUSEHOLD RECIPES. + +By GEORGIANA, COUNTESS OF DUDLEY. + +_Handsomely printed and bound. Third Impression._ 7s. 6d. net. + +COMMON-SENSE COOKERY: Based on Modern English and Continental +Principles worked out in Detail. By Colonel A. KENNEY-HERBERT. Over 500 +pages. Illustrated. 6s. net. + +_BY THE SAME AUTHOR._ + +FIFTY BREAKFASTS. 2s. 6d. + +FIFTY LUNCHEONS. 2s. 6d. + +FIFTY DINNERS. 2s. 6d. + +LONDON: EDWARD ARNOLD, 41 & 43, MADDOX STREET, W. + + + + * * * * * + +Transcriber's Notes + +Pages 148 and 149: The words noted below are transliterations of the +original Greek characters. + + Then spoke a Greek, 'The Isles of Greece! + What can compare with those? + [Greek: Thalassa]! and [Greek: Eurêka]! + [Greek: Rhododaktylos êôs]!' + + 'But the country of my childhood + Is the best that man may know, + Oh [Greek: didêmi] also [Greek: phêmi], + [Greek: Zôê mou sas agapô]!' + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Verse and Worse, by Harry Graham + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK VERSE AND WORSE *** + +***** This file should be named 36702-8.txt or 36702-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/6/7/0/36702/ + +Produced by Mark C. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Verse and Worse + +Author: Harry Graham + +Release Date: July 11, 2011 [EBook #36702] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK VERSE AND WORSE *** + + + + +Produced by Mark C. Orton, Diane Monico, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This +book was produced from scanned images of public domain +material from the Google Print project.) + + + + + + +</pre> + + + + + + +<h1>VERSE AND WORSE</h1> + + + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<h2>VERSE AND WORSE</h2> +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + + + +<h1> +VERSE AND WORSE</h1> + +<p class="title"><small>BY</small><br /> +<br /> +<big>HARRY GRAHAM</big><br /> +<small>('COL. D. STREAMER')</small><br /> +<br /> +<small>AUTHOR OF 'BALLADS OF THE BOER WAR,' 'RUTHLESS RHYMES</small><br /> +<small>FOR HEARTLESS HOMES,' 'MISREPRESENTATIVE MEN,'</small><br /> +<small>'FISCAL BALLADS,' ETC., ETC.</small><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +LONDON<br /> +EDWARD ARNOLD<br /> +<small>41 & 43 MADDOX STREET, BOND STREET, W.</small><br /> +<br /> +1905<br /> +<br /> +<small>[<i>All rights reserved</i>]</small><br /> +</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="NOTE" id="NOTE"></a>NOTE</h2> + + +<p><span class="smcap">The Baby's Baedeker</span> and <span class="smcap">Perverted Proverbs</span> have +been published in America by Mr. R. H. Russell and +Messrs. Harper Bros. of New York.</p> + +<p>'The Ballad of Ping-pong,' 'Bill,' and 'The Place +where the Old Cleek Broke,' have appeared in <i>The +Century Magazine</i>, <i>The Outlook</i>, and <i>Golf</i> respectively.</p> + +<p>'Uncle Joe,' 'Aunt Eliza,' 'John,' 'The Cat,' and +'Bluebeard,' were included in Mr. Russell's American +edition of <i>Ruthless Rhymes for Heartless Homes</i>.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_v" id="Page_v">[Pg v]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CONTENTS" id="CONTENTS"></a>CONTENTS</h2> + + + + +<div class="center"> +<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary="toc"> +<tr><td align="right"></td><td align="left"></td><td align="right">PAGE</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"></td><td align="left"><span class="smcap">Author's Preface</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_ix">ix</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"></td><td align="left"><span class="smcap">Foreword</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_xi">xi</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"></td><td align="center">PART I</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"></td><td align="center"><i>THE BABY'S BAEDEKER</i></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"><span class="smcap">i.</span></td><td align="left"> <span class="smcap">Abroad</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_3">3</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"><span class="smcap">ii.</span></td><td align="left"> <span class="smcap">United States of America</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_6">6</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"><span class="smcap">iii.</span></td><td align="left"> <span class="smcap">Great Britain</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_9">9</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"><span class="smcap">iv.</span></td><td align="left"> <span class="smcap">Scotland</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_11">11</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"><span class="smcap">v.</span></td><td align="left"> <span class="smcap">Ireland</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_13">13</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"><span class="smcap">vi.</span></td><td align="left"> <span class="smcap">Wales</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_15">15</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"><span class="smcap">vii.</span></td><td align="left"> <span class="smcap">China</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_16">16</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"><span class="smcap">viii.</span></td><td align="left"> <span class="smcap">France</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_19">19</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"><span class="smcap">ix.</span></td><td align="left"> <span class="smcap">Germany</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_21">21</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"><span class="smcap">x.</span></td><td align="left"> <span class="smcap">Holland</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_23">23</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"><span class="smcap">xi.</span></td><td align="left"> <span class="smcap">Iceland</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_26">26</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"><span class="smcap">xii.</span></td><td align="left"> <span class="smcap">Italy</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_27">27</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"><span class="smcap">xiii.</span></td><td align="left"> <span class="smcap">Japan</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_30">30</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"><span class="smcap">xiv.</span></td><td align="left"> <span class="smcap">Portugal</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_32">32</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"><span class="smcap">xv.</span></td><td align="left"> <span class="smcap">Russia</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_33">33</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"><span class="smcap">xvi.</span></td><td align="left"> <span class="smcap">Spain</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_36">36</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"><span class="smcap">xvii.</span></td><td align="left"> <span class="smcap">Switzerland</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_39">39</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"><span class="smcap">xviii.</span></td><td align="left"> <span class="smcap">Turkey</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_41">41</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"><span class="smcap">xix.</span></td><td align="left"> <span class="smcap">Dreamland</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_44">44</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"><span class="smcap">xx.</span></td><td align="left"> <span class="smcap">Stageland</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_47">47</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"><span class="smcap">xxi.</span></td><td align="left"> <span class="smcap">Loverland</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_48">48</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"><span class="smcap">xxii.</span></td><td align="left"> <span class="smcap">Homeland</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_53">53</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"></td><td align="center">PART II</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"></td><td align="center"><i>CHILDISH COMPLAINTS AND OTHER RUTHLESS RHYMES</i></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"></td><td align="center"><span class="smcap">Childish Complaints</span>—</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"></td><td align="left"><span class="smcap">Prelude</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_57">57</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"></td><td align="left"><span class="smcap">Appendicitis</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_61">61</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"></td><td align="left"><span class="smcap">Whooping-Cough</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_61">61</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"></td><td align="left"><span class="smcap">Measles</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_62">62</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"></td><td align="left"><span class="smcap">Adenoids</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_62">62</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"></td><td align="left"><span class="smcap">Croup</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_62">62</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"></td><td align="center"><span class="smcap">Ruthless Rhymes</span>—</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"><span class="smcap">i.</span></td><td align="left"><span class="smcap">Mother-Wit</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_63">63</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"><span class="smcap">ii.</span></td><td align="left"><span class="smcap">Uncle Joe</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_64">64</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"><span class="smcap">iii.</span></td><td align="left"><span class="smcap">Aunt Eliza</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_65">65</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"><span class="smcap">iv.</span></td><td align="left"><span class="smcap">Absent-mindedness</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_66">66</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"><span class="smcap">v.</span></td><td align="left"><span class="smcap">John</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_68">68</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"><span class="smcap">vi.</span></td><td align="left"><span class="smcap">Baby</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_71">71</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"><span class="smcap">vii.</span></td><td align="left"><span class="smcap">The Cat</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_72">72</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"></td><td align="center">PART III</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"></td><td align="center"><i>PERVERTED PROVERBS</i></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"><span class="smcap">i.</span></td><td align="left"><span class="smcap">'Virtue is its own Reward'</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_77">77</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"><span class="smcap">ii.</span></td><td align="left"><span class="smcap">'Enough is as Good as a Feast'</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_86">86</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"><span class="smcap">iii.</span></td><td align="left"><span class="smcap">'Don't Buy a Pig in a Poke'</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_89">89</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"><span class="smcap">iv.</span></td><td align="left"><span class="smcap">'Learn to Take Things Easily'</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_91">91</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"><span class="smcap">v.</span></td><td align="left"><span class="smcap">'A Rolling Stone Gathers no Moss'</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_92">92</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"><span class="smcap">vi.</span></td><td align="left"><span class="smcap">'It is Never Too Late to Mend'</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_96">96</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"><span class="smcap">vii.</span></td><td align="left"><span class="smcap">'A Bad Workman Complains of his Tools'</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_99">99</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"><span class="smcap">viii.</span></td><td align="left"><span class="smcap">'Don't Look a Gift-horse in the Mouth'</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_100">100</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"><span class="smcap">ix.</span></td><td align="left"><span class="smcap">Potpourri</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_103">103</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"></td><td align="center">PART IV</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"></td><td align="center"><i>OTHER VERSES</i></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"></td><td align="left"><span class="smcap">Bill</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_111">111</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"></td><td align="left"><span class="smcap">The Legend of the Author</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_114">114</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"></td><td align="left"><span class="smcap">The Motriot</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_128">128</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"></td><td align="left"><span class="smcap">The Ballad of the Artist</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_130">130</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"></td><td align="left"><span class="smcap">The Ballad of Ping-pong</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_135">135</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"></td><td align="left"><span class="smcap">The Pessimist</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_138">138</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"></td><td align="left"><span class="smcap">The Place where the Old Cleek Broke</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_140">140</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"></td><td align="left"><span class="smcap">The Homes of London</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_143">143</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"></td><td align="left"><span class="smcap">The Happiest Land</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_146">146</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"></td><td align="left"><span class="smcap">A London Involuntary</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_151">151</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"></td><td align="left"><span class="smcap">Bluebeard</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_154">154</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"></td><td align="left"><span class="smcap">The Woman with the Dead Soles</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_166">166</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"></td><td align="left"><span class="smcap">Rosemary (A Ballad of the Boudoir)</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_170">170</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"></td><td align="left"><span class="smcap">Portknockie's Porter</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_172">172</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"></td><td align="left"><span class="smcap">The Ballad of the Little Jinglander</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_176">176</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"></td><td align="left"><span class="smcap">Aftword</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_182">182</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"></td><td align="left"><span class="smcap">Envoi</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_185">185</a></td></tr> +</table></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_ix" id="Page_ix">[Pg ix]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="AUTHORS_PREFACE" id="AUTHORS_PREFACE"></a>AUTHOR'S PREFACE</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">With guilty, conscience-stricken tears,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I offer up these rhymes of mine<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To children of maturer years<br /></span> +<span class="i2">(From Seventeen to Ninety-nine).<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A special solace may they be<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In days of second infancy.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The frenzied mother who observes<br /></span> +<span class="i2">This volume in her offspring's hand,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And trembles for the darling's nerves,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Must please to clearly understand,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If baby suffers by and by<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Publisher's at fault, not <i>I</i>!</span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_x" id="Page_x">[Pg x]</a></span><br /> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But should the little brat survive,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And fatten on this style of Rhyme,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To raise a Heartless Home and thrive<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Through a successful life of crime,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Publisher would have you see<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That <i>I</i> am to be thanked, not <i>he</i>!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Fond parent, you whose children are<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of tender age (from two to eight),<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pray keep this little volume far<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From reach of such, and relegate<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My verses to an upper shelf;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where you may study them yourself.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xi" id="Page_xi">[Pg xi]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="FOREWORD" id="FOREWORD"></a>FOREWORD</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The Press may pass my Verses by<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With sentiments of indignation,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And say, like Greeks of old, that I<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Corrupt the Youthful Generation;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I am unmoved by taunts like these—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(And so, I think, was Socrates).<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Howe'er the Critics may revile,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I pick no journalistic quarrels,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Quite realising that my Style<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Makes up for any lack of Morals;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For which I feel no shred of shame—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(And Byron would have felt the same).<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xii" id="Page_xii">[Pg xii]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I don't intend a Child to read<br /></span> +<span class="i2">These lines, which are not for the Young;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For, if I did, I should indeed<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Feel fully worthy to be hung.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(Is 'hanged' the perfect tense of 'hang'?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Correct me, Mr. Andrew Lang!)<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">O Young of Heart, tho' in your prime,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">By you these verses may be seen!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Accept the Moral with the Rhyme,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And try to gather what I mean.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But, if you can't, it won't hurt me!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(And Browning would, I know, agree.)<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Be reassured, I have not got<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The style of Stephen Phillips' heroes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor Henry Jones's pow'r of Plot,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Nor wit like Arthur Wing Pinero's!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(If so, I should not waste my time<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In writing you this sort of rhyme.)<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xiii" id="Page_xiii">[Pg xiii]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I strive to paint things as they Are,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of Realism the true Apostle;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All flow'ry metaphors I bar,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Nor call the homely thrush a 'throstle.'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Such synonyms would make me smile.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(And so they would have made Carlyle.)<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">My Style may be, at times, I own,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A trifle cryptic or abstruse;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In this I do not stand alone,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And need but mention, in excuse,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A thousand world-familiar names,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From Meredith to Henry James.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">From these my fruitless fancy roams<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To Aesop's or La Fontaine's Fable,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From Doyle's or Hemans' 'Stately Ho(l)mes,'<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To t'other of The Breakfast Table;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like Galahad, I wish (in vain)<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'My wit were as the wit of Twain!<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xiv" id="Page_xiv">[Pg xiv]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Had I but Whitman's rugged skill,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">(And managed to escape the Censor),<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Accuracy of a Mill,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The Reason of a Herbert Spencer,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The literary talents even<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of Sidney Lee or Leslie Stephen,<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The pow'r of Patmore's placid pen,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or Watson's gift of execration,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sugar of Le Gallienne,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or Algernon's alliteration,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One post there is I'd not be lost in,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">—Tho' I might find it most ex-Austin'!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Some day, if I but study hard,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The public, vanquished by my pen, 'll<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Acclaim me as a Minor Bard,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Like Norman Gale or Mrs. Meynell;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And listen to my lyre a-rippling<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Imperial banjo-spasms like Kipling.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xv" id="Page_xv">[Pg xv]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Were I, like him, a syndicate,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Which publishers would put their trust in;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A Walter Pater up-to-date,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or flippant scholar like Augustine;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With pen as light as lark or squirrel,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I'd love to kipple, pate and birrell.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">So don't ignore me. If you should,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">'Twill touch me to the very heart oh!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To be as much misunderstood<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As once was Andrea del Sarto;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Unrecognised, to toil away,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like Millet,—(not, of course, Mill<i>ais</i>).<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And, pray, for Morals do not look<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In this unique agglomeration,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">—This unpretentious little book<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of Infelicitous Quotation.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I deem you foolish if you do,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(And Mr. Arnold thinks so, too).<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="PART_I" id="PART_I"></a>PART I</h2> + +<h2><i>THE BABY'S BAEDEKER</i></h2> + + +<p class="center">An International Guide-Book for the young of all ages;<br /> +peculiarly adapted to the wants of first and second Childhood.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span></p> +<h3><a name="I" id="I"></a>I</h3> + +<h3>ABROAD</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Abroad is where we tourists spend,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In divers unalluring ways,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The brief occasional week-end,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or annual Easter holidays;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And earn the (not ill-founded) charge<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of being lunatics at large.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Abroad, we lose our self-respect;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Wear whiskers; let our teeth protrude;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Consider any garb correct,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And no display of temper rude;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Descending, when we cross the foam,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To depths we dare not plumb at home.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">(Small wonder that the natives gaze,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With hostile eyes, at foreign freaks,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who patronise their Passion-plays,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In lemon-coloured chessboard breeks;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An op'ra-glass about each neck,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And on each head a cap of check.)<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Abroad, where needy younger sons,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When void the parent's treasure-chest,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Take refuge from insistent duns,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">At urgent relatives' request;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To live upon their slender wits,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or sums some maiden-aunt remits.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Abroad, whence (with a wisdom rare)<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Regardless of nostalgic pains,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The weary New York millionaire<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Retires with his oil-gotten gains,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And learns how deep a pleasure 'tis<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To found our Public Libraries.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">For ours is the primeval clan,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From which all lesser lights descend;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is Crockett not our countryman?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And call we not Corelli friend?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Our brotherhood has bred the brain<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose offspring bear the brand of Caine.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Tho' nowadays we seldom hear<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Miss Proctor, who mislaid a chord,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or Tennyson, the poet peer,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who came into the garden, Mord;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tho' Burns be dead, and Keats unread,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We have a prophet still in Stead.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And so we stare, with nose in air;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And speak in condescending tone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of foreigners whose climes compare<br /></span> +<span class="i2">So favourably with our own;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And aliens we cannot applaud<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who call themselves At Home Abroad!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span></p> +<h3>II</h3> + +<h3>UNITED STATES OF AMERICA</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">This is the Country of the Free,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The Cocktail and the Ten Cent Chew;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where you're as good a man as me,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And I'm a better man than you!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(O Liberty, how free we make!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Freedom, what liberties we take!)<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'Tis here the startled tourist meets,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">'Mid clanging of a thousand bells,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The railways running through the streets,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Skyscraping flats and vast hotels,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where rest, on the resplendent floors,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The necessary cuspidors.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And here you may encounter too<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The pauper immigrants in shoals,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Swede, the German, and the Jew,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The Irishman, who rules the polls<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And is employed to keep the peace,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A venal and corrupt police.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">They are so busy here, you know,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">They have no time at all for play;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Each morning to their work they go<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And stay there all the livelong day;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their dreams of happiness depend<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On making more than they can spend.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The ladies of this land are all<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Developed to a pitch sublime,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some inches over six foot tall,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With perfect figures all the time.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(For further notice of their looks<br /></span> +<span class="i0">See Mr. Dana Gibson's books.)<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And, if they happen to possess<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Sufficient balance at the bank,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They have the chance of saying 'Yes!'<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To needy foreigners of rank;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The future dukes of all the earth<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Are half American by birth.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i6"><i>MORAL</i><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">A 'dot' combining cash with charms<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is worth a thousand coats-of-arms.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span></p> +<h3>III</h3> + +<h3>GREAT BRITAIN</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The British are a chilly race.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The Englishman is thin and tall;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He screws an eyeglass in his face,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And talks with a reluctant drawl.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Good Gwacious! This is doosid slow!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By Jove! Haw demmy! Don't-cher-know!'<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The English<i>woman</i> ev'rywhere<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A meed of admiration wins;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She has a crown of silken hair,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And quite the loveliest of skins.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(Go forth and seek an English maid,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Your trouble will be well repaid.)<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Where Britain's banner is unfurled<br /></span> +<span class="i2">There's room for nothing else beside,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She owns one-quarter of the world,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And still she is not satisfied.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Briton thinks himself, by birth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To be the lord of all the earth.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Some call his manners wanting, or<br /></span> +<span class="i2">His sense of humour poor, and yet<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whatever he is striving for<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He as a rule contrives to get;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His methods may be much to blame,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But he arrives there just the same.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i6"><i>MORAL</i><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">If you can get your wish, you bet it<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Doesn't much matter <i>how</i> you get it!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span></p> +<h3>IV</h3> + +<h3>SCOTLAND</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">In Scotland all the people wear<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Red hair and freckles, and one sees<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The men in women's dresses there,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With stout, décolleté, low-necked knees.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">('Eblins ye dinna ken, I doot,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We're unco guid, so hoot, mon, hoot!')<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">They love 'ta whuskey' and 'ta Kirk';<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I don't know which they like the most.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They aren't the least afraid of work;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">No sense of humour can they boast;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And you require an axe to coax<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The canny Scot to see your jokes.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">They play an instrument they call<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The bagpipes; and the sound of these<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is reminiscent of the squall<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of infant pigs attacked by bees;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Music that might drive cats away<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or make reluctant chickens lay.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i6"><i>MORAL</i><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Wear kilts, and, tho' men look askance,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Go out and give your knees a chance.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span></p> +<h3>V</h3> + +<h3>IRELAND</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The Irishman is never quite<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Contented with his little lot;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He's ever thirsting for a fight,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A grievance he has always got;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And all his energy is bent<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On trying not to pay his rent.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He lives upon a frugal fare<br /></span> +<span class="i2">(The few potatoes that he digs),<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And hospitably loves to share<br /></span> +<span class="i2">His bedroom with his wife and pigs;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But cannot settle even here,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And gets evicted once a year.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">In order to amuse himself,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">At any time when things are slack,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He takes his gun down from the shelf<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And shoots a landlord in the back;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If he is lucky in the chase,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He may contrive to bag a brace.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i6"><i>MORAL</i><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Procure a grievance and a gun<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And you can have no end of fun.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span></p> +<h3>VI</h3> + +<h3>WALES</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The natives of the land of Wales<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Are not a very truthful lot,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the imagination fails<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To paint the language they have got;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bettws-y-coed-llan-dud-nod-<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dolgelly-rhiwlas-cwn-wm-dod!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i6"><i>MORAL</i><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">If you <i>must</i> talk, then do it, pray,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In an intelligible way.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span></p> +<h3>VII</h3> + +<h3>CHINA</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The Chinaman from early youth<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Is by his wise preceptors taught<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To have no dealings with the Truth,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In fact, romancing is his 'forte.'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In juggling words he takes the prize,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By the sheer beauty of his lies.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">For laundrywork he has a knack;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He takes in shirts and makes them blue;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When he omits to send them back<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He takes his customers in too.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He must be ranked in the 'élite'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of those whose hobby is deceit.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">For ladies 'tis the fashion here<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To pinch their feet and make them small,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which, to the civilised idea,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Is not a proper thing at all.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Our modern Western woman's taste<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In pinching leans towards the waist.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The Chinese Empire is the field<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where foreign missionaries go;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A poor result their labours yield,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And they have little fruit to show;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For, if you would convert Wun Lung,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You have to catch him very young.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The Chinaman has got a creed<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And a religion of his own,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And would be much obliged indeed<br /></span> +<span class="i2">If you could leave his soul alone;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And he prefers, which may seem odd,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His own to other people's god.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Yet still the missionary tries<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To point him out his wickedness,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Until the badgered natives rise,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And there's one missionary less!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then foreign Pow'rs step in, you see,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And ask for an indemnity.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i6"><i>MORAL</i><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Adhere to facts, avoid romance,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And you a clergyman may be;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To lie is wrong, except perchance<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In matters of Diplomacy.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, when you start out to convert,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Make certain that you don't get hurt!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span></p> +<h3>VIII</h3> + +<h3>FRANCE</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The natives here remark 'Mon Dieu!'<br /></span> +<span class="i2">'Que voulez-vous?' 'Comment ça va?'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Sapristi! Par exemple! Un peu!'<br /></span> +<span class="i2">'Tiens donc! Mais qu'est-ce que c'est que ça?'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They shave one portion of their dogs,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And live exclusively on frogs.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">They get excited very quick,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And crowds will gather before long<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If you should stand and wave your stick<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And shout, 'À bas le Presidong!'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Still more amusing would it be<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To say, 'Conspuez la Patrie!'<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The French are so polite, you know,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">They take their hats off very well,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, should they tread upon your toe,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Remark, 'Pardon, Mademoiselle!'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And you would gladly bear the pain<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To see them make that bow again.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Their ladies too have got a way<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Which even curates can't resist;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Twould make an Alderman feel gay<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or soothe a yellow journalist;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And then the things they say are so<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Extremely—well, in fact,—you know!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i6"><i>MORAL</i><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">The closest scrutiny can find<br /></span> +<span class="i2">No morals here of any kind.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span></p> +<h3>IX</h3> + +<h3>GERMANY</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The German is a stolid soul,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And finds best suited to his taste<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A pipe with an enormous bowl,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A fraulein with an ample waist;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He loves his beer, his Kaiser, and<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(Donner und blitz!) his Fatherland!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He's perfectly contented if<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He listens in the Op'ra-house<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To Wagner's well-concealed 'motif,'<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or waltzes of the nimble Strauss;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And all discordant bands he sends<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Abroad, to soothe his foreign friends.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When he is glad at anything<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He cheers like a dyspeptic goat,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Hoch! hoch!' You'd think him suffering<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From some affection of the throat.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A disagreeable noise, 'tis true,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But pleases him and don't hurt you!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i6"><i>MORAL</i><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">A glass of lager underneath the bough,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A long 'churchwarden' and an ample 'frau'<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Beside me sitting in a Biergarten,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ach! Biergarten were paradise enow!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span></p> +<h3>X</h3> + +<h3>HOLLAND</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">This country is extremely flat,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Just like your father's head, and were<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It not for dykes and things like that<br /></span> +<span class="i2">There would not be much country there,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For, if these banks should broken be,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What now is land would soon be sea.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">So, any child who glory seeks,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And in a dyke observes a hole,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Must hold his finger there for weeks,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And keep the water from its goal,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Until the local plumbers come,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or other persons who can plumb.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The Hollanders have somehow got<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The name of Dutch (why, goodness knows!),<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But Mrs. Hollander is not<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A 'duchess' as you might suppose;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mynheer Von Vanderpump is much<br /></span> +<span class="i0">More used to style her his 'Old Dutch.'<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Their cities' names are somewhat odd,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But much in vogue with golfing men<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who miss a 'put' or slice a sod,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">(Whose thoughts I would not dare to pen),<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Oh, Rotterdam!' they can exclaim,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And blamelessly resume the game.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The Dutchman's dress is very neat;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He minds his little flock of goats<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In cotton blouse, and on his feet<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He dons a pair of wooden boats.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(He evidently does not trust<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Those dykes I mentioned not to bust).<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He has the reputation too<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of being what is known as 'slim,'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which merely means he does to you<br /></span> +<span class="i2">What you had hoped to do to him;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He has a business head, that's all,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And takes some beating, does Oom Paul.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i6"><i>MORAL</i><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Avoid a country where the sea<br /></span> +<span class="i0">May any day drop in to tea,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rememb'ring that, at golf, one touch<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of bunker makes the whole world Dutch!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span></p> +<h3>XI</h3> + +<h3>ICELAND</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The climate is intensely cold;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Wild curates would not drag me there;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not tho' they brought great bags of gold,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And piled them underneath my chair.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If twenty bishops bade me go,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I should decidedly say, 'No!'<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i6"><i>MORAL</i><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">If ev'ry man has got his price,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As generally is agreed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You will, by taking my advice,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Let yours be very large indeed.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Corruption is not nice at all,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Unless the bribe be far from small.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span></p> +<h3>XII</h3> + +<h3>ITALY</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">In Italy the sky is blue;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The native loafs and lolls about,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He's nothing in the world to do,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And does it fairly well, no doubt;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(Ital-i-ans are disinclined<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To honest work of any kind).<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">A light Chianti wine he drinks,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And fancies it extremely good;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(It tastes like Stephens' Blue-black Inks);—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">While macaroni is his food.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(I think it must be rather hard<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To eat one's breakfast by the yard).<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And, when he leaves his country for<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Some northern climate, 'tis his dream<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To be an organ grinder, or<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Retail bacilli in ice-cream.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(The French or German student terms<br /></span> +<span class="i0">These creatures '<i>Paris</i>ites' or '<i>Germs</i>.')<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Sometimes an anarchist is he,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And wants to slay a king or queen;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So with some dynamite, may be,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Concocts a murderous machine;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Here goes!' he shouts, 'For Freedom's sake!'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then blows himself up by mistake.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Naples and Florence both repay<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A visit, and, if fortune takes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Your toddling little feet that way,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Do stop a moment at The Lakes.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While, should you go to Rome, I hope<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You'll leave your card upon the Pope.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i6"><i>MORAL</i><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Don't work too hard, but use a wise discretion;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Adopt the least laborious profession.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Don't be an anarchist, but, if you must,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Don't let your bombshell prematurely bust.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span></p> +<h3>XIII</h3> + +<h3>JAPAN</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Inhabitants of far Japan<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Are happy as the day is long<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To sit behind a paper fan<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And sing a kind of tuneless song,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Desisting, ev'ry little while,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To have a public bath, or smile.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The members of the fairer sex<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Are clad in a becoming dress,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One garment reaching from their necks<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Down to the ankles more or less;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Behind each dainty ear they wear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A cherry-blossom in their hair.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">If 'Imitation's flattery'<br /></span> +<span class="i2">(We learn it at our mother's lap),<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A flatterer by birth must be<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Our clever little friend the Jap,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who does whatever we can do,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And does it rather better too.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i6"><i>MORAL</i><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Be happy all the time, and plan<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To wash as often as you can.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span></p> +<h3>XIV</h3> + +<h3>PORTUGAL</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">You are requested, if you please,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To note that here a people lives<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Referred to as the Portuguese;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A fact which naturally gives<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The funny man a good excuse<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To call his friend a Portugoose.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i6"><i>MORAL</i><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Avoid the obvious, if you can,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And <i>never</i> be a funny man.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span></p> +<h3>XV</h3> + +<h3>RUSSIA</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The Russian Empire, as you see,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Is governed by an Autocrat,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A sort of human target he<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For anarchists to practise at;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And much relieved most people are<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not to be lodging with the Czar.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The Russian lets his whiskers grow,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Smokes cigarettes at meal-times, and<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Imbibes more 'vodki' than 'il faut';<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A habit which (I understand)<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Enables him with ease to tell<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His name, which nobody could spell.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The climate here is cold, with snow,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And you go driving in a sleigh,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With bells and all the rest, you know,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Just like a Henry Irving play;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While, all around you, glare the eyes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of secret officers and spies!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The Russian prisons have no drains,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">No windows or such things as that;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You have no playthings there but chains,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And no companion but a rat;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When once behind the dungeon door,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Your friends don't see you any more.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I further could enlarge, 'tis true,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But fear my trembling pen confines;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I have no wish to travel to<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Siberia and work the mines.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(In Russia you must write with care,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or the police will take you there.)<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i6"><i>MORAL</i><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">If you hold morbid views about<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A monarch's premature decease,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You only need a—Hi! Look out!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Here comes an agent of police!<br /></span> +<span class="i6">. . . . .<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(In future my address will be<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Siberia, Cell 63.')<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span></p> +<h3>XVI</h3> + +<h3>SPAIN</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'Tis here the Spanish onion grows,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And they eat garlic all the day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So, if you have a tender nose,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">'Tis best to go the other way,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or else you may discern, at length,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The fact that 'Onion is strength.'<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The chestnuts flourish in this land,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Quite good to eat, as you will find,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For they are not, you understand,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The ancient after-dinner kind<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That Yankees are accustomed to<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From Mr. Chauncey M. Depew.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The Spanish lady, by the bye,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Is an alluring person who<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Has got a bright and flashing eye,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And knows just how to use it too;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It's quite a treat to see her meet<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The proud hidalgo on the street.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He wears a sort of soft felt hat,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A dagger, and a cloak, you know,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Just like the wicked villains that<br /></span> +<span class="i2">We met in plays of long ago,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who sneaked about with aspect glum,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Remarking, 'Ha! A time will come!'<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">His blood, of blue cerulean hue,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Runs in his veins like liquid fire,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And he can be most rude if you<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Should rob him of his heart's desire;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Caramba!' he exclaims, and whack!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His dagger perforates your back!<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">If you should care to patronise<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A bull-fight, as you will no doubt,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You'll see a horse with blinded eyes<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Be very badly mauled about;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By such a scene a weak inside<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is sometimes rather sorely tried.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And, if the bull is full of fun,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The horse is generally gored,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So then they fetch another one,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or else the first one is encored;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The humour of the sport, of course,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is not so patent to the horse.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> + +<span class="i6"><i>MORAL</i><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Be kind to ev'ry bull you meet,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Remember how the creature feels;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Don't wink at ladies in the street;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And don't make speeches after meals;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And lastly, I need not explain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If you're a horse, don't go to Spain.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span></p> +<h3>XVII</h3> + +<h3>SWITZERLAND</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">This atmosphere is pure ozone!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To climb the hills you promptly start;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Unless you happen to be prone<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To palpitations of the heart;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In which case swarming up the Alps<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Brings on a bad attack of palps.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The nicest method is to stay<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Quite comfortably down below,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, from the steps of your chalet,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Watch other people upwards go.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then you can buy an alpenstock,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And scratch your name upon a rock.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> + +<span class="i6"><i>MORAL</i><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Don't do fatiguing things which you<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Can pay another man to do.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Let friends assume (they may be wrong),<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That you each year ascend Mong Blong.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some things you can <i>pretend</i> you've done,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And climbing up the Alps is one.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span></p> +<h3>XVIII</h3> + +<h3>TURKEY</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The Sultan of the Purple East<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Is quite a cynic, in his way,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And really doesn't mind the least<br /></span> +<span class="i2">His nickname of 'Abdul the ——' (Nay!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I might perhaps come in for blame<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If I divulged this monarch's name.)<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The Turk is such a kindly man,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But his ideas of sport are crude;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He to the poor Armenian<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Is not intentionally rude,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But still it is his heartless habit<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To treat him as <i>we</i> treat the rabbit.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">If he wants bracing up a bit,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">His pleasing little custom is<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To take a hatchet and commit<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A series of atrocities.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I should not fancy, after dark,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To meet him, say, in Regent's Park.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">A deeply married man is he,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">'Early and often' is his rule;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He practises polygamy<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Directly after leaving school,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And so arranges that his wives<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Live happy but secluded lives.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">If they attend a public place,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">They have to do so in disguise,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And so conceal one-half their face<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That nothing but a pair of eyes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Suggests the hidden charm that lurks<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beneath the veils of lady Turks.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then too in Turkey all the men<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Smoke water-pipes and cross their legs;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They watch their harem as a hen<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That guards her first attempt at eggs.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(If you don't know what harems are,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Just run and ask your dear papa.)<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> + +<span class="i6"><i>MORAL</i><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Wives of great men oft remind us<br /></span> +<span class="i2">We should make our wives sublime,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But the years advancing find us<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Vainly working over-time.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We could minimise our work<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By the methods of the Turk.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span></p> +<h3>XIX</h3> + +<h3>DREAMLAND</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Here you will see strange happenings<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With absolutely placid eyes;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If all your uncles sprouted wings<br /></span> +<span class="i2">You would not feel the least surprise;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The oddest things that you can do<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Don't seem a bit absurd to you.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">You go (in Dreamland) to a ball,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And suddenly are shocked to find<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That you have nothing on at all,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But somehow no one seems to mind;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, naturally, <i>you</i> don't care,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If they can bear what you can bare!<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then, in a moment, you're pursued<br /></span> +<span class="i2">By engines on a railway track!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Your legs are tied, your feet are glued,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The train comes snorting down your back!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One last attempt at flight you make<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And so (in bed) perspiring wake.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">You feel so free from weight of cares<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That, if the staircase you should climb,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You gaily mount, not single stairs,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But whole battalions at a time;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(My metaphor is mixed, may be,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I quote from Shakespeare, as you see).<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">If you should eat too much, you pay<br /></span> +<span class="i2">(In dreams) the penalty for this;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A nightmare carries you away<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And drops you down a precipice!<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Down! down! until, with sudden smack,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You strike the mattress with your back.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> + +<span class="i6"><i>MORAL</i><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">At meals decline to be a beast;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">'Too much is better than a feast.'<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span></p> +<h3>XX</h3> + +<h3>STAGELAND</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The customs of this land have all<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Been published in a bulky tome.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The author is a man they call<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Jer<i>ome</i> K. J<i>er</i>ome <i>K</i>. Jer<i>ome</i>.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So, lest on his preserves I poach,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This subject I refuse to broach.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> + +<span class="i6"><i>MORAL</i><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The moral here is plain to see.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">If true the hackneyed witticism<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which stamps Originality<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As 'undetected plagiarism,'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What a vocation I have miss'd<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As undetected plagiarist!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span></p> +<h3>XXI</h3> + +<h3>LOVERLAND</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">This is the land where minor bards<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And other lunatics repair,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To live in houses made of cards,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or build their castles in the air;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To feed on hope, and idly dream<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That things are really what they seem.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The natives are a motley lot,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of ev'ry age and creed and race,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But each inhabitant has got<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The same expression on his face;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They look, when this their features fills,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like angels with internal chills.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The lover sits, the livelong day,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Quite inarticulate of speech;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He simply brims with things to say;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Alas! the words he cannot reach,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, silent, lets occasion pass,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Feeling a fulminating ass.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">It is the lady lover's wont<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To blush, and look demure or coy,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To say, 'You mustn't!' and, 'Oh! don't!'<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or, 'Please leave off, you naughty boy!'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(But this, of course, is just her way,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She wouldn't wish you to obey.)<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The lover, in a trembling voice,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Demands the hand of his lovee,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And begs the lady of his choice<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To share some cottage-by-the-sea;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With <i>her</i> a prison would be nice,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A coal-cellar a Paradise!<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'Love in a cottage' sounds so well;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But oh, my too impatient bride,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No drainage and a constant smell<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of something being over-fried<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is not the sort of atmosphere<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That makes for wedded bliss, my dear.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And when the bills are rather high,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And when the money's rather low,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">See poor Virginia sit and sigh,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And ask why Paul <i>must</i> grumble so!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He slams the door and strides about,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, through the window, Love creeps out.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'Tis said that Cupid blinds our sight<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With fire of passion from above,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor ever bids us see aright<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The many faults in those we love;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ah no! I deem it otherwise,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For lovers have the clearest eyes.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">They see the faults, the failures, and<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The great temptations, and they know,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Although they cannot understand,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That they would have the loved one so.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Believe me, Love is never blind,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His smiling eyes are wise and kind.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Tho' lovers quarrel, yet, I ween,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">'Tis but to make it up again;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sunshine seems the more serene<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That follows after April rain;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And love should lead, if love be true,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To perfect understanding too.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">If in our hearts this love beats strong,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">We shall not ever seek to earn<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Forgiveness for some fancied wrong,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Nor need to pardon in return;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But learn this lesson as we live,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'To understand is to forgive.'<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And all you little girls and boys<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Will find this out yourselves, some day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When you have done with childish toys<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And put your infant books away.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ah! then I pray that hand-in-hand<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You tread the paths of Loverland.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> + +<span class="i6"><i>MORAL</i><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Don't fall in love, but, when you do,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Take care that he (or she) does too;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, lastly, to misquote the bard,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If you <i>must</i> love, don't love too hard.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span></p> +<h3>XXII</h3> + +<h3>HOMELAND</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The tour is over! We must part!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Our mutual journey at an end.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O bid farewell, with aching heart,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To guide, philosopher, and friend;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And note, as you remark 'Good-bye!'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The kindly tear that dims his eye.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The tour is ended! Sad but true!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">No more together may we roam!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We turn our lonely footsteps to<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The spot that's known as Home, Sweet Home.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor time nor temper can afford<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A more protracted trip abroad.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">O Home! where we must always be<br /></span> +<span class="i2">So hopelessly misunderstood;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where waits a tactless family,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To tell us things 'for our own good';<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where relatives, with searchlight eyes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Can penetrate our choicest lies.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Where all our kith and kin combine<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To prove that we are worse than rude,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If we should criticise the wine<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or make complaints about the food.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thank goodness, then, to quote the pome,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thank goodness there's 'no place like Home!'<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="PART_II" id="PART_II"></a>PART II</h2> + +<h2><i>CHILDISH COMPLAINTS</i><br /> + +<small>AND</small><br /> + +<i>OTHER RUTHLESS RHYMES</i></h2> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHILDISH_COMPLAINTS" id="CHILDISH_COMPLAINTS"></a>CHILDISH COMPLAINTS</h2> + + +<h3>PRELUDE</h3> + +<p class="center">(<i>By Way of Advertisement</i>)</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I have no knowledge of disease,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">No notion what ill-health may be,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Since Housemaid's Throat and Smoker's Knees<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Mean something different to me<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To what they do to other folk.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(This is, I vow, no vulgar joke.)<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Of course, when young, I had complaints,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And little childish accidents;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For twice I ate a box of paints,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And once I swallowed eighteen pence.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(<i>N.B.</i>, I missed the paints a lot,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But got the coins back on the spot.)<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But no practitioner has seen<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My tongue since then, down to the present,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And I, alas! have never been<br /></span> +<span class="i2">An interesting convalescent.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ah! why am I alone denied<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Humour of a weak inside?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Why is it? I will tell you why;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A certain mixture is to blame.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One day for fun I chanced to try<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A bottle of—what <i>is</i> the name?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That thing they advertise a lot,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(Oh, what a memory I've got!)<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">It's stuff you must, of course, have seen,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Retailed in bottles, tins, or pots,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In cakes or little pills, I mean—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">(Oh goodness me! I've bought such lots,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That I am really much to blame<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For not remembering the name!)<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Still, let me recommend a keg<br /></span> +<span class="i2">(With maker's name, be sure, above it),<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Tis sweeter than a new-mown egg,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And village idiots simply love it;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Old persons sit and scream for it,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I do so hope you'll try a bit!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">So efficacious is this stuff,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Its virtue and its strength are such,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One single bottle is enough,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In fact, at times, 'tis far too much.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(The patient dies in frightful pain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or else survives, and tries again.)<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">An aunt of mine felt anyhow,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">All kind-of-odd, and gone-to-bits,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Had freckles badly too; but now<br /></span> +<span class="i2">She doesn't have a thing but fits.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She's just as strong as any horse,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tho' still an invalid, of course.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I had an uncle, too, that way,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">His health was in a dreadful plight;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Would often spend a sleepless day,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And lie unconscious half the night.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He took two bottles, large and small,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And now—he has no health at all!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The Moral plainly bids you buy<br /></span> +<span class="i2">This stuff, whose name I have forgotten;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You won't regret it, if you try—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">(My memory is simply rotten!)<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My funds will profit, in addition,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Since I enjoy a small commission!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span></p> +<h3>CHILDISH COMPLAINTS</h3> + +<h3><i>No. 1 (Appendicitis)</i></h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I've got Appendicitis<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In my Appendicit,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">But I don't mind,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Because I find<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I'm quite 'cut out' for it.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<h3><i>No. 2. (Whooping-cough)</i></h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">If only I had Whooping-cough!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I'd join a Circus troupe!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And folks would clamour at the door,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And pay a shilling—even more,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To see me 'Whoop The Whoop.'<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span></p> +<h3><i>No. 3. (Measles)</i></h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Of illnesses like chickenpox<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And measles I've had lots;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I do not like them much, you know,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They are not really nice, altho'<br /></span> +<span class="i2">They're rather nice in spots.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<h3><i>No. 4. (Adenoids)</i></h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">A Cockney maid produced such snores,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Folks left the City to avoid them;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And all becos,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">She said, it was<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Her adenoids that 'ad annoyed them!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<h3><i>No. 5. (Croup)</i></h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I had the Croup, in years gone by,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And that is why to-day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Altho' no longer youthful, I<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Am still a Croupier.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="RUTHLESS_RHYMES" id="RUTHLESS_RHYMES"></a>RUTHLESS RHYMES</h2> + + +<h3>I<br /><br /> + +MOTHER-WIT</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When wilful little Willie Black<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Threw all the tea-things at his mother,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She murmured, as she hurled them back,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">'One good Tea-urn deserves another!'<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span></p> +<h3>II<br /><br /> + +UNCLE JOE</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Poor Uncle Joe has gone, you know,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To rest beyond the stars.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I miss him, oh! I miss him so,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He had <i>such</i> good cigars.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span></p> +<h3>III<br /><br /> + +AUNT ELIZA</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">In the drinking-well<br /></span> +<span class="i2">(Which the plumber built her)<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Aunt Eliza fell,——<br /></span> +<span class="i2">We must buy a filter.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span></p> +<h3>IV<br /><br /> + +ABSENT-MINDEDNESS</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Absent-minded Edward Brown<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Drove his lady into town;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Suddenly the horse fell down!<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Mrs. Ned<br /></span> +<span class="i4">(Newly wed)<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Threw a fit and lay for dead.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Edward, lacking in resource,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Chafed the fetlocks of his horse,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sitting with unpleasant force<br /></span> +<span class="i4">(Just like lead)<br /></span> +<span class="i4">On the head<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of the prostrate Mrs. Ned.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">She demanded a divorce,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Jealous of the favoured horse.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Edward had it shot, of course.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i6">. . . . .<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">Years have sped;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">She and Ned<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Drive a motor now instead.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span></p> +<h3>V<br /><br /> + +JOHN</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">John, across the broad Atlantic,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Tried to navigate a barque,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But he met an unromantic<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And extremely hungry shark.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">John (I blame his childhood's teachers)<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thought to treat this as a lark,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ignorant of how these creatures<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Do delight to bite a barque.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Said, 'This animal's a bore!' and,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With a scornful sort of grin,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Handled an adjacent oar and<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Chucked it underneath the chin.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">At this unexpected juncture,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Which he had not reckoned on,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mr. Shark he made a puncture<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In the barque—and then in John.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i6">. . . . .<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Sad am I, and sore at thinking<br /></span> +<span class="i2">John had on some clothes of mine;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I can almost see them shrinking,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Washed repeatedly in brine.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I shall never cease regretting<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That I lent my hat to him,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For I fear a thorough wetting<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Cannot well improve the brim.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Oh! to know a shark is browsing,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Boldly, blandly, on my boots!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Coldly, cruelly carousing<br /></span> +<span class="i2">On the choicest of my suits!<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Creatures I regard with loathing,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who can calmly take their fill<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of one's Jaeger underclothing:—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Down, my aching heart, be still!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span></p> +<h3>VI<br /><br /> + +BABY</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Baby roused its father's ire,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">By a cold and formal lisp;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So he placed it on the fire,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And reduced it to a crisp.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mother said, 'Oh, stop a bit!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This is <i>overdoing</i> it!'<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span></p> +<h3>VII<br /><br /> + +THE CAT</h3> + +<p class="center">(<i>Advice to the Young</i>)</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">My children, you should imitate<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The harmless, necessary cat,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who eats whatever's on his plate,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And doesn't even leave the fat;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who never stays in bed too late,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or does immoral things like that;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Instead of saying, 'Shan't!' or 'Bosh!'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He'll sit and wash, and wash, and wash!<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When shadows fall and lights grow dim,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He sits beneath the kitchen stair;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Regardless as to life and limb,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A shady lair he chooses there;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And if you tumble over him,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He simply loves to hear you swear.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, while bad language <i>you</i> prefer,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He'll sit and purr, and purr, and purr!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="PART_III" id="PART_III"></a>PART III<br /><br /> + +<i>PERVERTED PROVERBS</i></h2> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span></p> +<h3>I<br /><br /> + +'VIRTUE IS ITS OWN REWARD'</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Virtue its own reward? Alas!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And what a poor one, as a rule!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Be Virtuous, and Life will pass<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Like one long term of Sunday-school.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(No prospect, truly, could one find<br /></span> +<span class="i0">More unalluring to the mind.)<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The Model Child has got to keep<br /></span> +<span class="i2">His fingers and his garments white;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In church he may not go to sleep,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Nor ask to stop up late at night.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In fact he must not ever do<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A single thing he wishes to.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He may not paddle in his boots,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Like naughty children, at the sea;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sweetness of Forbidden Fruits<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Is not, alas! for such as he.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He watches, with pathetic eyes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His weaker brethren make mud-pies.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He must not answer back, oh no!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">However rude grown-ups may be;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But keep politely silent, tho'<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He brim with scathing repartee;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For nothing is considered worse<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Than scoring off Mamma or Nurse.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He must not eat too much at meals,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Nor scatter crumbs upon the floor;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">However vacuous he feels,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He may not pass his plate for more;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">—Not tho' his ev'ry organ ache<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For further slabs of Christmas cake.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He is commanded not to waste<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The fleeting hours of childhood's days,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By giving way to any taste<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For circuses or matinées;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For him the entertainments planned<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Are 'Lectures on the Holy Land.'<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He never reads a story-book<br /></span> +<span class="i2">By Rider H. or Winston C.,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In vain upon his desk you'd look<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For tales by Arthur Conan D.,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor could you find upon his shelf<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The works of Rudyard—or myself!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He always fears that he may do<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Some action that is <i>infra dig.</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And so he lives his short life through<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In the most noxious rôle of Prig.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">('Short Life' I say, for it's agreed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Good die very young indeed.)<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Ah me! how sad it is to think<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He could have lived like me—or you!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With practice, and a taste for drink,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Our joys he might have known, he too!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And shared the pleasure <i>we</i> have had<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In being gloriously bad!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The Naughty Boy gets much delight<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From doing what he should not do;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But, as such conduct isn't Right,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He sometimes suffers for it, too.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet, what's a spanking to the fun<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of leaving vital things Undone?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The Wicked flourish like the bay,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">At Cards or Love they always win,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Good Fortune dogs their steps all day,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">They fatten while the Good grow thin.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Righteous Man has much to bear;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Bad becomes a Bullionaire!<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">For, though he be the greatest sham,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Luck favours him, his whole life through;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At 'Bridge' he always makes a Slam<br /></span> +<span class="i2">After declaring 'Sans atout';<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With ev'ry deal his fate has planned<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A hundred Aces in his hand.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Yes, it is always just the same;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He somehow manages to win,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By mere good fortune, any game<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That he may be competing in.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At Golf no bunker breaks his club,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For him the green provides no 'rub.'<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">At Billiards, too, he flukes away<br /></span> +<span class="i2">(With quite unnecessary 'side');<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No matter what he tries to play,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For him the pockets open wide;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He never finds both balls in baulk,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or makes miss-cues for want of chalk.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He swears; he very likely bets;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He even wears a flaming necktie;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Inhales Egyptian cigarettes,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And has a 'Mens Inconscia Recti';<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet, spite of all, one must confess<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That nought succeeds like his excess.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">There's no occasion to be Just,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">No need for motives that are fine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To be Director of a Trust,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or Manager of a Combine;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Your Corner is a public curse,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Perhaps, but it will fill your purse.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then stride across the Public's bones,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Crush all opponents under you,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Until you 'rise on stepping-stones<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of their dead selves'; and, when you do,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The widow's and the orphan's tears<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall comfort your declining years!<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i6">. . . . .<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Myself, how lucky I must be,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That need not fear so gross an end;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Since Fortune has not favoured me<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With many million pounds to spend.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(Still, did that fickle Dame relent,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I'd show you how they <i>should</i> be spent!)<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I am not saint enough to feel<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My shoulder ripen to a wing,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor have I wits enough to steal<br /></span> +<span class="i2">His title from the Copper King;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And there's a vasty gulf between<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The man I Am and Might Have Been;<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But tho' at dinner I may take<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Too much of Heidsick (extra dry),<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And underneath the table make<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My simple couch just where I lie,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My mode of roosting on the floor<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is just a trick and nothing more.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And when, not Wisely but too Well,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My thirst I have contrived to quench,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The stories I am apt to tell<br /></span> +<span class="i2">May be, perhaps, a trifle French;—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(For 'tis in anecdote, no doubt,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That what's Bred in the Beaune comes out.)—<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">It does not render me unfit<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To give advice, both wise and right,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Because I do not follow it<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Myself as closely as I might;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There's nothing that I wouldn't do<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To point the proper road to <i>you</i>.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And this I'm sure of, more or less,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And trust that you will all agree—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Elements of Happiness<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Consist in being—just like Me;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No sinner, nor a saint perhaps,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But—well, the very best of chaps.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Share the Experience I have had,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Consider all I've known and seen,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Don't be Good, and Don't be Bad,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But cultivate a Golden Mean.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i6">. . . . .<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">What makes Existence <i>really</i> nice<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is Virtue—with a dash of Vice.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span></p> +<h3>II<br /><br /> + +'ENOUGH IS AS GOOD AS A FEAST'</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">What is Enough? An idle dream!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">One cannot have enough, I swear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of Ices or Meringues-and-Cream,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Nougat or Chocolate Éclairs,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of Oysters or of Caviar,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of Prawns or Pâté de Foie <i>Grar</i>!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Who would not willingly forsake<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Kindred and Home, without a fuss,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For Icing from a Birthday Cake,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or juicy fat Asparagus,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And journey over countless seas<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For New Potatoes and Green Peas?<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">They say that a Contented Mind<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Is a Continual Feast;—but where<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The mental frame, and how to find,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Which can with Turtle Soup compare?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No mind, however full of Ease,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Could be Continual Toasted Cheese.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">For dinner have a sole to eat<br /></span> +<span class="i2">(Some Perrier Jouet, '92),<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An Entrée then (and, with the meat,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A bottle of Lafitte will do),<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A quail, a glass of port (just one),<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Liqueurs and coffee, and you've done.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Your tastes may be of simpler type;—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A homely pint of 'half-and-half,'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An onion and a dish of tripe,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or headpiece of the kindly calf.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(Cruel perhaps, but then, you know,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">''<i>Faut tout souffrir pour être veau</i>!')<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'Tis a mistake to eat too much<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of any dishes but the best;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And you, of course, should never touch<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A thing you <i>know</i> you can't digest;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For instance, lobster:—if you <i>do</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Well,—I'm amayonnaised at you!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Let this be your heraldic crest:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A bottle (chargé) of Champagne,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A chicken (gorged) with salad (dress'd),<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Below, this motto to explain—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Enough is Very Good, may be;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Too Much is Good Enough for Me!'<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span></p> +<h3>III<br /><br /> + +'DON'T BUY A PIG IN A POKE'</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Unscrupulous Pigmongers will<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Attempt to wheedle and to coax<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The ignorant young housewife till<br /></span> +<span class="i2">She purchases her pigs in pokes;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beasts that have got a Lurid Past,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or else are far Too Good to Last.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">So, should you not desire to be<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The victim of a cruel hoax,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then promise me, ah! promise me,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">You will not purchase pigs in pokes!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">('Twould be an error just as big<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To poke your purchase in a pig.)<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Too well I know the bitter cost,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To turn this subject off with jokes;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How many fortunes have been lost<br /></span> +<span class="i2">By men who purchased pigs in pokes.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(Ah! think on such when you would talk<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With mouths that are replete with pork!)<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And, after dinner, round the fire,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Astride of Grandpa's rugged knee,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Implore your bored but patient sire<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To tell you what a Poke may be.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The fact he might disclose to you—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which is far more than <i>I</i> can do.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i6">. . . . .<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The Moral of The Pigs and Pokes<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Is not to make your choice too quick.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In purchasing a Book of Jokes,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Pray poke around and take your pick.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who knows how rich a mental meal<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The covers of <i>this</i> book conceal?<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span></p> +<h3>IV<br /><br /> + +'LEARN TO TAKE THINGS EASILY'</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">To these few words, it seems to me,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A wealth of sound instruction clings;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O Learn to Take things easily—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Espeshly Other People's Things;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Time will make your fingers deft<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At what is known as Petty Theft.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'Fools and Their Money soon must part!'<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And you can help this on, may be,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If, in the kindness of your Heart,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">You Learn to Take things easily;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And be, with little education,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A Prince of Misappropriation.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span></p> +<h3>V<br /><br /> + +'A ROLLING STONE GATHERS NO MOSS'</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I never understood, I own,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">What anybody (with a soul)<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Could mean by offering a Stone<br /></span> +<span class="i2">This needless warning not to Roll;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And what inducement there can be<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To gather Moss, I fail to see.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I'd sooner gather anything,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Like primroses, or news perhaps,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or even wool (when suffering<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A momentary mental lapse);<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But could forgo my share of moss,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor ever realise the loss.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'Tis a botanical disease,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And worthy of remark as such;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lending a dignity to trees,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To ruins a romantic touch;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A timely adjunct, I've no doubt,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But not worth writing home about.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Of all the Stones I ever met,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In calm repose upon the ground,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I really never found one yet<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With a desire to roll around;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Theirs is a stationary rôle.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(A joke,—and feeble on the whole.)<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But, if I were a stone, I swear<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I'd sooner move and view the World,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Than sit and grow the greenest hair<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That ever Nature combed and curled.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I see no single saving grace<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In being known as 'Mossyface'!<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Instead, I might prove useful for<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A weapon in the hand of Crime,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A paperweight, a milestone, or<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A missile at Election-time;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In each capacity I could<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Do quite incalculable good.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When well directed from the Pit,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I might promote a welcome death,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If fortunate enough to hit<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Some budding Hamlet or Macbeth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who twice each day the playhouse fills,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(For Further Notice see Small Bills).<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">At concerts, too, if you prefer,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I could prevent your growing deaf<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By silencing the amateur<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Before she reached that upper F;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or else, in lieu of half-a-brick,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Restrain some local Kubelik.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then, human stones, take my advice,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">(As you should always do, indeed);<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This proverb may be very nice,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But don't you pay it any heed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, tho' you make the critics cross,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Roll on, and never mind the moss!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span></p> +<h3>VI<br /><br /> + +'IT IS NEVER TOO LATE TO MEND'</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Since it can never be too late<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To change your life, or else renew it,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Let the unpleasant process wait,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Until you are <i>compelled</i> to do it.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The State provides (and gratis too)<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Establishments for such as you.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Remember this, and pluck up heart,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That, be you publican or parson,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Your ev'ry art must have a start,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From petty larceny to arson;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And even in the burglar's trade,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The cracksman is not born, but made.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">So, if in your career of crime,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">You fail to carry out some 'coup,'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then try again a second time,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And yet again, until you <i>do</i>;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And don't despair, or fear the worst,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Because you get found out at first.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Perhaps the battle will not go,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">On all occasions, to the strongest;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You may be fairly certain tho'<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That He Laughs Last who Laughs the Longest.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So keep a good reserve of laughter,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which may be found of use hereafter.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Believe me that, howe'er well meant,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A good resolve is always brief;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Don't let your precious hours be spent<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In turning over a new leaf.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Such leaves, like Nature's, soon decay,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And then are only in the way.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The Road to—well, a certain spot<br /></span> +<span class="i2">(A road of very fair dimensions),<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Has, so the proverb tells us, got<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A parquet-floor of Good Intentions.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Take care, in your desire to please,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You do not add a brick to these.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">For there may come a moment when<br /></span> +<span class="i2">You shall be mended, willy-nilly,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With many more misguided men,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whose skill is undermined with skilly.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till then procrastinate, my friend;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'It <i>Never</i> is Too Late to Mend!'<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span></p> +<h3>VII<br /><br /> + +'A BAD WORKMAN COMPLAINS OF HIS TOOLS'</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">This pen of mine is simply grand,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I never loved a pen so much;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This paper (underneath my hand)<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Is really a delight to touch;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And never in my life, I think,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Did I make use of finer ink.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The subject upon which I write<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Is ev'rything that I could choose;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I seldom knew my wits more bright,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">More cosmopolitan my views;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor ever did my head contain<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So surplus a supply of brain!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span></p> +<h3>VIII<br /><br /> + +'DON'T LOOK A GIFT-HORSE IN THE MOUTH'</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I knew a man who lived down South;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He thought this maxim to defy;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He looked a Gift-horse in the Mouth;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The Gift-horse bit him in the Eye!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, while the steed enjoyed his bite,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My Southern friend mislaid his sight.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Now, had this foolish man, that day,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Observed the Gift-horse in the <i>Heel</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It might have kicked his brains away,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But that's a loss he would not feel;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Because, you see (need I explain?),<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My Southern friend has got no brain.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When any one to you presents<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A poodle, or a pocket-knife,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A set of Ping-pong instruments,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A banjo or a lady-wife,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Tis churlish, as I understand,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To grumble that they're second-hand.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And he who termed Ingratitude<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As 'worser nor a servant's tooth'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was evidently well imbued<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With all the elements of Truth;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(While he who said 'Uneasy lies<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The tooth that wears a crown' was wise).<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'One must be poor,' George Eliot said,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">'To know the luxury of giving';<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So too one really should be dead<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To realise the joy of living.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(I'd sooner be—I don't know which—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I'd <i>like</i> to be alive and rich!)<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>This</i> book may be a Gift-horse too,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And one you surely ought to prize;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If so, I beg you, read it through,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With kindly and uncaptious eyes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not grumbling because this particular line doesn't happen to scan,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And this one doesn't rhyme!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span></p> +<h3>IX<br /><br /> + +POTPOURRI</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">There are many more Maxims to which<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I would like to accord a front place,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But alas! I have got<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To omit a whole lot,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For the lack of available space;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the rest I am forced to boil down and condense<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To the following Essence of Sound without Sense:<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Now the Pitcher that journeys too oft<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To the Well will get broken at last.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But you'll find it a fact<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That, by using some tact,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Such a danger as this can be past.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span> +<span class="i0">(There's an obvious way, and a simple, you'll own,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which is, if you're a Pitcher, to Let Well alone.)<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Half a loafer is never well-bred,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And Self-Praise is a Dangerous Thing.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the mice are at play<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When the Cat is away,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For a moment, inspecting a King.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(Tho' if Care kills a Cat, as the Proverbs declare,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It is right to suppose that the King will take care.)<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Don't Halloo till you're out of the Wood,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When a Stitch in Good Time will save Nine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While a Bird in the Hand<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is worth Two, understand,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In the Bush that Needs no Good Wine.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(Tho' the two, if they <i>Can</i> sing but Won't, have been known,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By an accurate aim to be killed with one Stone.)<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Never Harness the Cart to the Horse;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Since the latter should be <i>à la carte</i>.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Also, Birds of a Feather<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Come Flocking Together,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">—Because they can't well Flock Apart.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(You may cast any Bread on the Waters, I think,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But, unless I'm mistaken, you can't make it Sink.)<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">It is only the Fool who remarks<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That there Can't be a Fire without Smoke;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Has he never yet learned<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How the gas can be turned<br /></span> +<span class="i2">On the best incombustible coke?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(Would you value a man by the checks on his suits,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And forget '<i>que c'est le premier passbook qui Coutts?</i>')<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Now '<i>De Mortuis Nil Nisi Bonum</i>,'<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Is Latin, as ev'ry one owns;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If your domicile be<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Near a Mortuaree,<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span> +<span class="i2">You should always avoid throwing bones.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(I would further remark, if I could,—but I couldn't—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That People Residing in Glasshouses shouldn't.)<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">You have heard of the Punctual Bird,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who was First in presenting his Bill;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But I pray you'll be firm,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And remember the Worm<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Had to get up much earlier still;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(So that, if you <i>can't</i> rise in the morning, then Don't;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And be certain that Where there's a Will there's a Won't.)<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">You can give a bad name to a Dog,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And hang him by way of excuse;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whereas Hunger, of course;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is by far the Best Sauce<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For the Gander as well as the Goose.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span> +<span class="i0">(But you shouldn't judge any one just by his looks,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For a Surfeit of Broth ruins too many Cooks.)<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">With the fact that Necessity knows<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Nine Points of the Law, you'll agree.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There are just as Good Fish<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To be found on a Dish<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As you ever could catch in the Sea.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(You should Look ere you Leap on a Weasel Asleep,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And I've also remarked that Still Daughters Run Cheap.)<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The much trodden-on Lane <i>will</i> Turn,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And a Friend is in Need of a Friend;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But the Wisest of Saws,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like the Camel's Last Straws,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or the Longest of Worms, have an end.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So, before out of Patience a Virtue you make,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A decisive farewell of these maxims we'll take.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="PART_IV" id="PART_IV"></a>PART IV<br /><br /> + +<i>OTHER VERSES</i></h2> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span></p> +<h3><a name="BILL" id="BILL"></a>BILL</h3> + +<p class="center">(<i>Told by the Hospital Orderly</i>)</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">At Modder, where I met 'im fust,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I thought as 'ow ole Bill was dead;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A splinter, from a shell wot bust,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">'Ad fetched 'im somewheres in the 'ead;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But there! It takes a deal to kill<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Them thick-thatched sort o' blokes like Bill.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">In the field-'orspital, nex' day,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The doctors was a-makin' out<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The 'casualty returns,' an' they<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Comes up an' pulls ole Bill about;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ole Colonel Wilks, 'e turns to me,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Report this "dangerous,"' sez 'e.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But Bill, 'oo must 'ave 'eard it too,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">'E calls the doctor, quick as thought:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'I'd take it kindly, sir, if you<br /></span> +<span class="i2">'Could keep me out o' the report.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'For tho' I'm 'it, an' 'it severe,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'I doesn't want my friends to 'ear.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'I've a ole mother, 'way in Kent,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">''Oo thinks the very world o' me;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'I'd thank you if I wasn't sent<br /></span> +<span class="i2">'As "wounded dangerous,"' sez 'e;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'For if she 'ears I'm badly hit,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'I lay she won't get over it.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'At Landman's Drift she lost a lad<br /></span> +<span class="i2">'(With the 18th 'Ussars 'e fell),<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Poor soul, she'd take it mighty bad<br /></span> +<span class="i2">'To think o' losin' me as well;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'So please, sir, if it's hall the same,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'I'd ask you not to send my name.'<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The Colonel bloke 'e thinks a bit,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">'Oh, well,' sez 'e, 'per'aps you're right.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'And, now I come to look at it,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">'I'll send you in as "scalp-wound, slight."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'O' course it's wrong of me, but still—'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Gawd bless you, sir, an' thanks!' sez Bill.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i6">. . . . . .<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'E didn't die; 'e scrambled through.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">They hoperated on 'is 'ead,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An' Gawd knows wot they didn't do,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">'Tripoded' 'im, I think they said.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I see'd 'im, Toosday, in Pall Mall,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor never knowed 'im look so well.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Yes, Bill 'e's going strong just now,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In London, an' employed again;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tho' it's a fact, 'e sez, as 'ow<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The doctors took out 'alf 'is brain!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ho well, 'e won't 'ave need o' this—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'E's working at the War Office.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span></p> +<h3>THE LEGEND OF THE AUTHOR</h3> + +<p class="center">(<i>A long way after Ingoldsby</i>)</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When Anthony Adamson first went to school<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The reception he got was decidedly cool;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, because he was utterly hopeless at games,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He was given all sorts of opprobrious names,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which ranged the whole gamut from 'fat-head' to 'fool';<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For boys as a rule, Are what nurses call 'crool,'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Tis their natural instinct, which nobody blames,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Any more than the habits Peculiar to rabbits,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To label a duffer 'old woman' or 'muff,' or<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some name calculated to cause him to suffer.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span> +<span class="i0">They failed in their treatment this time, on the whole,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Since our Anthony thoroughly pitied the rôle<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the oaf who is muddied, (For Kipling he'd studied),<br /></span> +<span class="i0">However strong-hearted, broad-limbed, and warm-blooded,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who sits in a goal, Quite deficient of soul,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And as blind to the beauties of Life as a mole.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He was rather a curious boy, was this youth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And a bit of a prig, if you must know the truth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And his comrades considered him weird and uncouth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For he didn't much mind When they left him behind,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, intent upon cricket, Went off to the wicket;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some other less heating employment he'd find,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, while his young playfellows fielded and batted,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This curious fat-head, Ink-fingered, hair-matted,<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Would take a new pen from his pocket, and lick it,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then into the ink-bottle thoughtfully stick it,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, chewing the holder ('Twas fashioned of gold,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or at least so 'twas sold By a stationer bold,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And at any rate furnished a good imitation),<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In deep rumination, With much mastication,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And wonderful patience, Await inspirations;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And brilliant ideas would arrive on occasions;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When frequently followed, The pen being swallowed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As up to his eyes in the inkpot he wallowed.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">So all the day long and for half of the night<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Would young Anthony Adamson nibble and write,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With extravagant feelings of joy and delight,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And it may sound absurd, But 'twas thus, as I've heard,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That he learnt to acquire the appropriate word;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And altho' composition, Which was his ambition,<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span> +<span class="i0">At first proved a trifle untamed and refractory;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Arrived in a while At evolving a style<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which a Stevenson even might deem satisfactory.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Now when Anthony A. was as yet in his 'teens<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He began to take aim at the big magazines,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With articles, verses, and little love-scenes;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And short stories he wrote, Which he sent with a note<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(Which I haven't the space nor the leisure to quote),<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Containing a humble request, and a hope,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And some stamps and a clearly addressed envelope.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Now a few of these got to the Editor's desk,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And he found them well-written and quite picturesque,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And he sighed to see talent like this go to waste<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On what couldn't appeal to the popular taste.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span> +<span class="i0">For the Public, you see (With a capital P),<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Doesn't care what it reads, just so long as it be<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Something really exciting, however bad writing,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With wonderful heroes, And villains like Neroes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who, running as serials, Wearing imperials,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Revel in bloodshed and bombast and fighting.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">So back to the Author his manuscript went;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Altho' sometimes a friendly old Editor sent<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An encouraging letter, To say he'd do better<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To lower his style to the popular level;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When Anthony proudly (Of course not out loudly,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But mentally) told him to go to the devil!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But a few of his articles never came back,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And their whereabouts no one was able to track,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For some persons who edited, (Can it be credited?)<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Finding it paid them, Unduly mislaid them<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(Behaviour most rare Nowadays anywhere,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And to ev'ry tradition entirely opposed),<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And grew fat on the numerous stamps he enclosed.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Tho' to this I am really unable to swear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or at any rate haven't the courage to dare.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Now when Anthony Adamson grew rather older,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And wiser, and bolder, And broader of shoulder,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He thought he'd a fancy to write for the Press,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Tis a common idea with the young, more or less;—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And he saw himself doing Critiques and reviewing<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The latest new books as they came from the printers;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To set them on thrones or to smash them to splinters,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To damn with faint praise, Or with eulogies raise,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As he banned or he blest, Just whatever seemed best<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To the wit and the wisdom of twenty-three winters.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But when he had carefully read thro' the papers,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Arranged to the taste of our nation of drapers,<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span> +<span class="i0">And wisely as Solomon Studied each column, an<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Awful attack of despair and depression<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Assailed him, and then, As he threw down his pen,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He was forced to confess To no hope of success,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If he entered the great journalistic profession.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">For the only description of 'copy' that pays,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In the journals that ev'ry one reads nowadays,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is the personal matter, Impertinent chatter,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The tales of the tailor, the barber, the hatter;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Society small talk, And mere servants'-hall talk,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sort of what's-nobody's-business-at-all-talk;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And those who can handle The latest big scandal<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With the taste of a Thug and the tact of a Vandal,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whatever society paper they write in,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Can always provide what their readers delight in.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An article, vulgarly written, which deals<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With the food that celebrities eat at their meals<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To the popular intellect always appeals.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span> +<span class="i0">People laugh themselves hoarse At the latest divorce,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While a peer's breach of promise is comic, of course;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How eager each face is, As ev'ry one races<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To read the details of the Cruelty cases!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And a magistrate's pun Is considered good fun,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And arouses the bench of reporters from torpor,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When it's at the expense of some broken-down pauper!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">So Anthony pondered the different ways<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of attaining and gaining the popular praise;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And selected a score of his brightest essays,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Just enough for a book, Which he hopefully took<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To some publishers, thinking perhaps they would look<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At what might (as he couldn't help modestly hinting)<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Repay the expense and the trouble of printing.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Now the publishers all were extremely polite,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And encouraging quite, For they saw he could write;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But the answer they gave him was always the same.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'You are not,' so they said, 'in the least bit to blame,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And your style is so good, Be it well understood,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We'd be happy to publish your work if we could;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But alas! All the people who know are agreed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This is not what the Public demands, or would read.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'It is over the head Of the people,' they said.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'If you'd only write down to the popular level!'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(Once more, he replied, they could go to the devil!)<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The result to our author was not unexpected,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, as on his failures he sadly reflected,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He took out his pen and a nib he selected,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then wrote (and his verses Were studded with curses)<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This poem, the Lay of the Author (Rejected).<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2"><i>The rejected Author's cup</i><br /></span> +<span class="i4"><i>Comes from out a bitter bin,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i2"><i>Constable won't 'take him up,'</i><br /></span> +<span class="i4"><i>Chambers will not 'take him in.'</i><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2"><i>Publishers, when interviewed,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i4"><i>Each alas! in turn looks Black;</i><br /></span> +<span class="i2"><i>De la Rue is De-la-rude,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i4"><i>Nutt is far too hard to crack.</i><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2"><i>Author, humble as a vassal</i><br /></span> +<span class="i4"><i>(He is feeling Low as well),</i><br /></span> +<span class="i2"><i>Sadly waits without the Cassell,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i4"><i>Vainly tries to press the Bell.</i><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2"><i>Author, hourly growing leaner,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i4"><i>Finds each day his jokes more rare,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i2"><i>Asks the Longman if he's Green, or</i><br /></span> +<span class="i4"><i>Spottiswoode to take the Eyre.</i><br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2"><i>Author, blithe as lark each morning,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i4"><i>Finds each night his tale unheard,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i2"><i>And, when Fred'rick gives him Warn(e)ing,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i4"><i>Is not Gay as any Bird.</i><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2"><i>Author, to his writings partial,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i4"><i>Musters their array en bloc,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i2"><i>Which the Simpkins will not Marshall,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i4"><i>And the Elliot will not Stock.</i><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2"><i>Tho' for little he be yearning,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i4"><i>Yet that little Long he'll want,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i2"><i>When the Lane has got no turning,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i4"><i>And the Richards will not Grant.</i><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Now when Anthony's life it grew harder and harder;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Less coal in the cellar, less meat in the larder;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He thought for a while, And at last (with a smile)<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He determined to sacrifice even his style.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span> +<span class="i0">So he wrote just whatever came into his head,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Without any regard for the living or dead,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or for what his friends thought or his enemies said.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From his style he effaced, As incentives to waste,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All the canons of grammar and even good taste;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And so book after book after book he brought out,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which you've probably read, and you know all about;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For the publishers bought them, And ev'ry one thought them<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So splendidly vulgar, that no one had ever<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Read anything quite so improperly clever.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He tried ev'ry style, from the fashion of Ouida's<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(His characters being Society Leaders;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Heroine, suited to middle-class readers,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A governess she, who might well have been humbler;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Hero a Duke, an inveterate grumbler;<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span> +<span class="i0">And a Guardsman who drank crême-de-menthe from a tumbler)<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To that of another more popular lady,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And wrote about aristocrats who were shady,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And showed that the persons you happen to meet<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In the Very Best Houses are always effete;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That they gamble all night, in particular sets,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And (Oh, hasn't she said it, Tho' can it be credit-<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ed?) have no intention of paying their debts!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">His best, which the Critics said 'teemed with expression,'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was the one-volume novel 'A Drunkard's Confession';<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The next, 'My Good Woman. A Love Tale'; another,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Most popular this, 'The Flirtations of Mother';<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And lastly, the crowning success of his life,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'How the Other Half Lives. By a Baronet's Wife.'<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span> +<span class="i0">And the Publishers now are all down on their knees,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As they offer what fees He may happen to please;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And success he discerns As with rapture he learns<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The amount that he earns From his roy'lty returns.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(N.B.—I omit the last 'a' here in Royalty,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For reasons of scansion and not from disloyalty.)<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The moral of this is quite easy to see;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If a popular author you're anxious to be,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You won't care a digamma For truth or for grammar,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Be far from straitlaced Upon questions of taste,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And don't trouble to polish your style or to bevel,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But always write down to the popular level;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Be vulgar and smart, And you'll get to the heart<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the persons directing the lit'rary mart,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And your writings must reach (It's a figure of speech)<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The—(well, what shall we call it—compositor's) devil!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span></p> +<h3>THE MOTRIOT</h3> + +<p class="center">(<i>After Robert Browning</i>)</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'It was chickens, chickens, all the way,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With children crossing the road like mad;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Police disguised in the hedgerows lay,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Stop-watches and large white flags they had,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At nine o'clock o' this very day.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'I broke the record to Tunbridge Wells,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And I shouted aloud, to all concerned,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Give room, good folk, do you hear my bells?"<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But my motor skidded and overturned;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then exploded—and afterwards, what smells!<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'Alack! it was I rode over the son<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of a butcher; rolled him all of a heap!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nought man could do did I leave undone;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And I thought that butcher's boys were cheap,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But this, poor man, 'twas his only one.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'There's nobody in my motor now,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Just a tangled car in the ditch upset;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For the fun of the fair is, all allow,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">At the County Court, or, better yet,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By the very foot of the dock, I trow.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i6">. . . . .<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'Thus I entered, and thus I go;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In Court the magistrate sternly said,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Five guineas fine, and the costs you owe!"<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I might not question, so promptly paid.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Henceforth I <i>walk</i>; I am safer so.'<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span></p> +<h3>THE BALLAD OF THE ARTIST</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Archibald Ames is an artist,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And a widely renowned R.A.,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For albeit his pictures are thoroughly bad,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The greatest success he has always had,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And he makes his profession pay.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He has no idea of proportion,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">No notion of colour or line,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But perhaps for such there is little need,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Since everybody is fully agreed<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That his <i>subjects</i> are quite divine.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">His pictures are sweetly simple;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The ingredients all must know,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Just a fair-haired child and a dog or two,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A very old man, and a baby's shoe,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And some bunches of mistletoe.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">In some, an angelic infant<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Is helping a kitten to play,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or dressing a cat in Grandpapa's hat<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(Which is equally hard on the hat and the cat),<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or teaching a 'dolly' to pray.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Or else there's a runaway couple,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With a distant view of papa,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An elderly party with rich man's gout,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who swears himself rapidly inside out,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In a broken-down motor-car.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Or it may be a scene in the Workhouse,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where a widow of high degree,<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span> +<span class="i0">With almost suspiciously puce-coloured hair,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Has arrived in a gorgeous carriage-and-pair,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To distribute a pound of tea.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Sometimes he portrays a battle,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With a 'square' like a Rugby scrum,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where a bugler, the colours grasped in his hand,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And making a final determined stand,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Plays 'God Save the King' on a drum.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">This is the kind of subject<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That he gives to us day by day;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You may jeer at the absence of all technique,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But these are the pictures the people seek<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From this justly renowned R.A.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">In distant suburban boudoirs<br /></span> +<span class="i2">You will find them, in gilded frames,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'The Prodigal Calf' (a homely scene)<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Grandmamma's Boots,' or 'To Gretna Green,'<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The Works of Archibald Ames.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And, if they appeal to the public,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In the usual course of events,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some enterprising manager comes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And buys them up for enormous sums,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And they serve as advertisements.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Where the child is painting the kitten<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With Potter's Indelible Dye,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While Grandpapa shows to the reckless cat<br /></span> +<span class="i0">McBride's Indestructible Gibus Hat,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">(Which Ev'ry one ought to buy).<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And the Gretna Green arrangement<br /></span> +<span class="i2">An interest new acquires,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By depicting how great the advantages are<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the Patented Spoofenhauss Auto-car,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With unpuncturable tyres.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And the widow (Try Kay's for mourning),<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As black as Stevenson's Ink,<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Is curing the paupers of sundry ills<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By the gift of a box of the Palest Pills<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For persons who may be Pink.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And the bugler-boy in the battle,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With trousers of Blackett's Blue,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Unshrinking as Simpson's Serge, and free<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As Winkleson's Patent Ear-drum he,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And steadfast as Holdhard's Glue.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">This is the modern fashion<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In the popular art of the day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And this is the reason that Archibald Ames<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ranks high among other familiar names<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As a very well-known R.A.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span></p> +<h3>THE BALLAD OF PING-PONG</h3> + +<p class="center">(<i>After Swinburne</i>)</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The murmurous moments of May-time,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">What bountiful blessings they bring!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As dew to the dawn of the day-time,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Suspicions of Summer to Spring!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Let others imagine the time light,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With maidens or books on their knee,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or live in the languorous limelight<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That tinges the trunk of the Tree.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Let the timorous turn to their tennis,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or the bowls to which bumpkins belong,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But the thing for grown women and men is<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The pastime of ping and of pong.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The game of the glorious glamour!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The feeling to fight till you fall!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The hurricane hail and the hammer!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The batter and bruise of the ball!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The glory of getting behind it!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The brief but bewildering bliss!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The fear of the failure to find it!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The madness at making a miss!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The sound of the sphere as you smack it,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Derisive, decisive, divine!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The riotous rush of your racket,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To mix and to mingle with mine!<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The diadem dear to the King is,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">How sweet to the singer his song;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To me so the plea of the ping is,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the passionate plaint of the pong.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I live for it, love for it, like it;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Delight of my dearest of dreams!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To stand and to strive and to strike it,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">So certain, so simple it seems!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then give me the game of the gay time,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The ball on its wandering wing,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The pastime for night or for day-time,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The Pong, not to mention the Ping!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span></p> +<h3>THE PESSIMIST</h3> + +<p class="center">(<i>After Maeterlinck</i>)</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Life's bed is full of crumbs and rice,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">No roses float on my lagoon;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There are no fingers, white and nice,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To rub my head with scented ice,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or feed me with a spoon.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I think of all the days gone by,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Replete with black and blue regret;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No comets light my glaucous sky,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My tears are hardly ever dry,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I never can forget!<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I see the yellow dog, Desire,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That strains against the lead of Hope,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With lilac eyes and lips of fire,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As all in vain he strives to tire<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The hand that holds the rope.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I see the kisses of the past,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Like lambkins dying in the snow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The honeymoon that did not last,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The tinted youth that flew so fast,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And all this vale of woe.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">So, raising high my raucous cry,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I ask (and Fates no answer give),<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Why am I pre-ordained to die?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O cruel Fortune, tell me, why<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Am I allowed to live?<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span></p> +<h3>THE PLACE WHERE THE OLD CLEEK BROKE</h3> + +<p class="center">(<i>After Whyte-Melville</i>)</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Life is hollow to the golfer, of however high his rank,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">If the dock-leaf and the nettle grow too free,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If a bramble bar his progress, if he's bunkered by a bank,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">If his golf-ball jerks and wobbles off the tee.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There's a ditch I never pass, full of stones and broken glass,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And I'd sooner lift my ball and count a stroke,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For the tears my vision blot when I see the fatal spot,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">'Tis the place where my old cleek broke.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">There's his haft upon the table, there's his head upon a chair;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And a better never felt the summer rain;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I may curse and I may swear, my umbrella-stand is bare,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I shall never use my gallant cleek again!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With what unaccustomed speed would he strike the Golf-ball teed!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">How it sounded on his metal at each stroke!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not a flyer in the game such parabolas could claim,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">At the place where the old cleek broke!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Was he cracked? I hardly think it. Did he slip? I do not know.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He had struck the ball for forty yards or more;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He was driving smooth and even, just as hard as he could go,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I had never seen him striking so before.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span> +<span class="i0">But I hardly can complain, for there must have been a strain<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I had forced beyond the compass of a joke—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And no club, however strong, could have lasted over long<br /></span> +<span class="i2">At the place where the old cleek broke!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">There are men, both staid and sound, who hold it happiness unique,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">At which only the irreverent can scoff,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That is reached by means of brassey, driver, niblick, spoon, or cleek,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And that life is not worth living without Golf.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Well, I hope it may be so; for myself I only know<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That I never more shall try another stroke;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yes, I've wearied of the sport, since a lesson I was taught,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">At the place where the old cleek broke.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span></p> +<h3>THE HOMES OF LONDON</h3> + +<p class="center">(<i>After Mrs. Hemans</i>)</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The happy homes of London,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">How beautiful they stand!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The crowded human rookeries<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That mar this Christian land.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where cats in hordes upon the roof<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For nightly music meet,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the horse, with non-adhesive hoof,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Skates slowly down the street.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The merry homes of London!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Around bare hearths at night,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With hungry looks and sickly mien,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The children wail and fight.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span> +<span class="i0">There woman's voice is only heard<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In shrill, abusive key,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And men can hardly speak a word<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That is not blasphemy.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The healthy homes of London!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With weekly wifely wage,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The hopeless husbands, out of work,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Their daily thirst assuage.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The overcrowded tenement<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Is comfortless and bare,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The atmosphere is redolent<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of hunger and despair.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The blessed homes of London!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">By thousands, on her stones,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The helpless, homeless, destitute,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Do nightly rest their bones.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span> +<span class="i0">On pavements Piccadilly way,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In slumber like the dead,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their wan pathetic forms they lay,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And make their humble bed.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The free, fair homes of London!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From all the thinking throng,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who mourn a nation's apathy,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The cry goes up, 'How long!'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And those who love old England's name,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Her welfare and renown,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Can only contemplate with shame<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The homes of London town.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span></p> +<h3>THE HAPPIEST LAND</h3> + +<p class="center">(<i>After Longfellow</i>)</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">There sat one day in a tavern,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Somewhere near Lincoln's Inn,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Six sleepy-looking working men,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Imbibing 'twos' of gin.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The Potman filled their tankards<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With the liquor each preferred,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Torpid and somnolent they sat,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And spake not one rude word.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But when the potman vanished,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A brawny Scot stood forth;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Change here,' quoth he, 'for Aberdeen,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Strathpeffer and the North!<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'No country in the world, I ken,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With Scotia can compare,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With all the dour and canny men,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the bonnie lasses there.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'I hae a wee bit hoosie,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">An' a burn runs greetin' by,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An' unco crockit Minister<br /></span> +<span class="i2">An' a bairn to milk the ki';<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'I hae a muckle haggis,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A bap an' a skian-dhu,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A cairngorm and a bannock,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">An' a sonsy kailyard too!'<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'Bejabers!' said an Irishman,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">'Acushla and Ochone!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There's but one country on the Earth,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ould Oireland stands alone!<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'Give me the Emerald Isle, avick!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With murphies for to ate,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An' as many pigs and childer<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As the fingers on me <i>fate</i>.'<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Exclaimed a Frenchman, 'Par Exemple!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Donnez-moi ma Patrie!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Vin ordinaire and savoir faire<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Are good enough for me!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'Have you the penknife of my Aunt?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Mais non, hélas! but then,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The female gardener has got<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Some paper and a pen!'<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then spoke a Greek, 'The Isles of Greece!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">What can compare with those?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thalassa! and Eurêka!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Rhododaktylos êôs!'<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'On London streets I'm working,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With a vat of asphalt stew,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Putting off the old macadam,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And a-laying down the new;<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'But the country of my childhood<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Is the best that man may know,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh didêmi also phêmi,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Zôê mou sas agapô!'<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Straight rose a German and remarked<br /></span> +<span class="i2">'Vot of die Vaterland?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ach Himmel! Unberüfen!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the luffly German band?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'Gif me some Gotterdammerung,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And nuddings more I need,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But ewigkeit and sauerkraut<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And niebelungenlied!'<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'Nonsense!' exclaimed an Englishman.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">('I surely ought to know!)<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Old England is the only place<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where any man should go!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'Show me the something furriner<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who such a fact denies,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, if I can't convince 'im,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I can black 'is bloomin' eyes!'<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then entered in the potman,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And pointed to the door;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Outside,' said he, 'is where <i>you</i>'ll go,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">If I have any more!'<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i6">. . . . .<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">It was six friendly working men,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Brimming with 'twos' of gin,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who crept from out the tavern,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As the Dawn came creeping in.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span></p> +<h3>A LONDON INVOLUNTARY</h3> + +<p class="center">(<i>After W. E. Henley</i>)</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Spizzicato non poco skirtsando</i></p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Old Palace Yard!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hark how their breath draws lank and hard,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sallow stern police!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Breaking the desultory midnight peace<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With plangent call, to cry<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Division'! This their first especial charge.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And now, low, luminous, and large,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The slumbrous Member hurries by.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Let us take cab, Dear Heart, take cab and go<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From out the lith of this loud world (I know<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span> +<span class="i0">The meaning of the word). Come, let us hie<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To where the lamp-posts ouch the troubled sky,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(And if there is one thing for which I vouch<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It is my knowledge of the verb to ouch.)<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So, as we steal<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Homeward together, we shall feel<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The buxom breeze,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(Observe the epithet; an apt one, if you please.)<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Down through the sober paven street,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which, purged and sweet,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gleams in the ambient deluge of the water-cart,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bemused and blurred and pinkly lustrous, where<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The blandest lion in Trafalgar Square<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Seems but a part<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the great continent of light,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An attribute of the embittered night,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How new, how naked and how clean!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Couchant, slow, shimmering, superb!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Constant to one environment, nor even seen<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pottering aimlessly along the kerb.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Lo!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On the pavement, one of those<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Grim men who go down to the sea in ships,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Blaspheming, reeling in a foul ellipse,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Home to some tangled alley-bedside goes,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oozing and flushed, sharing his elemental mirth<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With all the jocund undissembling earth;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Drooping his shameless nose,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor hitching up his drifting, shifting clothes.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And here is Piccadilly! Loudly dense,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Intractable, voluminous, immense!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(Dear, dear my heart's desire, can I be talking sense?)<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span></p> +<h3>BLUEBEARD</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Yes, I am Bluebeard, and my name<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Is one that children cannot stand;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet once I used to be so tame<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I'd eat out of a person's hand;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So gentle was I wont to be,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A Curate might have played with me.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">People accord me little praise,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Yet I am not the least alarming;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I can recall, in bygone days,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A maid once said she thought me charming.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She was my friend,—no more I vow,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And—she's in an asylum now.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Girls used to clamour for my hand,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Girls I refused in simple dozens;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I said I'd be their brother, and<br /></span> +<span class="i2">They promised they would be my cousins.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(One I accepted,—more or less,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But I've forgotten her address.)<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">They worried me like anything<br /></span> +<span class="i2">By their proposals ev'ry day;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Until at last I had to ring<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The bell, and have them cleared away;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They longed to share my lofty rank,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Also my balance at the bank.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">My hospitality to those<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whom I invite to come and stay<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is famed; my wine like water flows,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Exactly like, some people say;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But this is mere impertinence<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To one who never spares expense.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When through the streets I walk about,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My subjects stand and kiss their hands,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Raise a refined metallic shout,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Wave flags and warble tunes on bands;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While bunting hangs on ev'ry front,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With my commands to let it bunt!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When I come home again, of course,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Retainers are employed to cheer,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My paid domestics get quite hoarse<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Acclaiming me, and you can hear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The welkin ringing to the sky,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ay, ay, and let it welk, say I!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And yet, in spite of this, there are<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Some persons who, at diff'rent times,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">—(Because I am so popular)—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Accuse me of most awful crimes;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A girl once said I was a flirt!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh my! how the expression hurt!<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I <i>never</i> flirted in the least,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Never for very long, I mean,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ask any lady (now deceased)<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who partner of my life has been;—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh well, of course, sometimes, perhaps,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I meet a girl, like other chaps,—<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And, if I like her very much,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And if she cares for me a bit,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where is the harm of look or touch,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">If neither of us mentions it?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It isn't right, I don't suppose,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But no one's hurt if no one knows!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">One should not break oneself <i>too</i> fast<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of little habits of this sort,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which may be definitely classed<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With gambling, or a taste for port;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They should be <i>slowly</i> dropped, until<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Heart is subject to the Will.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I knew a man (in Regent Street)<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who, at a very slight expense,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By persevering, was complete-<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ly cured of Total Abstinence<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An altered life he has begun<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And takes a glass with any one.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I knew another man, whose wife<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Was an invet'rate suicide;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She daily strove to take her life,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And (naturally) nearly died;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But some such system she essayed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And now—she's eighty in the shade.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Ah, the new leaves I try to turn!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But, like so many men in town,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I seem (as with regret I learn)<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Merely to turn the corner down;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A habit which, I fear, alack!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Makes it more easy to turn back.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I have been criticised a lot;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I venture to inquire what for?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Because, forsooth, I have not got<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The instincts of a bachelor!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Just hear my story, you will find<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How grossly I have been maligned.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I was unlucky with my wives,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">So are the most of married men;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Undoubtedly they lost their lives,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of course, but even so, what then?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I loved them like no other man,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And I <i>can</i> love, you bet I can!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">My first was little Emmeline,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">More beautiful than day was she;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her proud, aristocratic mien<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Was what at once attracted me.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I naturally did not know<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That I should soon dislike her so.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But there it was! And you'll infer<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I had not very long to wait<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Before my red-hot love for her<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Turned to unutterable hate.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So, when this state of things I found,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I had her casually drowned.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">My next was Sarah, sweet but shy,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And quite inordinately meek;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yes, even now I wonder why<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I had her hanged within the week;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Perhaps I felt a bit upset,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or else she bored me. I forget.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then came Evangeline, my third,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And when I chanced to be away,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She, so I subsequently heard,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Was wont (I deeply grieve to say)<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With my small retinue to flirt.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I strangled her. I hope it hurt.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Isabel was, I think, my next,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">(That is, if I remember right),—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And I was really very vexed<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To find her hair come off at night;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To falsehood I could not connive,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And so I had her boiled alive.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then came Sophia, I believe,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Her coiffure was at least her own;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Alas! she fancied to deceive<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Her friends, by altering its tone.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She dyed her locks a flaming red!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I suffocated her in bed.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Susannah Maud was number six,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But she did not survive a day;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Poor Sue, she had no parlour tricks,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And hardly anything to say.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A little strychnine in her tea<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Finished her off, and I was free.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Yet I did not despair, and soon,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In spite of failures, started off<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon my seventh honeymoon,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With Jane; but could not stand her cough.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Twas chronic. Kindness was in vain.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I pushed her underneath the train.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Well, after her, I married Kate,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A most unpleasant woman. Oh!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I caught her at the garden gate,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Kissing a man I didn't know;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, as that didn't suit me quite,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I blew her up with dynamite.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Most married men, so sorely tried<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As this, would have been rather bored.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not I, but chose another bride,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And married Ruth. Alas! she snored!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I served her just the same as Kate,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And so she joined the other eight.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">My last was Grace; I am not clear,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I <i>think</i> she didn't like me much;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She used to scream when I came near,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And shuddered at my lightest touch.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She seemed to wish to keep aloof,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And so I threw her off the roof.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">This is the point I wish to make;—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From all the wives for whom I grieve,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose lives I had perforce to take,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Not one complaint did I receive;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And no expense was spared to please<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My spouses at their obsequies.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">My habits, I would have you know,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Are perfect, as they've always been;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You ask if I am good, and go<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To church, and keep my fingers clean?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I do, I mean to say I am,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I have the morals of a lamb.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">In my domains there is no sin,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Virtue is rampant all the time,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Since I so thoughtfully brought in<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A bill which legalises crime;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Committing things that are not wrong<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Must pall before so very long.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And if what you imagine vice<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Is not considered so at all,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Crime doesn't seem the least bit nice,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">There's no temptation then to fall;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For half the charm of things we do<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is knowing that we oughtn't to.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Believe me, then, I am not bad,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Though in my youth I had to trek,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Because I happened to have had<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Some difficulties with a cheque.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What forgery in some might be<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is absent-mindedness in me!<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I know that I was much abused,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">No doubt when I was young and rash,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But I should not have been accused<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of misappropriating cash.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I may have sneaked a silver dish;—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Well, you may search me if you wish!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">So, now you see me, more or less,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As I would figure in your thoughts;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A trifle given to excess,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And prone perhaps to vice of sorts;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When tempted, rather apt to fall,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But still—a good chap after all!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span></p> +<h3>'THE WOMAN WITH THE DEAD SOLES'</h3> + +<p class="center">(<i>After Stephen Phillips</i>)</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Attracted to the frozen river's brink,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where on a small impromptu snow-swept rink,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The happy skaters darted left and right,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or circled amorously out of sight,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some self-supporting; some, like falling stars,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Spread-eagling ankle-weak parabolas;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I watched the human swarm, and I was 'ware<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A woman, disarranged, knelt on a chair.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She had cold feet on which she could not run,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And piteously she thawed them in the sun.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Those feet were of a woman that alone<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was kneeling; a pink liquid by her shone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which raising to her luminous, lantern jaw,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She sipped; or idly stirred it with a straw.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon her hat she wore a kind of fowl,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An hummingbird, I ween, or else an owl.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then turned to me. I looked the other way,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Trembling; I knew the words she wished to say.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So warm her gaze the blood rushed to my head,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Instinctively I knew her feet were dead.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Amorphous feet, like monumental moons,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pavement-obliterating, vast, pontoons,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Superbly varnished, to the ice had come,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And now, snow-kissed, frost-fettered, dangled numb.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gently she spoke,—the while my senses whirled,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of 'largest circulations in the world';<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wildly she spoke, as babble men in dreams,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of feeling life's blood 'rushing to extremes';<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But I ignored her with deliberate stare,<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Until the indelicate thing began to swear.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sensations as of pins and needles rose,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Apollinaris-like, in tingled toes.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She felt the hungry frost that punctured holes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like concentrated seidlitz, in her soles.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Feebly she stept; and sudden was aware<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her feet had gone,—they were no longer there,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And from her boots was willing to be freed;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She would not keep what she could never need.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sullenly I consented, and withdrew<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From either heel a huge chaotic shoe;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet for a time laboriously and slow<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She journeyed with her ponderous boots, as though<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Along with her she could not help but bear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The bargelike burdens she was wont to wear.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Towards me she reeled; and 'Oh! my Uncle,' cried,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'My Uncle!' but I pushed her to one side,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then smiled upon her so she could not stay,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(My smile can frighten motor-cars away):—<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span> +<span class="i0">While thus I grinned, not knowing what to do,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A belted beadle, in immaculate blue,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Plucked at my sleeve, and shattered my romance,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wheeling on cushion tires an ambulance.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Deliberately then he laid her there,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tucked in and bore away; I did not care!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span></p> +<h3>ROSEMARY</h3> + +<p class="center">(<i>A Ballad of the Boudoir</i>)</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'E'er August be turned to September,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Nor Summer to Autumn as yet,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My darling, you Autumn remember<br /></span> +<span class="i2">What Summer so sure to forget.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'Though age may extinguish the ember<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That glowed in our hearts when we met,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Remember, my love, to remember,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And I will forget to forget.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'Who knows but the winds of December<br /></span> +<span class="i2">May drift us asunder, my pet;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And if I forget to remember,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Remember, my sweet, to forget!<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'My beauty will fade, as the posy<br /></span> +<span class="i2">You gave me that night on the stairs;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My lips will not always be rosy,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My head cannot give itself 'airs.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'Alas! as we both become older,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Existence draws nigh to a close;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So, until I've forgotten your shoulder,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">You must not remember my nose.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'Our days were not all sunny weather;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Even so we have nought to regret,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ah! let us remember together,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Until we forget to forget!'<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span></p> +<h3>PORTKNOCKIE'S PORTER</h3> + +<p class="center">(<i>With apologies to Porphyria's Lover</i>)</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The train came early in to-night,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The sullen guard was soon awake,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And threw my luggage down, for spite,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To where the platform seemed a lake;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And did his best my box to break.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When sidled up a porter; straight,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He mopped the platform with a broom,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, kneeling, made the well-filled grate<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Blaze up within the waiting-room,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And so dispelled the usual gloom.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which done, he came and took his seat<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Beside me, doffed his coat, untied<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His bootlaces, and let his feet<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span> +<span class="i2">Peep coyly out on either side;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Then called me. When no voice replied,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He rolled his shirt-sleeve up, and rose,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And laid his brawny biceps bare,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, where my eyebrows meet my nose,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He slowly shook his fist, just there,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And seized me by my yellow hair.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then roughly asked me, had I got<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A head as empty as a bubble?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bidding me sternly, did I not<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Desire henceforth to see things double,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To give him something for his trouble.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor could my arguments prevail;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Entreaties, threats were all in vain!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Returned he to the twice-told tale<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of how, from out the midnight train,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He bore my luggage through the rain.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I fixed him with my cold grey eye,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But all in vain; at last I knew<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That porter hated me; (though why<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span> +<span class="i2">I cannot understand, can you?)<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And what on earth was I to do!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Next moment, though I still perspire<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To think of it, I quickly found<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A thing to do; and on the fire<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I pushed him backwards with a bound,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And piled the coal up all around.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Cremated him. No pain he felt.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As a shut coop that holds a hen,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I oped the register and smelt<br /></span> +<span class="i2">An odour as of burnt quill-pen.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My laughter bubbled over then.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I seized him lightly, with the tongs<br /></span> +<span class="i2">About his waist; and through the door<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I bore him, burning with my wrongs,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And laid him on the line. What's more,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The down express was due at four.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i6">. . . . .<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The mark is on the metals still,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A gruesome stain, I must confess,<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span> +<span class="i0">And, when I pass, it makes me ill<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To note the somewhat painful mess<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Concocted by the down express.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Portknockie's porter; so he died.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The date of inquest is deferred.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Tis thought a case of suicide;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And he who might have seen or heard,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The guard,—has never said a word.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span></p> +<h3>THE BALLAD OF THE LITTLE JINGLANDER</h3> + +<p class="center">'WHEN THE MOTHER COUNTRY CALLS!'</p> + +<p class="center">(<i>With apologies to all concerned</i>)</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>North and South and East and West, the message travels fast!</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>East and West and North and South, the bugles blare and blast!</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>North and West and East and South, the battle-cry grows plain!</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>West and South and North and East, it echoes back again!</i><br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">For the East is calling Westwards, and the North is speaking South,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There's a threat on ev'ry curling lip, an oath in ev'ry mouth;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Tis the shadow of an Empire o'er the Universe that falls,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the winds of Heaven wonder when the Mother-country calls!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Now the call is carried coastwise, from Calay to Bungapore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From the sunny South Pacific to the North Atlantic shore;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gathers volume in its footsteps and grows grander as it goes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From Jeboom to Pongawongo, where the Rumtumpootra flows.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The 'native-born' he sits alert beneath a deodar,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He sharpens up his 'cummerbund' and loads his 'khitmagar,'<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">His 'ekkah' stands untasted, as he girds upon his brow<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The 'syce' his father gave him, saying 'unkah punkah jow!'<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2"><i>Come forth, you babu jemadar,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i4"><i>No lackh of pice we bring,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i2"><i>Bid the ferash comb your moustashe,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i4"><i>And join the great White King!</i><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And Westward, where 'Our Lady of the Sunshine' (not 'the Snows')<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Delights to herd the caribou, and where the chipmunk grows,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The 'habitant' he sits amid a grove of maple trees,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He decorates his shanty and he polishes his 'skis.'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And see! Through ranch or lumber-camp, where'er the news shall go,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The daughters cease to gather fruit, the sons to shovel snow!<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">They love the dear old Mother-land that they have never seen,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Empire that they advertise as 'vaster than has been'!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2"><i>Come forth, you mild militiaman,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i4"><i>To conquer or to fail,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i2"><i>Who is it helps the Lion's whelps</i><br /></span> +<span class="i4"><i>Untwist the Lion's tail?</i><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The pride of race, the pride of place, and bond of blood they feel,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Indies indicate it and New Zealand shows new zeal.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The daughters in their Mother's house are mistress in their own;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They are her heirs, her flesh is theirs, and they would share her bone!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lo! Greater Britain stretches out her hands across the sea;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Australia forgets her impecuniositee;<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span> +<span class="i0">On Afric's shore the wily Boer is ready now to fight,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For the Khaki and the rooinek, for the Empire and the Right!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2"><i>Come forth, you valiant volunteer,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i4"><i>Come forth to do or die,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i2"><i>You give a hand to Mother, and</i><br /></span> +<span class="i4"><i>She'll help you by and by!</i><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Upon her score of distant shores the sun is always bright;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(And always in her empire, too, it must somewhere be night!)<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her birthplace is the Ocean, where her pennon braves the breeze;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her motto, 'What is ours we'll hold (and what is not we'll seize!)'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her rule is strong, her purse is long, her sons are stern and true,<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span> +<span class="i0">With iron hands she holds her lands (and other people's too).<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She sees her chance and cries 'Advance,' while others stand and gape,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her oxengoads shall claim the roads from Cairo to the Cape.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2"><i>Come out, you big black Fuzzy-Wuz,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i4"><i>You've got to take your share;</i><br /></span> +<span class="i2"><i>We'll make you sweat till you forget</i><br /></span> +<span class="i4"><i>You broke a British Square!</i><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>North and South and East and West, the message travels fast!</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>East and West and North and South, the bugles blare and blast!</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Hear we but a whisper that the foe is at the walls,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>And, by Gad, we'll show them something when the Mother Country calls!</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span></p> +<h3>AFTWORD</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'Tis done! We reach the final page<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With feelings of relief, I'm certain;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And there arrives, at such a stage,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The moment to ring down the Curtain.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(This metaphor is freely taken<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From Shakespeare,—or perhaps from Bacon.)<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The Book perused, our Future brings<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A plethora of blank to-morrows,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When memories of Happier Things<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Will be our Sorrow's Crown of Sorrows.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(I trust you recognise this line<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As being Tennyson's, not mine.)<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">My verses may indeed be few,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But are they not, to quote the poet,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'The sweetest things that ever grew<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Beside a human door'? I know it!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(What an <i>in</i>human door would be,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Enquire of Wordsworth, please, not me.)<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'Twas one of my most cherished dreams<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To write a Moral Book some day;—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What says the Bard? 'The best laid schemes<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of Mice and Men gang aft agley!'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(The Bard here mentioned, by the bye,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is Robbie Burns, of course,—not I.)<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And tho' my pen records each thought<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As swift as the phonetic Pitman,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Morality is not my 'forte,'<br /></span> +<span class="i2">O Camarados! (<i>vide</i> Whitman).<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, like the Porcupine, I still<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Am forced to ply a fretful quill.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">We may be Masters of our Fate,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">(As Henley was inspired to mention),<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet am I but the Second Mate<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Upon the s.s. 'Good Intention';<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For me the course direct is lacking,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I have to do a deal of tacking.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">To seek for Morals here's a task<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of which you well may be despairing;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'What has become of them?' you ask.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">They've given me the slip,—like Waring.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Look East!' said Browning once, and I<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Would make a similar reply.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Look East, where in a garret drear,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The Author works, without cessation,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Composing verses for a mere-<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ly nominal remuneration;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, while he has the strength to write 'em,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Will do so still—<i>ad infinitum!</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span></p> +<h3>ENVOI</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Speed, flippant rhymes, throughout the land;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Disperse yourselves with patient zeal!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Go, perch upon the critic's hand,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Just after he has had a meal.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But should he still unfriendly be,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Unperch and hasten back to me.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i6">. . . . .<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">O gentle maid, O happy boy,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">This copy of my book is done;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But don't forget that I enjoy<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A royalty on ev'ry one;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Just think how wealthy I should be,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If you would purchase two or three!<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> + +<span class="i6"><i>MORAL</i><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">No moral that I ever took<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Seemed quite so evident before.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If purchasing an author's book<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Will keep the wolf from his back-door,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It is our very obvious mission<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To buy up the entire edition.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<p class="center"><small>FINIS.</small><br /><br /><br /></p> + + +<p class="center"><small> +Printed by T. and A. <span class="smcap">Constable</span>, Printers to His Majesty +at the Edinburgh University Press</small> +</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><small><i>BY THE SAME AUTHOR.</i></small><br /><br /></h2> + +<h3>Fiscal Ballads.</h3> + +<p class="center">(<span class="smcap">Second Impression.</span>)<br /> + +<i>Fcap. 8vo. 1s. net.</i></p> + +<p>'The fiscal controversy has not been very fruitful in verse. So far +as we are aware, only one balladist has found any genuine inspiration +in it. That is Mr. Harry Graham, whose skill as a rhymer in other +directions has already been abundantly proved. The ballads for the +most part take a colloquial form, and while containing much humour, +are full of sound doctrine.... Mr. Graham, it will be seen, has great +facility in rhyme, and in all this rhyme there is reason. When the +General Election comes this book should be a gold-mine for the +political reciter.'—<i>Westminster Gazette</i>.</p> + +<p>'A most amusing contribution to the literature of the fiscal +controversy.'—<i>Daily Telegraph</i>.</p> + +<p>'True ballads, with abundant vigour and piquancy.'—<i>Aberdeen Free +Press</i>.</p> + +<p>'Good both in intention and execution.'—<i>Speaker</i>.</p> + +<p>'These ballads ... are very good. Indeed, we cannot remember +any recent example of political truths expressed with such exactness as +well as spirit in humorous verse. The fun is as good as the argument.... +Of this admirable little book we will only say, in conclusion, that +it will amuse and delight even those who had imagined that nothing +more worth reading could possibly be printed on the fiscal question. +We would strongly urge such persons to invest a shilling in "Fiscal +Ballads," for we are confident they will not be disappointed. If the +Free-Trade organisations are wise, they will seek leave to reprint +selections from them in leaflets which can be circulated by the million.'—<i>Spectator</i>.</p> + +<p class="center"><small>LONDON: EDWARD ARNOLD, <span class="smcap">41 & 43 Maddox St., W.</span></small></p> +<hr style="width: 15%;" /> + +<h3>Ruthless Rhymes for Heartless Homes.</h3> + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Illustrated by 'G. H.'</span><br /> + +<i>Oblong</i> 4<i>to.</i> 3<i>s.</i> 6<i>d.</i></p> + + +<p>'It is impossible not to be amused by some of the "Ruthless Rhymes +for Heartless Homes," by Colonel D. Streamer, nor can any one with a +sense of humour fail to appreciate the many amusing points in the +illustrations.'—<i>Westminster.</i></p> + +<p>'"Ruthless Rhymes for Heartless Homes" is the name of a really +charming little book of rhymes. The words are by Col. D. Streamer, +and the illustrations by "G. H.," and 'tis hard to say whether words +or pictures are the cleverer.... The book is one which must, however, +be seen to be appreciated; to properly describe it is impossible.'—<i>Calcutta +Englishman.</i></p> + +<p>'Wise parents will, however, keep strictly to themselves "Ruthless +Rhymes for Heartless Homes," by Col. D. Streamer. The illustrations +by "G. H." are very amusing, and especially happy is that to +"Equanimity," when</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Aunt Jane observed the second time<br /></span> +<span class="i2">She tumbled off a 'bus,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The step is short from the sublime<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To the ridiculous."'<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;">—<i>Daily Telegraph.</i></span><br /> +</p> + +<p>'Another charming whimsicality published by Mr. Edward Arnold +is "Ruthless Rhymes for Heartless Homes."'—<i>Sydney Morning Herald.</i></p> + +<p>'The veriest nonsense, possessing the quality that makes it akin to +Carroll's work.'—<i>New York Bookworm.</i></p> + +<p>'It is difficult to see the humour of</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Philip, foozling with his cleek,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Drove his ball through Helen's cheek.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sad they bore her corpse away,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Seven up and six to play."'<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;">—<i>Scotsman.</i></span><br /> +</p> + +<p class="center"><small>LONDON: EDWARD ARNOLD, <span class="smcap">41 & 43 Maddox St., W.</span></small></p> +<hr style="width: 15%;" /> + +<h3>Ballads of the Boer War.</h3> + +<p class="center"><i>Fcap. 8vo, buckram.</i> 3<i>s.</i> 6<i>d.</i> <i>net.</i><br /> + +(<i>Second Edition.</i>)</p> + + +<p>'There is unquestionably a good deal of human nature in the book, +and as an expression of sentiments which have remained hitherto +inarticulate, as a revelation not always edifying, but often illuminating, +of the heart of the man in the ranks, this little volume is a distinct +addition to the literature of the war.'—<i>Spectator.</i></p> + +<p>'Racy expressions of Tommy Atkins' feelings in Tommy Atkins' +language.... "Coldstreamer's" verses in their kind are as good as +any we have seen.'—<i>Academy.</i></p> + +<p>'These colloquial rhymes express the private soldier's views in his +own language.'—<i>The Times.</i></p> + +<p>'These racy ballads make a book which many will read with interest +and sympathy.'—<i>Scotsman.</i></p> + +<p>'As good as anything yet done in the vernacular of Mr. Thomas +Atkins. A book for every friend of the army.'—<i>Outlook.</i></p> + +<p>'One of the liveliest books of light verse we have come across for a +long time.'—<i>County Gentleman.</i></p> + +<p>'Vigorous Kiplingesque verses, with sound common-sense and +genuine feeling. Well worth reading and buying.'—<i>To-Day.</i></p> + +<p>'Mephitic exhalations.'—<i>Daily News.</i></p> + + +<p class="center"><small>LONDON: GRANT RICHARDS, <span class="smcap">48 Leicester Square, W.C.</span></small></p> +<hr style="width: 15%;" /> + +<h3>Misrepresentative Men.</h3> + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Illustrated by</span> F. STROTHMAN.<br /> + +(<i>Second Edition.</i>)</p> + + +<p class="center">OPINIONS OF THE AMERICAN PRESS.</p> + +<p>'One of the most amusing books of the year. Mr. Graham is a +fluent and ingenious rhymester, with an alert mind and a well-controlled +sense of humour.'—<i>The Times</i> (New York).</p> + +<p>'"Misrepresentative Men" shows so high-spirited a mastery of words +and metre (the result, we take it, of laborious days) that it will be read +with pleasure by the most fastidious lover of what is amusing.'—<i>The +Nation</i> (New York).</p> + +<p>'Mr. Graham's verses are exceedingly clever, and Mr. Strothman's +illustrations add to their cleverness.'—<i>The Bookman</i> (New York).</p> + +<p>'A very amusing little book, by that cleverly humorous versifier +"Col. D. Streamer," whose <i>Ruthless Rhymes for Heartless Homes</i> has +had such a deserved vogue.'—<i>Town Topics</i> (New York).</p> + +<p>'The most amusing biographical caricatures of celebrities that we +have read for a long time. There is not a dull line in the entire +collection.'—<i>The Bookseller</i> (New York).</p> + +<p>'These satirical verses have the same ingenious humour as the +writer's previous rhymes. The book is altogether refreshing.'—<i>Town +and Country</i> (New York).</p> + +<p>'The hit of the season.'—<i>The Lexington Herald.</i></p> + +<p>'A most attractively humorous work.'—<i>The Pittsburg Despatch.</i></p> + +<p>'A little book of really clever verse.'—<i>The Milwaukee Sentinel.</i></p> + + +<p class="center"><small>LONDON: GAY AND BIRD, 22 <span class="smcap">Bedford Street, Strand</span>.</small></p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + + +<h2> +<small>SELECTIONS FROM</small><br /> +MR. EDWARD ARNOLD'S LIST<br /> +OF NEW AND RECENT BOOKS.<br /> +</h2> + + +<h3> +THE LIFE AND TIMES OF THE<br /> +RIGHT HON. CECIL JOHN RHODES.<br /></h3> + +<p class="center">By the HON. SIR LEWIS MICHELL.<br /><br /> + +<i>Illustrated.</i> <i>Two volumes, demy 8vo.</i>, 30s. net.</p> + +<p>This important work will take rank as the authoritative biography of +one of the greatest of modern Englishmen. Sir Lewis Michell, who has +been engaged upon the work for five years, is an executor of Mr. Rhodes' +will, and a trustee of the Rhodes Estate. He was an intimate personal +friend of Mr. Rhodes for many years, and has had access to all the papers at +Groote Schuur. Hitherto, although many partial appreciations of the +great man have been published in the Press or in small volumes, no complete +and well-informed life of him has appeared. The gap has now been +filled by Sir Lewis Michell so thoroughly that we have in these two +volumes what will undoubtedly be the final estimate of Mr. Rhodes' +career for many years to come.</p> + + +<h3>THE REMINISCENCES OF ADMIRAL MONTAGU.</h3> + +<p class="center"><i>With Illustrations.</i> <i>One volume, demy 8vo.</i>, cloth, 15s. net.</p> + +<p>The Author of this entertaining book, Admiral the Hon. Victor Montagu, +has passed a long life divided between the amusements of aristocratic +society in this country and the duties of naval service afloat in many parts +of the world. His memory recalls many anecdotes of well-known men, +and he was honoured with the personal friendship of the late King +Edward VII. and of the German Emperor, by whom his seamanship, as +well as his social qualities, were highly esteemed. As a sportsman he has +something to say about shooting, fishing, hunting, and cricket, and his +stories of life in the great country houses where he was a frequent guest +have a flavour of their own.</p> + + +<p class="center"><small>LONDON: EDWARD ARNOLD, 41 & 43, MADDOX STREET, W.</small></p> +<hr style="width: 15%;" /> + +<h3>NOVELS.</h3> + + +<h4> +HOWARDS END.</h4> +<p class="center">By E. M. FORSTER,<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Author of 'A Room with a View,' 'The Longest Journey,' etc.</span><br /> +6s.<br /><br /> +</p> + +<p class="center"><i>BY THE SAME AUTHOR.</i><br /> +</p> +<h4>A ROOM WITH A VIEW. 6s.</h4> +<hr style="width: 15%;" /> + +<h4> +THE RETURN.<br /> +</h4> +<p class="center">By WALTER DE LA MARE.<br /> +6s.<br /> +</p> + +<p>'The Return' is the story of a man suddenly confronted, as if by the +caprice of chance, with an ordeal that cuts him adrift from every certain +hold he has upon the world immediately around him. He becomes +acutely conscious of those unseen powers which to many, whether in +reality or in imagination, are at all times vaguely present, haunting life +with their influences. In this solitude—a solitude of the mind which +the business of everyday life confuses and drives back—he faces as best +he can, and gropes his way through his difficulties, and wins his way at +last, if not to peace, at least to a clearer and quieter knowledge of self.</p> +<hr style="width: 15%;" /> + +<h4> +THE GRAY MAN.<br /> +</h4> +<p class="center">By JANE WARDLE.<br /> +6s.<br /> +</p> + +<p>The writer is one of the very few present-day novelists who have consistently +followed up the aim they originally set themselves—that of +striking a mean between the Realist and the Romanticist. In her latest +novel, 'The Gray Man,' which Miss Wardle herself believes to contain the +best work she has so far produced, it will be found that she has as successfully +avoided the bald one-sidedness of miscalled 'Realism' on the one +hand, as the sloppy sentimentality of the ordinary 'Romance' on the +other. At the same time, 'The Gray Man' contains both realism and +romance in full measure, in the truer sense of both words.<br /><br /></p> + +<p class="center"><i>BY THE SAME AUTHOR.</i><br /> +</p> +<h4>MARGERY PIGEON. <small>6s.</small></h4> + +<h4>THE PASQUE FLOWER. <small>6s.</small></h4> +<hr style="width: 15%;" /> + +<h4>THE PURSUIT.</h4> + +<p class="center">By FRANK SAVILE.<br /> + +6s.</p> + +<p>That the risk of being kidnapped, to which their great riches exposes +multi-millionaires, is a very real one, is constantly being reaffirmed in the +reports that are published of the elaborate precautions many of them take +to preserve their personal liberty. In its present phase, where there is the +great wealth on one side and a powerful gang—or rather syndicate—of +clever rascals on the other, it possesses many characteristics appealing to +those who enjoy a good thrilling romance. Mr. Savile has already won +his spurs in this field, but his new tale should place him well in the front +ranks of contemporary romancers.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>BY THE SAME AUTHOR.</i><br /> +</p> + +<h4>SEEKERS. <i>A Romance of the Balkans.</i> <small>6s.</small></h4> + +<h4>THE DESERT VENTURE. <small>6s.</small></h4> +<hr style="width: 15%;" /> + +<p class="center">ANNE DOUGLAS SEDGWICK'S LATEST NOVEL.</p> + +<h4>FRANKLIN KANE.</h4> + +<p class="center">By ANNE DOUGLAS SEDGWICK,<br /><br /> + +<span class="smcap">Author of 'Valerie Upton,' 'Amabel Channice,' etc.</span><br /> + +<i>Second Impression.</i> 6s.</p> + +<p>'Anne Sedgwick is in the first rank of modern novelists, and nobody who cares for good +work can afford to miss one line that she writes.'—<i>Punch.</i></p> + +<p>'A figure never to be forgotten.'—<i>Standard.</i></p> + +<p>'There are no stereotyped patterns here.'—<i>Daily Chronicle.</i></p> + +<p>'A very graceful and charming comedy.'—<i>Manchester Guardian.</i></p> +<hr style="width: 15%;" /> + +<p class="center">AN ADMIRABLE NOVEL BY A NEW WRITER.</p> + +<h4>A STEPSON OF THE SOIL.</h4> + +<p class="center">By MARY J. H. SKRINE.<br /> + +<i>Second Impression.</i> 6s.</p> + +<p>'Mrs. Skrine's admirable novel is one of those unfortunately rare books which, without +extenuating the hard facts of life, maintain and raise one's belief in human nature. The +story is simple, but the manner of its telling is admirably uncommon. Her portraits are +quite extraordinarily vivid.'—<i>Spectator.</i></p> + +<p class="center"><small>LONDON: EDWARD ARNOLD, 41 & 43, MADDOX STREET, W.<br /></small></p> +<hr style="width: 15%;" /> + +<h3>BOOKS ON COUNTRY LIFE.</h3> + +<h4>FLY-LEAVES FROM A FISHERMAN'S DIARY.</h4> + +<p class="center">By CAPTAIN G. E. SHARP.<br /><br /> + +<i>With Photogravure Illustrations. Crown 8vo.</i>, 5s. net.</p> + +<p>This is a very charming little book containing the reflections on things +piscatorial of a 'dry-fly' fisherman on a south country stream. Although +the Author disclaims any right to pose as an expert, it is clear that he +knows well his trout, and how to catch them. He is an enthusiast, who +thinks nothing of cycling fifteen miles out for an evening's fishing, and +home again when the 'rise' is over. Indeed, he confesses that there is no +sport he loves so passionately, and this love of his art—surely dry-fly fishing +is an art?—makes for writing that is pleasant to read, even as Isaac +Walton's love thereof inspired the immortal pages of 'The Compleat +Angler.'</p> + + +<h4>MEMORIES OF THE MONTHS.</h4> + +<p class="center">By the RIGHT HON. SIR HERBERT MAXWELL, Bart.,<br /> + +<span class="smcap">Author of 'Scottish Gardens,' etc.</span><br /><br /> + +<i>SERIES I. to V.</i><br /> + +<i>With Photogravure Illustrations. Large crown 8vo.</i>, 7s. 6d. each.</p> + +<p>Every year brings new changes in the old order of Nature, and the +observant eye can always find fresh features on the face of the Seasons. +Sir Herbert Maxwell goes out to meet Nature on the moor and loch, in +garden and forest, and writes of what he sees and feels. This is what +gives his work its abiding charm, and makes these memories fill the place +of old friends on the library bookshelf.</p> +<hr style="width: 15%;" /> + +<p class="center">COLONEL MEYSEY-THOMPSON'S HANDBOOKS.</p> + +<h4>A HUNTING CATECHISM.</h4> + +<p class="center">By COLONEL R. F. MEYSEY-THOMPSON,<br /> + +<span class="smcap">Author of 'Reminiscences of the Course, the Camp, and the Chase.'</span><br /> + +<i>Fcap. 8vo.</i>, 3s. 6d. net.</p> + + +<h4>A FISHING CATECHISM. <small>3s. 6d. net.</small></h4> + +<h4>A SHOOTING CATECHISM. <small>3s. 6d. net.</small></h4> + +<hr style="width: 15%;" /> +<h4>A GAMEKEEPER'S NOTE-BOOK.</h4> +<p class="center"> By <span class="smcap">Owen +Jones</span> and <span class="smcap">Marcus Woodward</span>.<br /> + With Photogravure Illustrations.<br /> +Large crown 8vo., cloth, 7s. 6d. net.</p> + +<p>In this charming and romantic book we follow the gamekeeper in his +secret paths, stand by him while with deft fingers he arranges his traps +and snares, watch with what infinite care he tends his young game +through all the long days of spring and summer—and in autumn and +winter garners with equal eagerness the fruits of his labour. He takes us +into the coverts at night, and with him we keep the long vigil—while +poachers come, or come not.</p> + +<p>The authors know their subject through and through. This is a real +series of studies from life, and the note-book from which all the impressions +are drawn and all the pictures painted is the real note-book of a real +gamekeeper.</p> + + +<h4>TEN YEARS OF GAME-KEEPING.</h4> +<p class="center"> By <span class="smcap">Owen Jones</span>.<br /> +With numerous Illustrations from Photographs by the +Author.<br /> One volume, demy 8vo., cloth, 10s. 6d. net.</p> + +<p>'This is a book for all sportsmen, for all who take an interest in sport, and for all who love +the English woodlands. Mr. Jones writes from triple view-points—those of sportsman, +naturalist, and gamekeeper—and every page of his book reveals an intimate knowledge of +the ways of the English wild, a perfect mastery of all that the word "woodcraft" may stand +for, and a true instinct of sportsmanship. This book at once takes its place as a standard +work; and its freshness will endure as surely as spring comes to the woods that inspired it.'—<i>Evening +Standard.</i></p> +<hr style="width: 15%;" /> + +<p class="center">REGINALD FARRER'S GARDENING BOOKS.</p> + +<h4>IN A YORKSHIRE GARDEN.</h4> + +<p class="center">By REGINALD FARRER.<br /><br /> + +<i>With numerous Illustrations. Demy 8vo.</i>, 10s. 6d. net.</p> + +<h4>MY ROCK-GARDEN.</h4> +<p class="center"> Fully Illustrated. Large crown +8vo., 7s. 6d. net. Third Impression.</p> + +<h4>ALPINES AND BOG-PLANTS.</h4> +<p class="center"> Fully Illustrated. +Large crown 8vo., 7s. 6d. net.</p> + + +<h4>A BOOK ABOUT ROSES.</h4> +<p class="center">By the late Very Rev. +<span class="smcap">S. Reynolds Hole</span>, Dean of Rochester.<br /> Illustrated by <span class="smcap">G. H. Moon</span> +and <span class="smcap">G. S. Elgood</span>, R.I.<br /> Twenty-fourth Impression. Presentation +Edition, with Coloured Plates, 6s. Popular Edition, 3s. 6d.</p> + +<h4>A BOOK ABOUT THE GARDEN AND THE GARDENER.</h4> +<p class="center">By the late Very Rev. <span class="smcap">S. Reynolds Hole</span>, Dean +of Rochester.<br /> Popular Edition. Crown 8vo., 3s. 6d.</p> + +<p class="center"><small>LONDON: EDWARD ARNOLD, 41 & 43, MADDOX STREET, W.<br /></small> +</p> +<hr style="width: 15%;" /> + +<h3>BOOKS OF TRAVEL.</h3> + +<h4>FOREST LIFE AND SPORT IN INDIA.</h4> +<p class="center"> By +<span class="smcap">Sainthill Eardley-Wilmot</span>, C.I.E., lately Inspector-General of +Forests to the Indian Government; Commissioner under the Development +and Road Improvement Funds Act.<br /> Fully Illustrated. Demy +8vo. 12s. 6d. net.</p> + +<p>The Author of this volume was appointed to the Indian Forest Service +in days when the Indian Mutiny was fresh in the minds of his companions, +and life in the department full of hardships, loneliness, and +discomfort. These drawbacks, however, were largely compensated for by +the splendid opportunities for sports of all kinds which almost every +station in the Service offered, and it is in describing the pursuit of game +that the most exciting episodes of the book are to be found. Tigers, +spotted deer, wild buffaloes, mountain goats, sambhar, bears, and +panthers, are the subject of endless yarns, in the relation of which innumerable +useful hints, often the result of failure and even disasters, are +given.</p> + +<h4>IN FORBIDDEN SEAS: Recollections of +Sea-Otter Hunting in the Kurils.</h4> +<p class="center"> By <span class="smcap">H. J. Snow</span>, F.R.G.S.<br /> +Illustrated. Demy 8vo. 12s. 6d. net.</p> + +<p>The Author of this interesting book has had an experience probably +unique in an almost unknown part of the world. The stormy wind-swept +and fog-bound regions of the Kuril Islands, between Japan and Kamchatka, +have rarely been visited save by the adventurous hunters of the +sea-otter, and the animal is now becoming so scarce that the hazardous +occupation of these bold voyagers is no longer profitable.</p> + +<h4>SPORT AND NATURE IN SPAIN.</h4> +<p class="center"> By <span class="smcap">Abel +Chapman</span> and <span class="smcap">Walter J. Buck</span>, British Vice-Consul at Jerez.<br /> With +200 Illustrations by the <span class="smcap">Authors, E. Caldwell</span>, and others, Sketch +Maps, and Photographs.</p> + +<p>In Europe Spain is certainly far and away the wildest of wild lands—due +as much to her physical formation as to any historic or racial causes. +Naturally the Spanish fauna remains one of the richest and most varied +in Europe. It is of these wild regions and of their wild inhabitants that +the authors write, backed by lifelong experience. The present work +represents nearly forty years of constant study, of practical experience in +field and forest, combined with systematic note-taking and analysis by +men who are recognized as specialists in their selected pursuits. These +comprise every branch of sport with rod, gun, and rifle; and, beyond all +that, the ability to elaborate the results in the light of modern zoological +science.</p> + +<h4>TWENTY YEARS IN THE HIMALAYA.</h4> +<p class="center">By Major the Hon. <span class="smcap">C. G. Bruce</span>, M.V.O., Fifth Gurkha Rifles.<br /> + Fully Illustrated. With Map. Demy 8vo., cloth. 16s. net.</p> + +<p>The Himalaya is a world in itself, comprising many regions which differ widely +from each other as regards their natural features, their fauna and flora, and the +races and languages of their inhabitants. Major Bruce's relation to this world is +absolutely unique—he has journeyed through it, now in one part, now in another, +sometimes mountaineering, sometimes in pursuit of big game, sometimes in the +performance of his professional duties, for more than twenty years; and now his +acquaintance with it under all its diverse aspects, though naturally far from +complete, is more varied and extensive than has ever been possessed by anyone +else.</p> + +<h4>RECOLLECTIONS OF AN OLD MOUNTAINEER.</h4> +<p class="center">By <span class="smcap">Walter Larden</span>.<br /> +Fully Illustrated. Demy 8vo., cloth. 14s. net.</p> + +<p>There are a few men in every generation, such as A. F. Mummery and L. +Norman Neruda, who possess a natural genius for mountaineering. The ordinary +lover of the mountains reads the story of their climbs with admiration and perhaps +a tinge of envy, but with no thought of following in their footsteps—such feats are +not for him. The great and special interest of Mr. Larden's book lies in the fact +that he does not belong to this small and distinguished class. He tells us, and +convinces us, that he began his Alpine career with no exceptional endowment of +nerve or activity, and describes, fully and with supreme candour, how he made +himself into what he very modestly calls a second-class climber—not 'a Grepon-crack +man,' but one capable of securely and successfully leading a party of +amateurs over such peaks as Mont Collon or the Combin.</p> + +<h4>THE MISADVENTURES OF A HACK CRUISER.</h4> +<p class="center">By <span class="smcap">F. Claude Kempson</span>,<br /> +Author of 'The <i>Green Finch</i> Cruise.'<br /> With 50 Illustrations +from the Author's sketches.<br /> +Medium 8vo., cloth. 6s. net.</p> + +<p>Mr. Kempson's amusing account of 'The <i>Green Finch</i> Cruise,' which was published +last year, gave deep delight to the joyous fraternity of amateur sailor-men, +and the success that book enjoyed has encouraged him to describe a rather more +ambitious cruise he undertook subsequently. Mr. Kempson is not an expert, but +he shows how anyone accustomed to a sportsman's life can, with a little instruction +and common sense, have a thoroughly enjoyable time sailing a small boat. The +book is full of 'tips and wrinkles' of all kinds, interspersed with amusing +anecdotes and reflections. The Author's sketches are exquisitely humorous, and +never more so than when he is depicting his own substantial person.</p> + +<p class="center"><small>LONDON: EDWARD ARNOLD, 41 & 43, MADDOX STREET, W.<br /></small> +</p> + +<hr style="width: 15%;" /> +<h3>THE COTTAGE HOMES OF ENGLAND.</h3> + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Charmingly Illustrated in Colour by Mrs. ALLINGHAM.</span></p> + +<p><i>With 64 Full-page Coloured Plates from Pictures by HELEN +ALLINGHAM, never before reproduced</i>. 8<i>vo.</i> (9-1/2 <i>in.</i> by 7 <i>in.</i>), +21s. net. <i>Also a limited Edition de Luxe</i>, 42s. net.</p> +<hr style="width: 15%;" /> + +<h3>A HISTORY OF THE LONDON HOSPITAL.</h3> + +<p class="center">By E. W. MORRIS,<br /> + +<span class="smcap">Secretary of the London Hospital.</span><br /> + +<i>With Illustrations.</i> 6s. net.</p> + +<p>'Besant long ago wrote "All Sorts and Conditions of Men," and won and built thereby +the People's Palace. Here is a better book. Its people are real, its romance is facts, its +palace is a hospital of a thousand beds.'—<i>Daily Telegraph.</i></p> +<hr style="width: 15%;" /> + +<h3>THE BOOK OF WINTER SPORTS.</h3> + +<p class="center">With an Introduction by the Rt. Hon. the EARL OF LYTTON, +and contributions from experts in various branches of sport.</p> + +<p class="center">Edited by EDGAR SYERS.<br /> + +<i>Fully Illustrated. Demy 8vo.</i>, 15s. net.</p> +<hr style="width: 15%;" /> + +<h4>THE DUDLEY BOOK OF COOKERY AND HOUSEHOLD RECIPES.</h4> + +<p class="center">By GEORGIANA, COUNTESS OF DUDLEY.<br /><br /> + +<i>Handsomely printed and bound. Third Impression.</i> 7s. 6d. net.</p> +<hr style="width: 15%;" /> + +<h4>COMMON-SENSE COOKERY:</h4> +<p class="center">Based on Modern +English and Continental Principles worked out in Detail.<br /> +By Colonel <span class="smcap">A. Kenney-Herbert</span>.<br /> Over 500 pages. Illustrated. 6s. net.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>BY THE SAME AUTHOR.</i></p> + +<h4>FIFTY BREAKFASTS. <small>2s. 6d.</small></h4> + + +<h4>FIFTY LUNCHEONS. <small>2s. 6d.</small></h4> + +<h4>FIFTY DINNERS. <small>2s. 6d.</small></h4> + +<p class="center"><small>LONDON: EDWARD ARNOLD, 41 & 43, MADDOX STREET, W.<br /></small> +</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<h3>Transcriber's Notes</h3> + +<p>Pages <a href="#Page_148">148</a> and <a href="#Page_149">149</a>: The words noted below are transliterations of the +original Greek characters.</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Then spoke a Greek, 'The Isles of Greece!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">What can compare with those?</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">[Greek: Thalassa]! and [Greek: Eurêka]!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">[Greek: Rhododaktylos êôs]!'</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">'But the country of my childhood</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Is the best that man may know,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Oh [Greek: didêmi] also [Greek: phêmi],</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">[Greek: Zôê mou sas agapô]!'</span><br /> +</p> + + + + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Verse and Worse, by Harry Graham + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK VERSE AND WORSE *** + +***** This file should be named 36702-h.htm or 36702-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/6/7/0/36702/ + +Produced by Mark C. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Verse and Worse + +Author: Harry Graham + +Release Date: July 11, 2011 [EBook #36702] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK VERSE AND WORSE *** + + + + +Produced by Mark C. Orton, Diane Monico, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This +book was produced from scanned images of public domain +material from the Google Print project.) + + + + + + + + + + + +VERSE AND WORSE + + + + +VERSE AND WORSE + + + + +VERSE AND WORSE + +BY + +HARRY GRAHAM +('COL. D. STREAMER') + +AUTHOR OF 'BALLADS OF THE BOER WAR,' 'RUTHLESS RHYMES +FOR HEARTLESS HOMES,' 'MISREPRESENTATIVE MEN,' +'FISCAL BALLADS,' ETC., ETC. + + +LONDON +EDWARD ARNOLD +41 & 43 MADDOX STREET, BOND STREET, W. + +1905 + +[_All rights reserved_] + + + + +NOTE + + +THE BABY'S BAEDEKER and PERVERTED PROVERBS have been published in +America by Mr. R. H. Russell and Messrs. Harper Bros. of New York. + +'The Ballad of Ping-pong,' 'Bill,' and 'The Place where the Old Cleek +Broke,' have appeared in _The Century Magazine_, _The Outlook_, and +_Golf_ respectively. + +'Uncle Joe,' 'Aunt Eliza,' 'John,' 'The Cat,' and 'Bluebeard,' were +included in Mr. Russell's American edition of _Ruthless Rhymes for +Heartless Homes_. + + + + +CONTENTS + + + PAGE + +AUTHOR'S PREFACE ix + +FOREWORD xi + + +PART I + +_THE BABY'S BAEDEKER_ + +I. ABROAD 3 + +II. UNITED STATES OF AMERICA 6 + +III. GREAT BRITAIN 9 + +IV. SCOTLAND 11 + +V. IRELAND 13 + +VI. WALES 15 + +VII. CHINA 16 + +VIII. FRANCE 19 + +IX. GERMANY 21 + +X. HOLLAND 23 + +XI. ICELAND 26 + +XII. ITALY 27 + +XIII. JAPAN 30 + +XIV. PORTUGAL 32 + +XV. RUSSIA 33 + +XVI. SPAIN 36 + +XVII. SWITZERLAND 39 + +XVIII. TURKEY 41 + +XIX. DREAMLAND 44 + +XX. STAGELAND 47 + +XXI. LOVERLAND 48 + +XXII. HOMELAND 53 + + +PART II + +_CHILDISH COMPLAINTS AND OTHER RUTHLESS RHYMES_ + +CHILDISH COMPLAINTS-- + +PRELUDE 57 + +APPENDICITIS 61 + +WHOOPING-COUGH 61 + +MEASLES 62 + +ADENOIDS 62 + +CROUP 62 + + +RUTHLESS RHYMES-- + +I. MOTHER-WIT 63 + +II. UNCLE JOE 64 + +III. AUNT ELIZA 65 + +IV. ABSENT-MINDEDNESS 66 + +V. JOHN 68 + +VI. BABY 71 + +VII. THE CAT 72 + + +PART III + +_PERVERTED PROVERBS_ + +I. 'VIRTUE IS ITS OWN REWARD' 77 + +II. 'ENOUGH IS AS GOOD AS A FEAST' 86 + +III. 'DON'T BUY A PIG IN A POKE' 89 + +IV. 'LEARN TO TAKE THINGS EASILY' 91 + +V. 'A ROLLING STONE GATHERS NO MOSS' 92 + +VI. 'IT IS NEVER TOO LATE TO MEND' 96 + +VII. 'A BAD WORKMAN COMPLAINS OF HIS TOOLS' 99 + +VIII. 'DON'T LOOK A GIFT-HORSE IN THE MOUTH' 100 + +IX. POTPOURRI 103 + + +PART IV + +_OTHER VERSES_ + +BILL 111 + +THE LEGEND OF THE AUTHOR 114 + +THE MOTRIOT 128 + +THE BALLAD OF THE ARTIST 130 + +THE BALLAD OF PING-PONG 135 + +THE PESSIMIST 138 + +THE PLACE WHERE THE OLD CLEEK BROKE 140 + +THE HOMES OF LONDON 143 + +THE HAPPIEST LAND 146 + +A LONDON INVOLUNTARY 151 + +BLUEBEARD 154 + +THE WOMAN WITH THE DEAD SOLES 166 + +ROSEMARY (A BALLAD OF THE BOUDOIR) 170 + +PORTKNOCKIE'S PORTER 172 + +THE BALLAD OF THE LITTLE JINGLANDER 176 + +AFTWORD 182 + +ENVOI 185 + + + + +AUTHOR'S PREFACE + + + With guilty, conscience-stricken tears, + I offer up these rhymes of mine + To children of maturer years + (From Seventeen to Ninety-nine). + A special solace may they be + In days of second infancy. + + The frenzied mother who observes + This volume in her offspring's hand, + And trembles for the darling's nerves, + Must please to clearly understand, + If baby suffers by and by + The Publisher's at fault, not _I_! + + But should the little brat survive, + And fatten on this style of Rhyme, + To raise a Heartless Home and thrive + Through a successful life of crime, + The Publisher would have you see + That _I_ am to be thanked, not _he_! + + Fond parent, you whose children are + Of tender age (from two to eight), + Pray keep this little volume far + From reach of such, and relegate + My verses to an upper shelf; + Where you may study them yourself. + + + + +FOREWORD + + + The Press may pass my Verses by + With sentiments of indignation, + And say, like Greeks of old, that I + Corrupt the Youthful Generation; + I am unmoved by taunts like these-- + (And so, I think, was Socrates). + + Howe'er the Critics may revile, + I pick no journalistic quarrels, + Quite realising that my Style + Makes up for any lack of Morals; + For which I feel no shred of shame-- + (And Byron would have felt the same). + + I don't intend a Child to read + These lines, which are not for the Young; + For, if I did, I should indeed + Feel fully worthy to be hung. + (Is 'hanged' the perfect tense of 'hang'? + Correct me, Mr. Andrew Lang!) + + O Young of Heart, tho' in your prime, + By you these verses may be seen! + Accept the Moral with the Rhyme, + And try to gather what I mean. + But, if you can't, it won't hurt me! + (And Browning would, I know, agree.) + + Be reassured, I have not got + The style of Stephen Phillips' heroes, + Nor Henry Jones's pow'r of Plot, + Nor wit like Arthur Wing Pinero's! + (If so, I should not waste my time + In writing you this sort of rhyme.) + + I strive to paint things as they Are, + Of Realism the true Apostle; + All flow'ry metaphors I bar, + Nor call the homely thrush a 'throstle.' + Such synonyms would make me smile. + (And so they would have made Carlyle.) + + My Style may be, at times, I own, + A trifle cryptic or abstruse; + In this I do not stand alone, + And need but mention, in excuse, + A thousand world-familiar names, + From Meredith to Henry James. + + From these my fruitless fancy roams + To Aesop's or La Fontaine's Fable, + From Doyle's or Hemans' 'Stately Ho(l)mes,' + To t'other of The Breakfast Table; + Like Galahad, I wish (in vain) + 'My wit were as the wit of Twain! + + Had I but Whitman's rugged skill, + (And managed to escape the Censor), + The Accuracy of a Mill, + The Reason of a Herbert Spencer, + The literary talents even + Of Sidney Lee or Leslie Stephen, + + The pow'r of Patmore's placid pen, + Or Watson's gift of execration, + The sugar of Le Gallienne, + Or Algernon's alliteration, + One post there is I'd not be lost in, + --Tho' I might find it most ex-Austin'! + + Some day, if I but study hard, + The public, vanquished by my pen, 'll + Acclaim me as a Minor Bard, + Like Norman Gale or Mrs. Meynell; + And listen to my lyre a-rippling + Imperial banjo-spasms like Kipling. + + Were I, like him, a syndicate, + Which publishers would put their trust in; + A Walter Pater up-to-date, + Or flippant scholar like Augustine; + With pen as light as lark or squirrel, + I'd love to kipple, pate and birrell. + + So don't ignore me. If you should, + 'Twill touch me to the very heart oh! + To be as much misunderstood + As once was Andrea del Sarto; + Unrecognised, to toil away, + Like Millet,--(not, of course, Mill_ais_). + + And, pray, for Morals do not look + In this unique agglomeration, + --This unpretentious little book + Of Infelicitous Quotation. + I deem you foolish if you do, + (And Mr. Arnold thinks so, too). + + + + +PART I + +_THE BABY'S BAEDEKER_ + + +An International Guide-Book for the young of all ages; +peculiarly adapted to the wants of first and second Childhood. + + + + +I + +ABROAD + + Abroad is where we tourists spend, + In divers unalluring ways, + The brief occasional week-end, + Or annual Easter holidays; + And earn the (not ill-founded) charge + Of being lunatics at large. + + Abroad, we lose our self-respect; + Wear whiskers; let our teeth protrude; + Consider any garb correct, + And no display of temper rude; + Descending, when we cross the foam, + To depths we dare not plumb at home. + + (Small wonder that the natives gaze, + With hostile eyes, at foreign freaks, + Who patronise their Passion-plays, + In lemon-coloured chessboard breeks; + An op'ra-glass about each neck, + And on each head a cap of check.) + + Abroad, where needy younger sons, + When void the parent's treasure-chest, + Take refuge from insistent duns, + At urgent relatives' request; + To live upon their slender wits, + Or sums some maiden-aunt remits. + + Abroad, whence (with a wisdom rare) + Regardless of nostalgic pains, + The weary New York millionaire + Retires with his oil-gotten gains, + And learns how deep a pleasure 'tis + To found our Public Libraries. + + For ours is the primeval clan, + From which all lesser lights descend; + Is Crockett not our countryman? + And call we not Corelli friend? + Our brotherhood has bred the brain + Whose offspring bear the brand of Caine. + + Tho' nowadays we seldom hear + Miss Proctor, who mislaid a chord, + Or Tennyson, the poet peer, + Who came into the garden, Mord; + Tho' Burns be dead, and Keats unread, + We have a prophet still in Stead. + + And so we stare, with nose in air; + And speak in condescending tone, + Of foreigners whose climes compare + So favourably with our own; + And aliens we cannot applaud + Who call themselves At Home Abroad! + + +II + +UNITED STATES OF AMERICA + + This is the Country of the Free, + The Cocktail and the Ten Cent Chew; + Where you're as good a man as me, + And I'm a better man than you! + (O Liberty, how free we make! + Freedom, what liberties we take!) + + 'Tis here the startled tourist meets, + 'Mid clanging of a thousand bells, + The railways running through the streets, + Skyscraping flats and vast hotels, + Where rest, on the resplendent floors, + The necessary cuspidors. + + And here you may encounter too + The pauper immigrants in shoals, + The Swede, the German, and the Jew, + The Irishman, who rules the polls + And is employed to keep the peace, + A venal and corrupt police. + + They are so busy here, you know, + They have no time at all for play; + Each morning to their work they go + And stay there all the livelong day; + Their dreams of happiness depend + On making more than they can spend. + + The ladies of this land are all + Developed to a pitch sublime, + Some inches over six foot tall, + With perfect figures all the time. + (For further notice of their looks + See Mr. Dana Gibson's books.) + + And, if they happen to possess + Sufficient balance at the bank, + They have the chance of saying 'Yes!' + To needy foreigners of rank; + The future dukes of all the earth + Are half American by birth. + + + _MORAL_ + + A 'dot' combining cash with charms + Is worth a thousand coats-of-arms. + + +III + +GREAT BRITAIN + + The British are a chilly race. + The Englishman is thin and tall; + He screws an eyeglass in his face, + And talks with a reluctant drawl. + 'Good Gwacious! This is doosid slow! + By Jove! Haw demmy! Don't-cher-know!' + + The English_woman_ ev'rywhere + A meed of admiration wins; + She has a crown of silken hair, + And quite the loveliest of skins. + (Go forth and seek an English maid, + Your trouble will be well repaid.) + + Where Britain's banner is unfurled + There's room for nothing else beside, + She owns one-quarter of the world, + And still she is not satisfied. + The Briton thinks himself, by birth, + To be the lord of all the earth. + + Some call his manners wanting, or + His sense of humour poor, and yet + Whatever he is striving for + He as a rule contrives to get; + His methods may be much to blame, + But he arrives there just the same. + + + _MORAL_ + + If you can get your wish, you bet it + Doesn't much matter _how_ you get it! + + +IV + +SCOTLAND + + In Scotland all the people wear + Red hair and freckles, and one sees + The men in women's dresses there, + With stout, decollete, low-necked knees. + ('Eblins ye dinna ken, I doot, + We're unco guid, so hoot, mon, hoot!') + + They love 'ta whuskey' and 'ta Kirk'; + I don't know which they like the most. + They aren't the least afraid of work; + No sense of humour can they boast; + And you require an axe to coax + The canny Scot to see your jokes. + + They play an instrument they call + The bagpipes; and the sound of these + Is reminiscent of the squall + Of infant pigs attacked by bees; + Music that might drive cats away + Or make reluctant chickens lay. + + + _MORAL_ + + Wear kilts, and, tho' men look askance, + Go out and give your knees a chance. + + +V + +IRELAND + + The Irishman is never quite + Contented with his little lot; + He's ever thirsting for a fight, + A grievance he has always got; + And all his energy is bent + On trying not to pay his rent. + + He lives upon a frugal fare + (The few potatoes that he digs), + And hospitably loves to share + His bedroom with his wife and pigs; + But cannot settle even here, + And gets evicted once a year. + + In order to amuse himself, + At any time when things are slack, + He takes his gun down from the shelf + And shoots a landlord in the back; + If he is lucky in the chase, + He may contrive to bag a brace. + + + _MORAL_ + + Procure a grievance and a gun + And you can have no end of fun. + + +VI + +WALES + + The natives of the land of Wales + Are not a very truthful lot, + And the imagination fails + To paint the language they have got; + Bettws-y-coed-llan-dud-nod- + Dolgelly-rhiwlas-cwn-wm-dod! + + + _MORAL_ + + If you _must_ talk, then do it, pray, + In an intelligible way. + + +VII + +CHINA + + The Chinaman from early youth + Is by his wise preceptors taught + To have no dealings with the Truth, + In fact, romancing is his 'forte.' + In juggling words he takes the prize, + By the sheer beauty of his lies. + + For laundrywork he has a knack; + He takes in shirts and makes them blue; + When he omits to send them back + He takes his customers in too. + He must be ranked in the 'elite' + Of those whose hobby is deceit. + + For ladies 'tis the fashion here + To pinch their feet and make them small, + Which, to the civilised idea, + Is not a proper thing at all. + Our modern Western woman's taste + In pinching leans towards the waist. + + The Chinese Empire is the field + Where foreign missionaries go; + A poor result their labours yield, + And they have little fruit to show; + For, if you would convert Wun Lung, + You have to catch him very young. + + The Chinaman has got a creed + And a religion of his own, + And would be much obliged indeed + If you could leave his soul alone; + And he prefers, which may seem odd, + His own to other people's god. + + Yet still the missionary tries + To point him out his wickedness, + Until the badgered natives rise,-- + And there's one missionary less! + Then foreign Pow'rs step in, you see, + And ask for an indemnity. + + + _MORAL_ + + Adhere to facts, avoid romance, + And you a clergyman may be; + To lie is wrong, except perchance + In matters of Diplomacy. + And, when you start out to convert, + Make certain that you don't get hurt! + + +VIII + +FRANCE + + The natives here remark 'Mon Dieu!' + 'Que voulez-vous?' 'Comment ca va?' + 'Sapristi! Par exemple! Un peu!' + 'Tiens donc! Mais qu'est-ce que c'est que ca?' + They shave one portion of their dogs, + And live exclusively on frogs. + + They get excited very quick, + And crowds will gather before long + If you should stand and wave your stick + And shout, 'A bas le Presidong!' + Still more amusing would it be + To say, 'Conspuez la Patrie!' + + The French are so polite, you know, + They take their hats off very well, + And, should they tread upon your toe, + Remark, 'Pardon, Mademoiselle!' + And you would gladly bear the pain + To see them make that bow again. + + Their ladies too have got a way + Which even curates can't resist; + 'Twould make an Alderman feel gay + Or soothe a yellow journalist; + And then the things they say are so + Extremely--well, in fact,--you know! + + + _MORAL_ + + The closest scrutiny can find + No morals here of any kind. + + +IX + +GERMANY + + The German is a stolid soul, + And finds best suited to his taste + A pipe with an enormous bowl, + A fraulein with an ample waist; + He loves his beer, his Kaiser, and + (Donner und blitz!) his Fatherland! + + He's perfectly contented if + He listens in the Op'ra-house + To Wagner's well-concealed 'motif,' + Or waltzes of the nimble Strauss; + And all discordant bands he sends + Abroad, to soothe his foreign friends. + + When he is glad at anything + He cheers like a dyspeptic goat, + 'Hoch! hoch!' You'd think him suffering + From some affection of the throat. + A disagreeable noise, 'tis true, + But pleases him and don't hurt you! + + + _MORAL_ + + A glass of lager underneath the bough, + A long 'churchwarden' and an ample 'frau' + Beside me sitting in a Biergarten, + Ach! Biergarten were paradise enow! + + +X + +HOLLAND + + This country is extremely flat, + Just like your father's head, and were + It not for dykes and things like that + There would not be much country there, + For, if these banks should broken be, + What now is land would soon be sea. + + So, any child who glory seeks, + And in a dyke observes a hole, + Must hold his finger there for weeks, + And keep the water from its goal, + Until the local plumbers come, + Or other persons who can plumb. + + The Hollanders have somehow got + The name of Dutch (why, goodness knows!), + But Mrs. Hollander is not + A 'duchess' as you might suppose; + Mynheer Von Vanderpump is much + More used to style her his 'Old Dutch.' + + Their cities' names are somewhat odd, + But much in vogue with golfing men + Who miss a 'put' or slice a sod, + (Whose thoughts I would not dare to pen), + 'Oh, Rotterdam!' they can exclaim, + And blamelessly resume the game. + + The Dutchman's dress is very neat; + He minds his little flock of goats + In cotton blouse, and on his feet + He dons a pair of wooden boats. + (He evidently does not trust + Those dykes I mentioned not to bust). + + He has the reputation too + Of being what is known as 'slim,' + Which merely means he does to you + What you had hoped to do to him; + He has a business head, that's all, + And takes some beating, does Oom Paul. + + + _MORAL_ + + Avoid a country where the sea + May any day drop in to tea, + Rememb'ring that, at golf, one touch + Of bunker makes the whole world Dutch! + + +XI + +ICELAND + + The climate is intensely cold; + Wild curates would not drag me there; + Not tho' they brought great bags of gold, + And piled them underneath my chair. + If twenty bishops bade me go, + I should decidedly say, 'No!' + + + _MORAL_ + + If ev'ry man has got his price, + As generally is agreed, + You will, by taking my advice, + Let yours be very large indeed. + Corruption is not nice at all, + Unless the bribe be far from small. + + +XII + +ITALY + + In Italy the sky is blue; + The native loafs and lolls about, + He's nothing in the world to do, + And does it fairly well, no doubt; + (Ital-i-ans are disinclined + To honest work of any kind). + + A light Chianti wine he drinks, + And fancies it extremely good; + (It tastes like Stephens' Blue-black Inks);-- + While macaroni is his food. + (I think it must be rather hard + To eat one's breakfast by the yard). + + And, when he leaves his country for + Some northern climate, 'tis his dream + To be an organ grinder, or + Retail bacilli in ice-cream. + (The French or German student terms + These creatures '_Paris_ites' or '_Germs_.') + + Sometimes an anarchist is he, + And wants to slay a king or queen; + So with some dynamite, may be, + Concocts a murderous machine; + 'Here goes!' he shouts, 'For Freedom's sake!' + Then blows himself up by mistake. + + Naples and Florence both repay + A visit, and, if fortune takes + Your toddling little feet that way, + Do stop a moment at The Lakes. + While, should you go to Rome, I hope + You'll leave your card upon the Pope. + + + _MORAL_ + + Don't work too hard, but use a wise discretion; + Adopt the least laborious profession. + Don't be an anarchist, but, if you must, + Don't let your bombshell prematurely bust. + + +XIII + +JAPAN + + Inhabitants of far Japan + Are happy as the day is long + To sit behind a paper fan + And sing a kind of tuneless song, + Desisting, ev'ry little while, + To have a public bath, or smile. + + The members of the fairer sex + Are clad in a becoming dress, + One garment reaching from their necks + Down to the ankles more or less; + Behind each dainty ear they wear + A cherry-blossom in their hair. + + If 'Imitation's flattery' + (We learn it at our mother's lap), + A flatterer by birth must be + Our clever little friend the Jap, + Who does whatever we can do, + And does it rather better too. + + + _MORAL_ + + Be happy all the time, and plan + To wash as often as you can. + + +XIV + +PORTUGAL + + You are requested, if you please, + To note that here a people lives + Referred to as the Portuguese; + A fact which naturally gives + The funny man a good excuse + To call his friend a Portugoose. + + + _MORAL_ + + Avoid the obvious, if you can, + And _never_ be a funny man. + + +XV + +RUSSIA + + The Russian Empire, as you see, + Is governed by an Autocrat, + A sort of human target he + For anarchists to practise at; + And much relieved most people are + Not to be lodging with the Czar. + + The Russian lets his whiskers grow, + Smokes cigarettes at meal-times, and + Imbibes more 'vodki' than 'il faut'; + A habit which (I understand) + Enables him with ease to tell + His name, which nobody could spell. + + The climate here is cold, with snow, + And you go driving in a sleigh, + With bells and all the rest, you know, + Just like a Henry Irving play; + While, all around you, glare the eyes + Of secret officers and spies! + + The Russian prisons have no drains, + No windows or such things as that; + You have no playthings there but chains, + And no companion but a rat; + When once behind the dungeon door, + Your friends don't see you any more. + + I further could enlarge, 'tis true, + But fear my trembling pen confines; + I have no wish to travel to + Siberia and work the mines. + (In Russia you must write with care, + Or the police will take you there.) + + + _MORAL_ + + If you hold morbid views about + A monarch's premature decease, + You only need a--Hi! Look out! + Here comes an agent of police! + . . . . . + (In future my address will be + 'Siberia, Cell 63.') + + +XVI + +SPAIN + + 'Tis here the Spanish onion grows, + And they eat garlic all the day, + So, if you have a tender nose, + 'Tis best to go the other way, + Or else you may discern, at length, + The fact that 'Onion is strength.' + + The chestnuts flourish in this land, + Quite good to eat, as you will find, + For they are not, you understand, + The ancient after-dinner kind + That Yankees are accustomed to + From Mr. Chauncey M. Depew. + + The Spanish lady, by the bye, + Is an alluring person who + Has got a bright and flashing eye, + And knows just how to use it too; + It's quite a treat to see her meet + The proud hidalgo on the street. + + He wears a sort of soft felt hat, + A dagger, and a cloak, you know, + Just like the wicked villains that + We met in plays of long ago, + Who sneaked about with aspect glum, + Remarking, 'Ha! A time will come!' + + His blood, of blue cerulean hue, + Runs in his veins like liquid fire, + And he can be most rude if you + Should rob him of his heart's desire; + 'Caramba!' he exclaims, and whack! + His dagger perforates your back! + + If you should care to patronise + A bull-fight, as you will no doubt, + You'll see a horse with blinded eyes + Be very badly mauled about; + By such a scene a weak inside + Is sometimes rather sorely tried. + + And, if the bull is full of fun, + The horse is generally gored, + So then they fetch another one, + Or else the first one is encored; + The humour of the sport, of course, + Is not so patent to the horse. + + + _MORAL_ + + Be kind to ev'ry bull you meet, + Remember how the creature feels; + Don't wink at ladies in the street; + And don't make speeches after meals; + And lastly, I need not explain, + If you're a horse, don't go to Spain. + + +XVII + +SWITZERLAND + + This atmosphere is pure ozone! + To climb the hills you promptly start; + Unless you happen to be prone + To palpitations of the heart; + In which case swarming up the Alps + Brings on a bad attack of palps. + + The nicest method is to stay + Quite comfortably down below, + And, from the steps of your chalet, + Watch other people upwards go. + Then you can buy an alpenstock, + And scratch your name upon a rock. + + + _MORAL_ + + Don't do fatiguing things which you + Can pay another man to do. + Let friends assume (they may be wrong), + That you each year ascend Mong Blong. + Some things you can _pretend_ you've done, + And climbing up the Alps is one. + + +XVIII + +TURKEY + + The Sultan of the Purple East + Is quite a cynic, in his way, + And really doesn't mind the least + His nickname of 'Abdul the ----' (Nay! + I might perhaps come in for blame + If I divulged this monarch's name.) + + The Turk is such a kindly man, + But his ideas of sport are crude; + He to the poor Armenian + Is not intentionally rude, + But still it is his heartless habit + To treat him as _we_ treat the rabbit. + + If he wants bracing up a bit, + His pleasing little custom is + To take a hatchet and commit + A series of atrocities. + I should not fancy, after dark, + To meet him, say, in Regent's Park. + + A deeply married man is he, + 'Early and often' is his rule; + He practises polygamy + Directly after leaving school, + And so arranges that his wives + Live happy but secluded lives. + + If they attend a public place, + They have to do so in disguise, + And so conceal one-half their face + That nothing but a pair of eyes + Suggests the hidden charm that lurks + Beneath the veils of lady Turks. + + Then too in Turkey all the men + Smoke water-pipes and cross their legs; + They watch their harem as a hen + That guards her first attempt at eggs. + (If you don't know what harems are, + Just run and ask your dear papa.) + + + _MORAL_ + + Wives of great men oft remind us + We should make our wives sublime, + But the years advancing find us + Vainly working over-time. + We could minimise our work + By the methods of the Turk. + + +XIX + +DREAMLAND + + Here you will see strange happenings + With absolutely placid eyes; + If all your uncles sprouted wings + You would not feel the least surprise; + The oddest things that you can do + Don't seem a bit absurd to you. + + You go (in Dreamland) to a ball, + And suddenly are shocked to find + That you have nothing on at all,-- + But somehow no one seems to mind; + And, naturally, _you_ don't care, + If they can bear what you can bare! + + Then, in a moment, you're pursued + By engines on a railway track! + Your legs are tied, your feet are glued, + The train comes snorting down your back! + One last attempt at flight you make + And so (in bed) perspiring wake. + + You feel so free from weight of cares + That, if the staircase you should climb, + You gaily mount, not single stairs, + But whole battalions at a time; + (My metaphor is mixed, may be, + I quote from Shakespeare, as you see). + + If you should eat too much, you pay + (In dreams) the penalty for this; + A nightmare carries you away + And drops you down a precipice! + Down! down! until, with sudden smack, + You strike the mattress with your back. + + + _MORAL_ + + At meals decline to be a beast; + 'Too much is better than a feast.' + + +XX + +STAGELAND + + The customs of this land have all + Been published in a bulky tome. + The author is a man they call + Jer_ome_ K. J_er_ome _K_. Jer_ome_. + So, lest on his preserves I poach, + This subject I refuse to broach. + + + _MORAL_ + + The moral here is plain to see. + If true the hackneyed witticism + Which stamps Originality + As 'undetected plagiarism,' + What a vocation I have miss'd + As undetected plagiarist! + + +XXI + +LOVERLAND + + This is the land where minor bards + And other lunatics repair, + To live in houses made of cards, + Or build their castles in the air; + To feed on hope, and idly dream + That things are really what they seem. + + The natives are a motley lot, + Of ev'ry age and creed and race, + But each inhabitant has got + The same expression on his face; + They look, when this their features fills, + Like angels with internal chills. + + The lover sits, the livelong day, + Quite inarticulate of speech; + He simply brims with things to say; + Alas! the words he cannot reach, + And, silent, lets occasion pass, + Feeling a fulminating ass. + + It is the lady lover's wont + To blush, and look demure or coy, + To say, 'You mustn't!' and, 'Oh! don't!' + Or, 'Please leave off, you naughty boy!' + (But this, of course, is just her way, + She wouldn't wish you to obey.) + + The lover, in a trembling voice, + Demands the hand of his lovee, + And begs the lady of his choice + To share some cottage-by-the-sea; + With _her_ a prison would be nice, + A coal-cellar a Paradise! + + 'Love in a cottage' sounds so well; + But oh, my too impatient bride, + No drainage and a constant smell + Of something being over-fried + Is not the sort of atmosphere + That makes for wedded bliss, my dear. + + And when the bills are rather high, + And when the money's rather low, + See poor Virginia sit and sigh, + And ask why Paul _must_ grumble so! + He slams the door and strides about, + And, through the window, Love creeps out. + + 'Tis said that Cupid blinds our sight + With fire of passion from above, + Nor ever bids us see aright + The many faults in those we love; + Ah no! I deem it otherwise, + For lovers have the clearest eyes. + + They see the faults, the failures, and + The great temptations, and they know, + Although they cannot understand, + That they would have the loved one so. + Believe me, Love is never blind, + His smiling eyes are wise and kind. + + Tho' lovers quarrel, yet, I ween, + 'Tis but to make it up again; + The sunshine seems the more serene + That follows after April rain; + And love should lead, if love be true, + To perfect understanding too. + + If in our hearts this love beats strong, + We shall not ever seek to earn + Forgiveness for some fancied wrong, + Nor need to pardon in return; + But learn this lesson as we live, + 'To understand is to forgive.' + + And all you little girls and boys + Will find this out yourselves, some day, + When you have done with childish toys + And put your infant books away. + Ah! then I pray that hand-in-hand + You tread the paths of Loverland. + + + _MORAL_ + + Don't fall in love, but, when you do, + Take care that he (or she) does too; + And, lastly, to misquote the bard, + If you _must_ love, don't love too hard. + + +XXII + +HOMELAND + + The tour is over! We must part! + Our mutual journey at an end. + O bid farewell, with aching heart, + To guide, philosopher, and friend; + And note, as you remark 'Good-bye!' + The kindly tear that dims his eye. + + The tour is ended! Sad but true! + No more together may we roam! + We turn our lonely footsteps to + The spot that's known as Home, Sweet Home. + Nor time nor temper can afford + A more protracted trip abroad. + + O Home! where we must always be + So hopelessly misunderstood; + Where waits a tactless family, + To tell us things 'for our own good'; + Where relatives, with searchlight eyes, + Can penetrate our choicest lies. + + Where all our kith and kin combine + To prove that we are worse than rude, + If we should criticise the wine + Or make complaints about the food. + Thank goodness, then, to quote the pome, + Thank goodness there's 'no place like Home!' + + + + +PART II + +_CHILDISH COMPLAINTS_ + +AND + +_OTHER RUTHLESS RHYMES_ + + + + +CHILDISH COMPLAINTS + + +PRELUDE + +(_By Way of Advertisement_) + + I have no knowledge of disease, + No notion what ill-health may be, + Since Housemaid's Throat and Smoker's Knees + Mean something different to me + To what they do to other folk. + (This is, I vow, no vulgar joke.) + + Of course, when young, I had complaints, + And little childish accidents; + For twice I ate a box of paints, + And once I swallowed eighteen pence. + (_N.B._, I missed the paints a lot, + But got the coins back on the spot.) + + But no practitioner has seen + My tongue since then, down to the present, + And I, alas! have never been + An interesting convalescent. + Ah! why am I alone denied + The Humour of a weak inside? + + Why is it? I will tell you why; + A certain mixture is to blame. + One day for fun I chanced to try + A bottle of--what _is_ the name? + That thing they advertise a lot,-- + (Oh, what a memory I've got!) + + It's stuff you must, of course, have seen, + Retailed in bottles, tins, or pots, + In cakes or little pills, I mean-- + (Oh goodness me! I've bought such lots, + That I am really much to blame + For not remembering the name!) + + Still, let me recommend a keg + (With maker's name, be sure, above it), + 'Tis sweeter than a new-mown egg, + And village idiots simply love it; + Old persons sit and scream for it,-- + I do so hope you'll try a bit! + + So efficacious is this stuff, + Its virtue and its strength are such, + One single bottle is enough,-- + In fact, at times, 'tis far too much. + (The patient dies in frightful pain, + Or else survives, and tries again.) + + An aunt of mine felt anyhow, + All kind-of-odd, and gone-to-bits, + Had freckles badly too; but now + She doesn't have a thing but fits. + She's just as strong as any horse,-- + Tho' still an invalid, of course. + + I had an uncle, too, that way, + His health was in a dreadful plight; + Would often spend a sleepless day, + And lie unconscious half the night. + He took two bottles, large and small, + And now--he has no health at all! + + The Moral plainly bids you buy + This stuff, whose name I have forgotten; + You won't regret it, if you try-- + (My memory is simply rotten!) + My funds will profit, in addition, + Since I enjoy a small commission! + + +CHILDISH COMPLAINTS + +_No. 1 (Appendicitis)_ + + I've got Appendicitis + In my Appendicit, + But I don't mind, + Because I find + I'm quite 'cut out' for it. + + +_No. 2. (Whooping-cough)_ + + If only I had Whooping-cough! + I'd join a Circus troupe! + And folks would clamour at the door, + And pay a shilling--even more, + To see me 'Whoop The Whoop.' + + +_No. 3. (Measles)_ + + Of illnesses like chickenpox + And measles I've had lots; + I do not like them much, you know, + They are not really nice, altho' + They're rather nice in spots. + + +_No. 4. (Adenoids)_ + + A Cockney maid produced such snores, + Folks left the City to avoid them; + And all becos, + She said, it was + Her adenoids that 'ad annoyed them! + + +_No. 5. (Croup)_ + + I had the Croup, in years gone by, + And that is why to-day, + Altho' no longer youthful, I + Am still a Croupier. + + + + +RUTHLESS RHYMES + + +I + +MOTHER-WIT + + When wilful little Willie Black + Threw all the tea-things at his mother, + She murmured, as she hurled them back, + 'One good Tea-urn deserves another!' + + +II + +UNCLE JOE + + Poor Uncle Joe has gone, you know, + To rest beyond the stars. + I miss him, oh! I miss him so,-- + He had _such_ good cigars. + + +III + +AUNT ELIZA + + In the drinking-well + (Which the plumber built her) + Aunt Eliza fell,---- + We must buy a filter. + + +IV + +ABSENT-MINDEDNESS + + Absent-minded Edward Brown + Drove his lady into town; + Suddenly the horse fell down! + Mrs. Ned + (Newly wed) + Threw a fit and lay for dead. + + Edward, lacking in resource, + Chafed the fetlocks of his horse, + Sitting with unpleasant force + (Just like lead) + On the head + Of the prostrate Mrs. Ned. + + She demanded a divorce, + Jealous of the favoured horse. + Edward had it shot, of course. + + . . . . . + + Years have sped; + She and Ned + Drive a motor now instead. + + +V + +JOHN + + John, across the broad Atlantic, + Tried to navigate a barque, + But he met an unromantic + And extremely hungry shark. + + John (I blame his childhood's teachers) + Thought to treat this as a lark, + Ignorant of how these creatures + Do delight to bite a barque. + + Said, 'This animal's a bore!' and, + With a scornful sort of grin, + Handled an adjacent oar and + Chucked it underneath the chin. + + At this unexpected juncture, + Which he had not reckoned on, + Mr. Shark he made a puncture + In the barque--and then in John. + + . . . . . + + Sad am I, and sore at thinking + John had on some clothes of mine; + I can almost see them shrinking, + Washed repeatedly in brine. + + I shall never cease regretting + That I lent my hat to him, + For I fear a thorough wetting + Cannot well improve the brim. + + Oh! to know a shark is browsing, + Boldly, blandly, on my boots! + Coldly, cruelly carousing + On the choicest of my suits! + + Creatures I regard with loathing, + Who can calmly take their fill + Of one's Jaeger underclothing:-- + Down, my aching heart, be still! + + +VI + +BABY + + Baby roused its father's ire, + By a cold and formal lisp; + So he placed it on the fire, + And reduced it to a crisp. + Mother said, 'Oh, stop a bit! + This is _overdoing_ it!' + + +VII + +THE CAT + +(_Advice to the Young_) + + My children, you should imitate + The harmless, necessary cat, + Who eats whatever's on his plate, + And doesn't even leave the fat; + Who never stays in bed too late, + Or does immoral things like that; + Instead of saying, 'Shan't!' or 'Bosh!' + He'll sit and wash, and wash, and wash! + + When shadows fall and lights grow dim, + He sits beneath the kitchen stair; + Regardless as to life and limb, + A shady lair he chooses there; + And if you tumble over him, + He simply loves to hear you swear. + And, while bad language _you_ prefer, + He'll sit and purr, and purr, and purr! + + + + +PART III + +_PERVERTED PROVERBS_ + + + + +I + +'VIRTUE IS ITS OWN REWARD' + + Virtue its own reward? Alas! + And what a poor one, as a rule! + Be Virtuous, and Life will pass + Like one long term of Sunday-school. + (No prospect, truly, could one find + More unalluring to the mind.) + + The Model Child has got to keep + His fingers and his garments white; + In church he may not go to sleep, + Nor ask to stop up late at night. + In fact he must not ever do + A single thing he wishes to. + + He may not paddle in his boots, + Like naughty children, at the sea; + The sweetness of Forbidden Fruits + Is not, alas! for such as he. + He watches, with pathetic eyes, + His weaker brethren make mud-pies. + + He must not answer back, oh no! + However rude grown-ups may be; + But keep politely silent, tho' + He brim with scathing repartee; + For nothing is considered worse + Than scoring off Mamma or Nurse. + + He must not eat too much at meals, + Nor scatter crumbs upon the floor; + However vacuous he feels, + He may not pass his plate for more; + --Not tho' his ev'ry organ ache + For further slabs of Christmas cake. + + He is commanded not to waste + The fleeting hours of childhood's days, + By giving way to any taste + For circuses or matinees; + For him the entertainments planned + Are 'Lectures on the Holy Land.' + + He never reads a story-book + By Rider H. or Winston C., + In vain upon his desk you'd look + For tales by Arthur Conan D., + Nor could you find upon his shelf + The works of Rudyard--or myself! + + He always fears that he may do + Some action that is _infra dig._, + And so he lives his short life through + In the most noxious role of Prig. + ('Short Life' I say, for it's agreed + The Good die very young indeed.) + + Ah me! how sad it is to think + He could have lived like me--or you! + With practice, and a taste for drink, + Our joys he might have known, he too! + And shared the pleasure _we_ have had + In being gloriously bad! + + The Naughty Boy gets much delight + From doing what he should not do; + But, as such conduct isn't Right, + He sometimes suffers for it, too. + Yet, what's a spanking to the fun + Of leaving vital things Undone? + + The Wicked flourish like the bay, + At Cards or Love they always win, + Good Fortune dogs their steps all day, + They fatten while the Good grow thin. + The Righteous Man has much to bear; + The Bad becomes a Bullionaire! + + For, though he be the greatest sham, + Luck favours him, his whole life through; + At 'Bridge' he always makes a Slam + After declaring 'Sans atout'; + With ev'ry deal his fate has planned + A hundred Aces in his hand. + + Yes, it is always just the same; + He somehow manages to win, + By mere good fortune, any game + That he may be competing in. + At Golf no bunker breaks his club, + For him the green provides no 'rub.' + + At Billiards, too, he flukes away + (With quite unnecessary 'side'); + No matter what he tries to play, + For him the pockets open wide; + He never finds both balls in baulk, + Or makes miss-cues for want of chalk. + + He swears; he very likely bets; + He even wears a flaming necktie; + Inhales Egyptian cigarettes, + And has a 'Mens Inconscia Recti'; + Yet, spite of all, one must confess + That nought succeeds like his excess. + + There's no occasion to be Just, + No need for motives that are fine, + To be Director of a Trust, + Or Manager of a Combine; + Your Corner is a public curse, + Perhaps, but it will fill your purse. + + Then stride across the Public's bones, + Crush all opponents under you, + Until you 'rise on stepping-stones + Of their dead selves'; and, when you do, + The widow's and the orphan's tears + Shall comfort your declining years! + + . . . . . + + Myself, how lucky I must be, + That need not fear so gross an end; + Since Fortune has not favoured me + With many million pounds to spend. + (Still, did that fickle Dame relent, + I'd show you how they _should_ be spent!) + + I am not saint enough to feel + My shoulder ripen to a wing, + Nor have I wits enough to steal + His title from the Copper King; + And there's a vasty gulf between + The man I Am and Might Have Been; + + But tho' at dinner I may take + Too much of Heidsick (extra dry), + And underneath the table make + My simple couch just where I lie, + My mode of roosting on the floor + Is just a trick and nothing more. + + And when, not Wisely but too Well, + My thirst I have contrived to quench, + The stories I am apt to tell + May be, perhaps, a trifle French;-- + (For 'tis in anecdote, no doubt, + That what's Bred in the Beaune comes out.)-- + + It does not render me unfit + To give advice, both wise and right, + Because I do not follow it + Myself as closely as I might; + There's nothing that I wouldn't do + To point the proper road to _you_. + + And this I'm sure of, more or less, + And trust that you will all agree-- + The Elements of Happiness + Consist in being--just like Me; + No sinner, nor a saint perhaps, + But--well, the very best of chaps. + + Share the Experience I have had, + Consider all I've known and seen, + And Don't be Good, and Don't be Bad, + But cultivate a Golden Mean. + + . . . . . + + What makes Existence _really_ nice + Is Virtue--with a dash of Vice. + + +II + +'ENOUGH IS AS GOOD AS A FEAST' + + What is Enough? An idle dream! + One cannot have enough, I swear, + Of Ices or Meringues-and-Cream, + Nougat or Chocolate Eclairs, + Of Oysters or of Caviar, + Of Prawns or Pate de Foie _Grar_! + + Who would not willingly forsake + Kindred and Home, without a fuss, + For Icing from a Birthday Cake, + Or juicy fat Asparagus, + And journey over countless seas + For New Potatoes and Green Peas? + + They say that a Contented Mind + Is a Continual Feast;--but where + The mental frame, and how to find, + Which can with Turtle Soup compare? + No mind, however full of Ease, + Could be Continual Toasted Cheese. + + For dinner have a sole to eat + (Some Perrier Jouet, '92), + An Entree then (and, with the meat, + A bottle of Lafitte will do), + A quail, a glass of port (just one), + Liqueurs and coffee, and you've done. + + Your tastes may be of simpler type;-- + A homely pint of 'half-and-half,' + An onion and a dish of tripe, + Or headpiece of the kindly calf. + (Cruel perhaps, but then, you know, + ''_Faut tout souffrir pour etre veau_!') + + 'Tis a mistake to eat too much + Of any dishes but the best; + And you, of course, should never touch + A thing you _know_ you can't digest; + For instance, lobster:--if you _do_, + Well,--I'm amayonnaised at you! + + Let this be your heraldic crest: + A bottle (charge) of Champagne, + A chicken (gorged) with salad (dress'd), + Below, this motto to explain-- + 'Enough is Very Good, may be; + Too Much is Good Enough for Me!' + + +III + +'DON'T BUY A PIG IN A POKE' + + Unscrupulous Pigmongers will + Attempt to wheedle and to coax + The ignorant young housewife till + She purchases her pigs in pokes; + Beasts that have got a Lurid Past, + Or else are far Too Good to Last. + + So, should you not desire to be + The victim of a cruel hoax, + Then promise me, ah! promise me, + You will not purchase pigs in pokes! + ('Twould be an error just as big + To poke your purchase in a pig.) + + Too well I know the bitter cost, + To turn this subject off with jokes; + How many fortunes have been lost + By men who purchased pigs in pokes. + (Ah! think on such when you would talk + With mouths that are replete with pork!) + + And, after dinner, round the fire, + Astride of Grandpa's rugged knee, + Implore your bored but patient sire + To tell you what a Poke may be. + The fact he might disclose to you-- + Which is far more than _I_ can do. + + . . . . . + + The Moral of The Pigs and Pokes + Is not to make your choice too quick. + In purchasing a Book of Jokes, + Pray poke around and take your pick. + Who knows how rich a mental meal + The covers of _this_ book conceal? + + +IV + +'LEARN TO TAKE THINGS EASILY' + + To these few words, it seems to me, + A wealth of sound instruction clings; + O Learn to Take things easily-- + Espeshly Other People's Things; + And Time will make your fingers deft + At what is known as Petty Theft. + + 'Fools and Their Money soon must part!' + And you can help this on, may be, + If, in the kindness of your Heart, + You Learn to Take things easily; + And be, with little education, + A Prince of Misappropriation. + + +V + +'A ROLLING STONE GATHERS NO MOSS' + + I never understood, I own, + What anybody (with a soul) + Could mean by offering a Stone + This needless warning not to Roll; + And what inducement there can be + To gather Moss, I fail to see. + + I'd sooner gather anything, + Like primroses, or news perhaps, + Or even wool (when suffering + A momentary mental lapse); + But could forgo my share of moss, + Nor ever realise the loss. + + 'Tis a botanical disease, + And worthy of remark as such; + Lending a dignity to trees, + To ruins a romantic touch; + A timely adjunct, I've no doubt, + But not worth writing home about. + + Of all the Stones I ever met, + In calm repose upon the ground, + I really never found one yet + With a desire to roll around; + Theirs is a stationary role. + (A joke,--and feeble on the whole.) + + But, if I were a stone, I swear + I'd sooner move and view the World, + Than sit and grow the greenest hair + That ever Nature combed and curled. + I see no single saving grace + In being known as 'Mossyface'! + + Instead, I might prove useful for + A weapon in the hand of Crime, + A paperweight, a milestone, or + A missile at Election-time; + In each capacity I could + Do quite incalculable good. + + When well directed from the Pit, + I might promote a welcome death, + If fortunate enough to hit + Some budding Hamlet or Macbeth, + Who twice each day the playhouse fills,-- + (For Further Notice see Small Bills). + + At concerts, too, if you prefer, + I could prevent your growing deaf + By silencing the amateur + Before she reached that upper F; + Or else, in lieu of half-a-brick, + Restrain some local Kubelik. + + Then, human stones, take my advice, + (As you should always do, indeed); + This proverb may be very nice, + But don't you pay it any heed, + And, tho' you make the critics cross, + Roll on, and never mind the moss! + + +VI + +'IT IS NEVER TOO LATE TO MEND' + + Since it can never be too late + To change your life, or else renew it, + Let the unpleasant process wait, + Until you are _compelled_ to do it. + The State provides (and gratis too) + Establishments for such as you. + + Remember this, and pluck up heart, + That, be you publican or parson, + Your ev'ry art must have a start, + From petty larceny to arson; + And even in the burglar's trade, + The cracksman is not born, but made. + + So, if in your career of crime, + You fail to carry out some 'coup,' + Then try again a second time, + And yet again, until you _do_; + And don't despair, or fear the worst, + Because you get found out at first. + + Perhaps the battle will not go, + On all occasions, to the strongest; + You may be fairly certain tho' + That He Laughs Last who Laughs the Longest. + So keep a good reserve of laughter, + Which may be found of use hereafter. + + Believe me that, howe'er well meant, + A good resolve is always brief; + Don't let your precious hours be spent + In turning over a new leaf. + Such leaves, like Nature's, soon decay, + And then are only in the way. + + The Road to--well, a certain spot + (A road of very fair dimensions), + Has, so the proverb tells us, got + A parquet-floor of Good Intentions. + Take care, in your desire to please, + You do not add a brick to these. + + For there may come a moment when + You shall be mended, willy-nilly, + With many more misguided men, + Whose skill is undermined with skilly. + Till then procrastinate, my friend; + 'It _Never_ is Too Late to Mend!' + + +VII + +'A BAD WORKMAN COMPLAINS OF HIS TOOLS' + + This pen of mine is simply grand, + I never loved a pen so much; + This paper (underneath my hand) + Is really a delight to touch; + And never in my life, I think, + Did I make use of finer ink. + + The subject upon which I write + Is ev'rything that I could choose; + I seldom knew my wits more bright, + More cosmopolitan my views; + Nor ever did my head contain + So surplus a supply of brain! + + +VIII + +'DON'T LOOK A GIFT-HORSE IN THE MOUTH' + + I knew a man who lived down South; + He thought this maxim to defy; + He looked a Gift-horse in the Mouth; + The Gift-horse bit him in the Eye! + And, while the steed enjoyed his bite, + My Southern friend mislaid his sight. + + Now, had this foolish man, that day, + Observed the Gift-horse in the _Heel_, + It might have kicked his brains away, + But that's a loss he would not feel; + Because, you see (need I explain?), + My Southern friend has got no brain. + + When any one to you presents + A poodle, or a pocket-knife, + A set of Ping-pong instruments, + A banjo or a lady-wife, + 'Tis churlish, as I understand, + To grumble that they're second-hand. + + And he who termed Ingratitude + As 'worser nor a servant's tooth' + Was evidently well imbued + With all the elements of Truth; + (While he who said 'Uneasy lies + The tooth that wears a crown' was wise). + + 'One must be poor,' George Eliot said, + 'To know the luxury of giving'; + So too one really should be dead + To realise the joy of living. + (I'd sooner be--I don't know which-- + I'd _like_ to be alive and rich!) + + _This_ book may be a Gift-horse too, + And one you surely ought to prize; + If so, I beg you, read it through, + With kindly and uncaptious eyes, + Not grumbling because this particular line doesn't happen to scan, + And this one doesn't rhyme! + + +IX + +POTPOURRI + + There are many more Maxims to which + I would like to accord a front place, + But alas! I have got + To omit a whole lot, + For the lack of available space; + And the rest I am forced to boil down and condense + To the following Essence of Sound without Sense: + + Now the Pitcher that journeys too oft + To the Well will get broken at last. + But you'll find it a fact + That, by using some tact, + Such a danger as this can be past. + (There's an obvious way, and a simple, you'll own, + Which is, if you're a Pitcher, to Let Well alone.) + + Half a loafer is never well-bred, + And Self-Praise is a Dangerous Thing. + And the mice are at play + When the Cat is away, + For a moment, inspecting a King. + (Tho' if Care kills a Cat, as the Proverbs declare, + It is right to suppose that the King will take care.) + + Don't Halloo till you're out of the Wood, + When a Stitch in Good Time will save Nine, + While a Bird in the Hand + Is worth Two, understand, + In the Bush that Needs no Good Wine. + (Tho' the two, if they _Can_ sing but Won't, have been known, + By an accurate aim to be killed with one Stone.) + + Never Harness the Cart to the Horse; + Since the latter should be _a la carte_. + Also, Birds of a Feather + Come Flocking Together, + --Because they can't well Flock Apart. + (You may cast any Bread on the Waters, I think, + But, unless I'm mistaken, you can't make it Sink.) + + It is only the Fool who remarks + That there Can't be a Fire without Smoke; + Has he never yet learned + How the gas can be turned + On the best incombustible coke? + (Would you value a man by the checks on his suits, + And forget '_que c'est le premier passbook qui Coutts?_') + + Now '_De Mortuis Nil Nisi Bonum_,' + Is Latin, as ev'ry one owns; + If your domicile be + Near a Mortuaree, + You should always avoid throwing bones. + (I would further remark, if I could,--but I couldn't-- + That People Residing in Glasshouses shouldn't.) + + You have heard of the Punctual Bird, + Who was First in presenting his Bill; + But I pray you'll be firm, + And remember the Worm + Had to get up much earlier still; + (So that, if you _can't_ rise in the morning, then Don't; + And be certain that Where there's a Will there's a Won't.) + + You can give a bad name to a Dog, + And hang him by way of excuse; + Whereas Hunger, of course; + Is by far the Best Sauce + For the Gander as well as the Goose. + (But you shouldn't judge any one just by his looks, + For a Surfeit of Broth ruins too many Cooks.) + + With the fact that Necessity knows + Nine Points of the Law, you'll agree. + There are just as Good Fish + To be found on a Dish + As you ever could catch in the Sea. + (You should Look ere you Leap on a Weasel Asleep, + And I've also remarked that Still Daughters Run Cheap.) + + The much trodden-on Lane _will_ Turn, + And a Friend is in Need of a Friend; + But the Wisest of Saws, + Like the Camel's Last Straws, + Or the Longest of Worms, have an end. + So, before out of Patience a Virtue you make, + A decisive farewell of these maxims we'll take. + + + + +PART IV + +_OTHER VERSES_ + + + + +BILL + +(_Told by the Hospital Orderly_) + + At Modder, where I met 'im fust, + I thought as 'ow ole Bill was dead; + A splinter, from a shell wot bust, + 'Ad fetched 'im somewheres in the 'ead; + But there! It takes a deal to kill + Them thick-thatched sort o' blokes like Bill. + + In the field-'orspital, nex' day, + The doctors was a-makin' out + The 'casualty returns,' an' they + Comes up an' pulls ole Bill about; + Ole Colonel Wilks, 'e turns to me, + 'Report this "dangerous,"' sez 'e. + + But Bill, 'oo must 'ave 'eard it too, + 'E calls the doctor, quick as thought: + 'I'd take it kindly, sir, if you + 'Could keep me out o' the report. + 'For tho' I'm 'it, an' 'it severe, + 'I doesn't want my friends to 'ear. + + 'I've a ole mother, 'way in Kent, + ''Oo thinks the very world o' me; + 'I'd thank you if I wasn't sent + 'As "wounded dangerous,"' sez 'e; + 'For if she 'ears I'm badly hit, + 'I lay she won't get over it. + + 'At Landman's Drift she lost a lad + '(With the 18th 'Ussars 'e fell), + 'Poor soul, she'd take it mighty bad + 'To think o' losin' me as well; + 'So please, sir, if it's hall the same, + 'I'd ask you not to send my name.' + + The Colonel bloke 'e thinks a bit, + 'Oh, well,' sez 'e, 'per'aps you're right. + 'And, now I come to look at it, + 'I'll send you in as "scalp-wound, slight." + 'O' course it's wrong of me, but still--' + 'Gawd bless you, sir, an' thanks!' sez Bill. + + . . . . . . + + 'E didn't die; 'e scrambled through. + They hoperated on 'is 'ead, + An' Gawd knows wot they didn't do,-- + 'Tripoded' 'im, I think they said. + I see'd 'im, Toosday, in Pall Mall, + Nor never knowed 'im look so well. + + Yes, Bill 'e's going strong just now, + In London, an' employed again; + Tho' it's a fact, 'e sez, as 'ow + The doctors took out 'alf 'is brain! + Ho well, 'e won't 'ave need o' this-- + 'E's working at the War Office. + + +THE LEGEND OF THE AUTHOR + +(_A long way after Ingoldsby_) + + When Anthony Adamson first went to school + The reception he got was decidedly cool; + And, because he was utterly hopeless at games, + He was given all sorts of opprobrious names, + Which ranged the whole gamut from 'fat-head' to 'fool'; + For boys as a rule, Are what nurses call 'crool,' + 'Tis their natural instinct, which nobody blames, + Any more than the habits Peculiar to rabbits, + To label a duffer 'old woman' or 'muff,' or + Some name calculated to cause him to suffer. + They failed in their treatment this time, on the whole, + Since our Anthony thoroughly pitied the role + Of the oaf who is muddied, (For Kipling he'd studied), + However strong-hearted, broad-limbed, and warm-blooded, + Who sits in a goal, Quite deficient of soul, + And as blind to the beauties of Life as a mole. + He was rather a curious boy, was this youth, + And a bit of a prig, if you must know the truth, + And his comrades considered him weird and uncouth, + For he didn't much mind When they left him behind, + And, intent upon cricket, Went off to the wicket; + Some other less heating employment he'd find, + And, while his young playfellows fielded and batted, + This curious fat-head, Ink-fingered, hair-matted, + Would take a new pen from his pocket, and lick it, + Then into the ink-bottle thoughtfully stick it, + And, chewing the holder ('Twas fashioned of gold, + Or at least so 'twas sold By a stationer bold, + And at any rate furnished a good imitation), + In deep rumination, With much mastication, + And wonderful patience, Await inspirations; + And brilliant ideas would arrive on occasions; + When frequently followed, The pen being swallowed, + As up to his eyes in the inkpot he wallowed. + + So all the day long and for half of the night + Would young Anthony Adamson nibble and write, + With extravagant feelings of joy and delight, + And it may sound absurd, But 'twas thus, as I've heard, + That he learnt to acquire the appropriate word; + And altho' composition, Which was his ambition, + At first proved a trifle untamed and refractory; + Arrived in a while At evolving a style + Which a Stevenson even might deem satisfactory. + + Now when Anthony A. was as yet in his 'teens + He began to take aim at the big magazines, + With articles, verses, and little love-scenes; + And short stories he wrote, Which he sent with a note + (Which I haven't the space nor the leisure to quote), + Containing a humble request, and a hope, + And some stamps and a clearly addressed envelope. + + Now a few of these got to the Editor's desk, + And he found them well-written and quite picturesque, + And he sighed to see talent like this go to waste + On what couldn't appeal to the popular taste. + For the Public, you see (With a capital P), + Doesn't care what it reads, just so long as it be + Something really exciting, however bad writing, + With wonderful heroes, And villains like Neroes, + Who, running as serials, Wearing imperials, + Revel in bloodshed and bombast and fighting. + + So back to the Author his manuscript went; + Altho' sometimes a friendly old Editor sent + An encouraging letter, To say he'd do better + To lower his style to the popular level; + When Anthony proudly (Of course not out loudly, + But mentally) told him to go to the devil! + + But a few of his articles never came back, + And their whereabouts no one was able to track, + For some persons who edited, (Can it be credited?) + Finding it paid them, Unduly mislaid them + (Behaviour most rare Nowadays anywhere, + And to ev'ry tradition entirely opposed), + And grew fat on the numerous stamps he enclosed. + Tho' to this I am really unable to swear, + Or at any rate haven't the courage to dare. + + Now when Anthony Adamson grew rather older, + And wiser, and bolder, And broader of shoulder, + He thought he'd a fancy to write for the Press,-- + 'Tis a common idea with the young, more or less;-- + And he saw himself doing Critiques and reviewing + The latest new books as they came from the printers; + To set them on thrones or to smash them to splinters, + To damn with faint praise, Or with eulogies raise, + As he banned or he blest, Just whatever seemed best + To the wit and the wisdom of twenty-three winters. + But when he had carefully read thro' the papers, + Arranged to the taste of our nation of drapers, + And wisely as Solomon Studied each column, an + Awful attack of despair and depression + Assailed him, and then, As he threw down his pen, + He was forced to confess To no hope of success, + If he entered the great journalistic profession. + + For the only description of 'copy' that pays, + In the journals that ev'ry one reads nowadays, + Is the personal matter, Impertinent chatter, + The tales of the tailor, the barber, the hatter; + Society small talk, And mere servants'-hall talk, + The sort of what's-nobody's-business-at-all-talk; + And those who can handle The latest big scandal + With the taste of a Thug and the tact of a Vandal, + Whatever society paper they write in, + Can always provide what their readers delight in. + An article, vulgarly written, which deals + With the food that celebrities eat at their meals + To the popular intellect always appeals. + People laugh themselves hoarse At the latest divorce, + While a peer's breach of promise is comic, of course; + How eager each face is, As ev'ry one races + To read the details of the Cruelty cases! + And a magistrate's pun Is considered good fun, + And arouses the bench of reporters from torpor, + When it's at the expense of some broken-down pauper! + + So Anthony pondered the different ways + Of attaining and gaining the popular praise; + And selected a score of his brightest essays, + Just enough for a book, Which he hopefully took + To some publishers, thinking perhaps they would look + At what might (as he couldn't help modestly hinting) + Repay the expense and the trouble of printing. + Now the publishers all were extremely polite, + And encouraging quite, For they saw he could write; + But the answer they gave him was always the same. + 'You are not,' so they said, 'in the least bit to blame, + And your style is so good, Be it well understood, + We'd be happy to publish your work if we could; + But alas! All the people who know are agreed + This is not what the Public demands, or would read. + 'It is over the head Of the people,' they said. + 'If you'd only write down to the popular level!' + (Once more, he replied, they could go to the devil!) + The result to our author was not unexpected, + And, as on his failures he sadly reflected, + He took out his pen and a nib he selected, + Then wrote (and his verses Were studded with curses) + This poem, the Lay of the Author (Rejected). + + _The rejected Author's cup + Comes from out a bitter bin, + Constable won't 'take him up,' + Chambers will not 'take him in.'_ + + _Publishers, when interviewed, + Each alas! in turn looks Black; + De la Rue is De-la-rude, + Nutt is far too hard to crack._ + + _Author, humble as a vassal + (He is feeling Low as well), + Sadly waits without the Cassell, + Vainly tries to press the Bell._ + + _Author, hourly growing leaner, + Finds each day his jokes more rare, + Asks the Longman if he's Green, or + Spottiswoode to take the Eyre._ + + _Author, blithe as lark each morning, + Finds each night his tale unheard, + And, when Fred'rick gives him Warn(e)ing, + Is not Gay as any Bird._ + + _Author, to his writings partial, + Musters their array en bloc, + Which the Simpkins will not Marshall, + And the Elliot will not Stock._ + + _Tho' for little he be yearning, + Yet that little Long he'll want, + When the Lane has got no turning, + And the Richards will not Grant._ + + Now when Anthony's life it grew harder and harder; + Less coal in the cellar, less meat in the larder; + He thought for a while, And at last (with a smile) + He determined to sacrifice even his style. + So he wrote just whatever came into his head, + Without any regard for the living or dead, + Or for what his friends thought or his enemies said. + From his style he effaced, As incentives to waste, + All the canons of grammar and even good taste; + And so book after book after book he brought out, + Which you've probably read, and you know all about; + For the publishers bought them, And ev'ry one thought them + So splendidly vulgar, that no one had ever + Read anything quite so improperly clever. + + He tried ev'ry style, from the fashion of Ouida's + (His characters being Society Leaders; + The Heroine, suited to middle-class readers,-- + A governess she, who might well have been humbler; + The Hero a Duke, an inveterate grumbler; + And a Guardsman who drank creme-de-menthe from a tumbler) + To that of another more popular lady, + And wrote about aristocrats who were shady, + And showed that the persons you happen to meet + In the Very Best Houses are always effete; + That they gamble all night, in particular sets, + And (Oh, hasn't she said it, Tho' can it be credit- + Ed?) have no intention of paying their debts! + + His best, which the Critics said 'teemed with expression,' + Was the one-volume novel 'A Drunkard's Confession'; + The next, 'My Good Woman. A Love Tale'; another, + Most popular this, 'The Flirtations of Mother'; + And lastly, the crowning success of his life, + 'How the Other Half Lives. By a Baronet's Wife.' + And the Publishers now are all down on their knees, + As they offer what fees He may happen to please; + And success he discerns As with rapture he learns + The amount that he earns From his roy'lty returns. + (N.B.--I omit the last 'a' here in Royalty, + For reasons of scansion and not from disloyalty.) + + The moral of this is quite easy to see; + If a popular author you're anxious to be, + You won't care a digamma For truth or for grammar, + Be far from straitlaced Upon questions of taste, + And don't trouble to polish your style or to bevel, + But always write down to the popular level; + Be vulgar and smart, And you'll get to the heart + Of the persons directing the lit'rary mart, + And your writings must reach (It's a figure of speech) + The--(well, what shall we call it--compositor's) devil! + + +THE MOTRIOT + +(_After Robert Browning_) + + 'It was chickens, chickens, all the way, + With children crossing the road like mad; + Police disguised in the hedgerows lay, + Stop-watches and large white flags they had, + At nine o'clock o' this very day. + + 'I broke the record to Tunbridge Wells, + And I shouted aloud, to all concerned, + "Give room, good folk, do you hear my bells?" + But my motor skidded and overturned; + Then exploded--and afterwards, what smells! + + 'Alack! it was I rode over the son + Of a butcher; rolled him all of a heap! + Nought man could do did I leave undone; + And I thought that butcher's boys were cheap,-- + But this, poor man, 'twas his only one. + + 'There's nobody in my motor now,-- + Just a tangled car in the ditch upset; + For the fun of the fair is, all allow, + At the County Court, or, better yet, + By the very foot of the dock, I trow. + + . . . . . + + 'Thus I entered, and thus I go; + In Court the magistrate sternly said, + "Five guineas fine, and the costs you owe!" + I might not question, so promptly paid. + Henceforth I _walk_; I am safer so.' + + +THE BALLAD OF THE ARTIST + + Archibald Ames is an artist, + And a widely renowned R.A., + For albeit his pictures are thoroughly bad, + The greatest success he has always had, + And he makes his profession pay. + + He has no idea of proportion, + No notion of colour or line, + But perhaps for such there is little need, + Since everybody is fully agreed + That his _subjects_ are quite divine. + + His pictures are sweetly simple; + The ingredients all must know,-- + Just a fair-haired child and a dog or two, + A very old man, and a baby's shoe, + And some bunches of mistletoe. + + In some, an angelic infant + Is helping a kitten to play, + Or dressing a cat in Grandpapa's hat + (Which is equally hard on the hat and the cat), + Or teaching a 'dolly' to pray. + + Or else there's a runaway couple, + With a distant view of papa, + An elderly party with rich man's gout, + Who swears himself rapidly inside out, + In a broken-down motor-car. + + Or it may be a scene in the Workhouse, + Where a widow of high degree, + With almost suspiciously puce-coloured hair, + Has arrived in a gorgeous carriage-and-pair, + To distribute a pound of tea. + + Sometimes he portrays a battle, + With a 'square' like a Rugby scrum, + Where a bugler, the colours grasped in his hand, + And making a final determined stand, + Plays 'God Save the King' on a drum. + + This is the kind of subject + That he gives to us day by day; + You may jeer at the absence of all technique, + But these are the pictures the people seek + From this justly renowned R.A. + + In distant suburban boudoirs + You will find them, in gilded frames, + 'The Prodigal Calf' (a homely scene) + 'Grandmamma's Boots,' or 'To Gretna Green,' + The Works of Archibald Ames. + + And, if they appeal to the public, + In the usual course of events, + Some enterprising manager comes, + And buys them up for enormous sums, + And they serve as advertisements. + + Where the child is painting the kitten + With Potter's Indelible Dye, + While Grandpapa shows to the reckless cat + McBride's Indestructible Gibus Hat, + (Which Ev'ry one ought to buy). + + And the Gretna Green arrangement + An interest new acquires, + By depicting how great the advantages are + Of the Patented Spoofenhauss Auto-car, + With unpuncturable tyres. + + And the widow (Try Kay's for mourning), + As black as Stevenson's Ink, + Is curing the paupers of sundry ills + By the gift of a box of the Palest Pills + For persons who may be Pink. + + And the bugler-boy in the battle, + With trousers of Blackett's Blue, + Unshrinking as Simpson's Serge, and free + As Winkleson's Patent Ear-drum he, + And steadfast as Holdhard's Glue. + + This is the modern fashion + In the popular art of the day, + And this is the reason that Archibald Ames + Ranks high among other familiar names + As a very well-known R.A. + + +THE BALLAD OF PING-PONG + +(_After Swinburne_) + + The murmurous moments of May-time, + What bountiful blessings they bring! + As dew to the dawn of the day-time, + Suspicions of Summer to Spring! + + Let others imagine the time light, + With maidens or books on their knee, + Or live in the languorous limelight + That tinges the trunk of the Tree. + + Let the timorous turn to their tennis, + Or the bowls to which bumpkins belong, + But the thing for grown women and men is + The pastime of ping and of pong. + + The game of the glorious glamour! + The feeling to fight till you fall! + The hurricane hail and the hammer! + The batter and bruise of the ball! + + The glory of getting behind it! + The brief but bewildering bliss! + The fear of the failure to find it! + The madness at making a miss! + + The sound of the sphere as you smack it, + Derisive, decisive, divine! + The riotous rush of your racket, + To mix and to mingle with mine! + + The diadem dear to the King is, + How sweet to the singer his song; + To me so the plea of the ping is, + And the passionate plaint of the pong. + + I live for it, love for it, like it; + Delight of my dearest of dreams! + To stand and to strive and to strike it,-- + So certain, so simple it seems! + + Then give me the game of the gay time, + The ball on its wandering wing, + The pastime for night or for day-time, + The Pong, not to mention the Ping! + + +THE PESSIMIST + +(_After Maeterlinck_) + + Life's bed is full of crumbs and rice, + No roses float on my lagoon; + There are no fingers, white and nice, + To rub my head with scented ice, + Or feed me with a spoon. + + I think of all the days gone by, + Replete with black and blue regret; + No comets light my glaucous sky, + My tears are hardly ever dry, + I never can forget! + + I see the yellow dog, Desire, + That strains against the lead of Hope, + With lilac eyes and lips of fire, + As all in vain he strives to tire + The hand that holds the rope. + + I see the kisses of the past, + Like lambkins dying in the snow, + The honeymoon that did not last, + The tinted youth that flew so fast, + And all this vale of woe. + + So, raising high my raucous cry, + I ask (and Fates no answer give), + Why am I pre-ordained to die? + O cruel Fortune, tell me, why + Am I allowed to live? + + +THE PLACE WHERE THE OLD CLEEK BROKE + +(_After Whyte-Melville_) + +Life is hollow to the golfer, of however high his rank, + If the dock-leaf and the nettle grow too free, +If a bramble bar his progress, if he's bunkered by a bank, + If his golf-ball jerks and wobbles off the tee. +There's a ditch I never pass, full of stones and broken glass, + And I'd sooner lift my ball and count a stroke, +For the tears my vision blot when I see the fatal spot, + 'Tis the place where my old cleek broke. + +There's his haft upon the table, there's his head upon a chair; + And a better never felt the summer rain; +I may curse and I may swear, my umbrella-stand is bare, + I shall never use my gallant cleek again! +With what unaccustomed speed would he strike the Golf-ball teed! + How it sounded on his metal at each stroke! +Not a flyer in the game such parabolas could claim, + At the place where the old cleek broke! + +Was he cracked? I hardly think it. Did he slip? I do not know. + He had struck the ball for forty yards or more; +He was driving smooth and even, just as hard as he could go, + I had never seen him striking so before. +But I hardly can complain, for there must have been a strain + I had forced beyond the compass of a joke-- +And no club, however strong, could have lasted over long + At the place where the old cleek broke! + +There are men, both staid and sound, who hold it happiness unique, + At which only the irreverent can scoff, +That is reached by means of brassey, driver, niblick, spoon, or cleek, + And that life is not worth living without Golf. +Well, I hope it may be so; for myself I only know + That I never more shall try another stroke; +Yes, I've wearied of the sport, since a lesson I was taught, + At the place where the old cleek broke. + + +THE HOMES OF LONDON + +(_After Mrs. Hemans_) + + The happy homes of London, + How beautiful they stand! + The crowded human rookeries + That mar this Christian land. + Where cats in hordes upon the roof + For nightly music meet, + And the horse, with non-adhesive hoof, + Skates slowly down the street. + + The merry homes of London! + Around bare hearths at night, + With hungry looks and sickly mien, + The children wail and fight. + There woman's voice is only heard + In shrill, abusive key, + And men can hardly speak a word + That is not blasphemy. + + The healthy homes of London! + With weekly wifely wage, + The hopeless husbands, out of work, + Their daily thirst assuage. + The overcrowded tenement + Is comfortless and bare, + The atmosphere is redolent + Of hunger and despair. + + The blessed homes of London! + By thousands, on her stones, + The helpless, homeless, destitute, + Do nightly rest their bones. + On pavements Piccadilly way, + In slumber like the dead, + Their wan pathetic forms they lay, + And make their humble bed. + + The free, fair homes of London! + From all the thinking throng, + Who mourn a nation's apathy, + The cry goes up, 'How long!' + And those who love old England's name, + Her welfare and renown, + Can only contemplate with shame + The homes of London town. + + +THE HAPPIEST LAND + +(_After Longfellow_) + + There sat one day in a tavern, + Somewhere near Lincoln's Inn, + Six sleepy-looking working men, + Imbibing 'twos' of gin. + + The Potman filled their tankards + With the liquor each preferred, + Torpid and somnolent they sat, + And spake not one rude word. + + But when the potman vanished, + A brawny Scot stood forth; + 'Change here,' quoth he, 'for Aberdeen, + Strathpeffer and the North! + + 'No country in the world, I ken, + With Scotia can compare, + With all the dour and canny men, + And the bonnie lasses there. + + 'I hae a wee bit hoosie, + An' a burn runs greetin' by, + An' unco crockit Minister + An' a bairn to milk the ki'; + + 'I hae a muckle haggis, + A bap an' a skian-dhu, + A cairngorm and a bannock, + An' a sonsy kailyard too!' + + 'Bejabers!' said an Irishman, + 'Acushla and Ochone! + There's but one country on the Earth, + Ould Oireland stands alone! + + 'Give me the Emerald Isle, avick! + With murphies for to ate, + An' as many pigs and childer + As the fingers on me _fate_.' + + Exclaimed a Frenchman, 'Par Exemple! + Donnez-moi ma Patrie! + Vin ordinaire and savoir faire + Are good enough for me! + + 'Have you the penknife of my Aunt? + Mais non, helas! but then, + The female gardener has got + Some paper and a pen!' + + Then spoke a Greek, 'The Isles of Greece! + What can compare with those? + Thalassa! and Eureka! + Rhododaktylos eos!' + + 'On London streets I'm working, + With a vat of asphalt stew, + Putting off the old macadam, + And a-laying down the new; + + 'But the country of my childhood + Is the best that man may know, + Oh didemi also phemi, + Zoe mou sas agapo!' + + Straight rose a German and remarked + 'Vot of die Vaterland? + Ach Himmel! Unberuefen! + And the luffly German band? + + 'Gif me some Gotterdammerung, + And nuddings more I need, + But ewigkeit and sauerkraut + And niebelungenlied!' + + 'Nonsense!' exclaimed an Englishman. + ('I surely ought to know!) + Old England is the only place + Where any man should go! + + 'Show me the something furriner + Who such a fact denies, + And, if I can't convince 'im, + I can black 'is bloomin' eyes!' + + Then entered in the potman, + And pointed to the door; + 'Outside,' said he, 'is where _you_'ll go, + If I have any more!' + + . . . . . + + It was six friendly working men, + Brimming with 'twos' of gin, + Who crept from out the tavern, + As the Dawn came creeping in. + + +A LONDON INVOLUNTARY + +(_After W. E. Henley_) + +_Spizzicato non poco skirtsando_ + + Old Palace Yard! + Hark how their breath draws lank and hard, + The sallow stern police! + Breaking the desultory midnight peace + With plangent call, to cry + 'Division'! This their first especial charge. + And now, low, luminous, and large, + The slumbrous Member hurries by. + Let us take cab, Dear Heart, take cab and go + From out the lith of this loud world (I know + The meaning of the word). Come, let us hie + To where the lamp-posts ouch the troubled sky,-- + (And if there is one thing for which I vouch + It is my knowledge of the verb to ouch.) + So, as we steal + Homeward together, we shall feel + The buxom breeze,-- + (Observe the epithet; an apt one, if you please.) + Down through the sober paven street, + Which, purged and sweet, + Gleams in the ambient deluge of the water-cart, + Bemused and blurred and pinkly lustrous, where + The blandest lion in Trafalgar Square + Seems but a part + Of the great continent of light,-- + An attribute of the embittered night,-- + How new, how naked and how clean! + Couchant, slow, shimmering, superb! + Constant to one environment, nor even seen + Pottering aimlessly along the kerb. + Lo! + On the pavement, one of those + Grim men who go down to the sea in ships, + Blaspheming, reeling in a foul ellipse, + Home to some tangled alley-bedside goes,-- + Oozing and flushed, sharing his elemental mirth + With all the jocund undissembling earth; + Drooping his shameless nose, + Nor hitching up his drifting, shifting clothes. + And here is Piccadilly! Loudly dense, + Intractable, voluminous, immense! + (Dear, dear my heart's desire, can I be talking sense?) + + +BLUEBEARD + + Yes, I am Bluebeard, and my name + Is one that children cannot stand; + Yet once I used to be so tame + I'd eat out of a person's hand; + So gentle was I wont to be, + A Curate might have played with me. + + People accord me little praise, + Yet I am not the least alarming; + I can recall, in bygone days, + A maid once said she thought me charming. + She was my friend,--no more I vow,-- + And--she's in an asylum now. + + Girls used to clamour for my hand, + Girls I refused in simple dozens; + I said I'd be their brother, and + They promised they would be my cousins. + (One I accepted,--more or less,-- + But I've forgotten her address.) + + They worried me like anything + By their proposals ev'ry day; + Until at last I had to ring + The bell, and have them cleared away; + They longed to share my lofty rank, + Also my balance at the bank. + + My hospitality to those + Whom I invite to come and stay + Is famed; my wine like water flows,-- + Exactly like, some people say; + But this is mere impertinence + To one who never spares expense. + + When through the streets I walk about, + My subjects stand and kiss their hands, + Raise a refined metallic shout, + Wave flags and warble tunes on bands; + While bunting hangs on ev'ry front,-- + With my commands to let it bunt! + + When I come home again, of course, + Retainers are employed to cheer, + My paid domestics get quite hoarse + Acclaiming me, and you can hear + The welkin ringing to the sky,-- + Ay, ay, and let it welk, say I! + + And yet, in spite of this, there are + Some persons who, at diff'rent times, + --(Because I am so popular)-- + Accuse me of most awful crimes; + A girl once said I was a flirt! + Oh my! how the expression hurt! + + I _never_ flirted in the least, + Never for very long, I mean,-- + Ask any lady (now deceased) + Who partner of my life has been;-- + Oh well, of course, sometimes, perhaps, + I meet a girl, like other chaps,-- + + And, if I like her very much, + And if she cares for me a bit, + Where is the harm of look or touch, + If neither of us mentions it? + It isn't right, I don't suppose, + But no one's hurt if no one knows! + + One should not break oneself _too_ fast + Of little habits of this sort, + Which may be definitely classed + With gambling, or a taste for port; + They should be _slowly_ dropped, until + The Heart is subject to the Will. + + I knew a man (in Regent Street) + Who, at a very slight expense, + By persevering, was complete- + Ly cured of Total Abstinence + An altered life he has begun + And takes a glass with any one. + + I knew another man, whose wife + Was an invet'rate suicide; + She daily strove to take her life, + And (naturally) nearly died; + But some such system she essayed, + And now--she's eighty in the shade. + + Ah, the new leaves I try to turn! + But, like so many men in town, + I seem (as with regret I learn) + Merely to turn the corner down; + A habit which, I fear, alack! + Makes it more easy to turn back. + + I have been criticised a lot; + I venture to inquire what for? + Because, forsooth, I have not got + The instincts of a bachelor! + Just hear my story, you will find + How grossly I have been maligned. + + I was unlucky with my wives, + So are the most of married men; + Undoubtedly they lost their lives,-- + Of course, but even so, what then? + I loved them like no other man, + And I _can_ love, you bet I can! + + My first was little Emmeline, + More beautiful than day was she; + Her proud, aristocratic mien + Was what at once attracted me. + I naturally did not know + That I should soon dislike her so. + + But there it was! And you'll infer + I had not very long to wait + Before my red-hot love for her + Turned to unutterable hate. + So, when this state of things I found, + I had her casually drowned. + + My next was Sarah, sweet but shy, + And quite inordinately meek; + Yes, even now I wonder why + I had her hanged within the week; + Perhaps I felt a bit upset, + Or else she bored me. I forget. + + Then came Evangeline, my third, + And when I chanced to be away, + She, so I subsequently heard, + Was wont (I deeply grieve to say) + With my small retinue to flirt. + I strangled her. I hope it hurt. + + Isabel was, I think, my next,-- + (That is, if I remember right),-- + And I was really very vexed + To find her hair come off at night; + To falsehood I could not connive, + And so I had her boiled alive. + + Then came Sophia, I believe, + Her coiffure was at least her own; + Alas! she fancied to deceive + Her friends, by altering its tone. + She dyed her locks a flaming red! + I suffocated her in bed. + + Susannah Maud was number six, + But she did not survive a day; + Poor Sue, she had no parlour tricks, + And hardly anything to say. + A little strychnine in her tea + Finished her off, and I was free. + + Yet I did not despair, and soon, + In spite of failures, started off + Upon my seventh honeymoon, + With Jane; but could not stand her cough. + 'Twas chronic. Kindness was in vain. + I pushed her underneath the train. + + Well, after her, I married Kate, + A most unpleasant woman. Oh! + I caught her at the garden gate, + Kissing a man I didn't know; + And, as that didn't suit me quite, + I blew her up with dynamite. + + Most married men, so sorely tried + As this, would have been rather bored. + Not I, but chose another bride, + And married Ruth. Alas! she snored! + I served her just the same as Kate, + And so she joined the other eight. + + My last was Grace; I am not clear, + I _think_ she didn't like me much; + She used to scream when I came near, + And shuddered at my lightest touch. + She seemed to wish to keep aloof, + And so I threw her off the roof. + + This is the point I wish to make;-- + From all the wives for whom I grieve, + Whose lives I had perforce to take, + Not one complaint did I receive; + And no expense was spared to please + My spouses at their obsequies. + + My habits, I would have you know, + Are perfect, as they've always been; + You ask if I am good, and go + To church, and keep my fingers clean? + I do, I mean to say I am, + I have the morals of a lamb. + + In my domains there is no sin, + Virtue is rampant all the time, + Since I so thoughtfully brought in + A bill which legalises crime; + Committing things that are not wrong + Must pall before so very long. + + And if what you imagine vice + Is not considered so at all, + Crime doesn't seem the least bit nice, + There's no temptation then to fall; + For half the charm of things we do + Is knowing that we oughtn't to. + + Believe me, then, I am not bad, + Though in my youth I had to trek, + Because I happened to have had + Some difficulties with a cheque. + What forgery in some might be + Is absent-mindedness in me! + + I know that I was much abused, + No doubt when I was young and rash, + But I should not have been accused + Of misappropriating cash. + I may have sneaked a silver dish;-- + Well, you may search me if you wish! + + So, now you see me, more or less, + As I would figure in your thoughts; + A trifle given to excess, + And prone perhaps to vice of sorts; + When tempted, rather apt to fall, + But still--a good chap after all! + + +'THE WOMAN WITH THE DEAD SOLES' + +(_After Stephen Phillips_) + + Attracted to the frozen river's brink, + Where on a small impromptu snow-swept rink, + The happy skaters darted left and right, + Or circled amorously out of sight, + Some self-supporting; some, like falling stars, + Spread-eagling ankle-weak parabolas; + I watched the human swarm, and I was 'ware + A woman, disarranged, knelt on a chair. + She had cold feet on which she could not run, + And piteously she thawed them in the sun. + Those feet were of a woman that alone + Was kneeling; a pink liquid by her shone, + Which raising to her luminous, lantern jaw, + She sipped; or idly stirred it with a straw. + Upon her hat she wore a kind of fowl, + An hummingbird, I ween, or else an owl. + Then turned to me. I looked the other way, + Trembling; I knew the words she wished to say. + So warm her gaze the blood rushed to my head, + Instinctively I knew her feet were dead. + Amorphous feet, like monumental moons, + Pavement-obliterating, vast, pontoons, + Superbly varnished, to the ice had come, + And now, snow-kissed, frost-fettered, dangled numb. + Gently she spoke,--the while my senses whirled, + Of 'largest circulations in the world'; + Wildly she spoke, as babble men in dreams, + Of feeling life's blood 'rushing to extremes'; + But I ignored her with deliberate stare, + Until the indelicate thing began to swear. + Sensations as of pins and needles rose, + Apollinaris-like, in tingled toes. + She felt the hungry frost that punctured holes, + Like concentrated seidlitz, in her soles. + Feebly she stept; and sudden was aware + Her feet had gone,--they were no longer there,-- + And from her boots was willing to be freed; + She would not keep what she could never need. + Sullenly I consented, and withdrew + From either heel a huge chaotic shoe; + Yet for a time laboriously and slow + She journeyed with her ponderous boots, as though + Along with her she could not help but bear + The bargelike burdens she was wont to wear. + Towards me she reeled; and 'Oh! my Uncle,' cried, + 'My Uncle!' but I pushed her to one side, + Then smiled upon her so she could not stay,-- + (My smile can frighten motor-cars away):-- + While thus I grinned, not knowing what to do, + A belted beadle, in immaculate blue, + Plucked at my sleeve, and shattered my romance, + Wheeling on cushion tires an ambulance. + Deliberately then he laid her there, + Tucked in and bore away; I did not care! + + +ROSEMARY + +(_A Ballad of the Boudoir_) + + 'E'er August be turned to September, + Nor Summer to Autumn as yet, + My darling, you Autumn remember + What Summer so sure to forget. + + 'Though age may extinguish the ember + That glowed in our hearts when we met, + Remember, my love, to remember, + And I will forget to forget. + + 'Who knows but the winds of December + May drift us asunder, my pet; + And if I forget to remember, + Remember, my sweet, to forget! + + 'My beauty will fade, as the posy + You gave me that night on the stairs; + My lips will not always be rosy, + My head cannot give itself 'airs. + + 'Alas! as we both become older, + Existence draws nigh to a close; + So, until I've forgotten your shoulder, + You must not remember my nose. + + 'Our days were not all sunny weather; + Even so we have nought to regret,-- + Ah! let us remember together, + Until we forget to forget!' + + +PORTKNOCKIE'S PORTER + +(_With apologies to Porphyria's Lover_) + + The train came early in to-night, + The sullen guard was soon awake, + And threw my luggage down, for spite, + To where the platform seemed a lake; + And did his best my box to break. + When sidled up a porter; straight, + He mopped the platform with a broom, + And, kneeling, made the well-filled grate + Blaze up within the waiting-room, + And so dispelled the usual gloom. + Which done, he came and took his seat + Beside me, doffed his coat, untied + His bootlaces, and let his feet + Peep coyly out on either side; + Then called me. When no voice replied, + He rolled his shirt-sleeve up, and rose, + And laid his brawny biceps bare, + And, where my eyebrows meet my nose, + He slowly shook his fist, just there, + And seized me by my yellow hair. + Then roughly asked me, had I got + A head as empty as a bubble? + Bidding me sternly, did I not + Desire henceforth to see things double, + To give him something for his trouble. + Nor could my arguments prevail; + Entreaties, threats were all in vain! + Returned he to the twice-told tale + Of how, from out the midnight train, + He bore my luggage through the rain. + I fixed him with my cold grey eye, + But all in vain; at last I knew + That porter hated me; (though why + I cannot understand, can you?) + And what on earth was I to do! + Next moment, though I still perspire + To think of it, I quickly found + A thing to do; and on the fire + I pushed him backwards with a bound, + And piled the coal up all around. + Cremated him. No pain he felt. + As a shut coop that holds a hen, + I oped the register and smelt + An odour as of burnt quill-pen. + My laughter bubbled over then. + I seized him lightly, with the tongs + About his waist; and through the door + I bore him, burning with my wrongs, + And laid him on the line. What's more, + The down express was due at four. + + . . . . . + + The mark is on the metals still, + A gruesome stain, I must confess, + And, when I pass, it makes me ill + To note the somewhat painful mess + Concocted by the down express. + Portknockie's porter; so he died. + The date of inquest is deferred. + 'Tis thought a case of suicide; + And he who might have seen or heard,-- + The guard,--has never said a word. + + +THE BALLAD OF THE LITTLE JINGLANDER + +'WHEN THE MOTHER COUNTRY CALLS!' + +(_With apologies to all concerned_) + +_North and South and East and West, the message travels fast! +East and West and North and South, the bugles blare and blast! +North and West and East and South, the battle-cry grows plain! +West and South and North and East, it echoes back again!_ + +For the East is calling Westwards, and the North is speaking South, +There's a threat on ev'ry curling lip, an oath in ev'ry mouth; +'Tis the shadow of an Empire o'er the Universe that falls, +And the winds of Heaven wonder when the Mother-country calls! + +Now the call is carried coastwise, from Calay to Bungapore, +From the sunny South Pacific to the North Atlantic shore; +Gathers volume in its footsteps and grows grander as it goes, +From Jeboom to Pongawongo, where the Rumtumpootra flows. +The 'native-born' he sits alert beneath a deodar, +He sharpens up his 'cummerbund' and loads his 'khitmagar,' + +His 'ekkah' stands untasted, as he girds upon his brow +The 'syce' his father gave him, saying 'unkah punkah jow!' + + _Come forth, you babu jemadar, + No lackh of pice we bring, + Bid the ferash comb your moustashe, + And join the great White King!_ + +And Westward, where 'Our Lady of the Sunshine' (not 'the Snows') +Delights to herd the caribou, and where the chipmunk grows, +The 'habitant' he sits amid a grove of maple trees, +He decorates his shanty and he polishes his 'skis.' +And see! Through ranch or lumber-camp, where'er the news shall go, +The daughters cease to gather fruit, the sons to shovel snow! + +They love the dear old Mother-land that they have never seen, +The Empire that they advertise as 'vaster than has been'! + + _Come forth, you mild militiaman, + To conquer or to fail, + Who is it helps the Lion's whelps + Untwist the Lion's tail?_ + +The pride of race, the pride of place, and bond of blood they feel, +The Indies indicate it and New Zealand shows new zeal. +The daughters in their Mother's house are mistress in their own; +They are her heirs, her flesh is theirs, and they would share her bone! +Lo! Greater Britain stretches out her hands across the sea; +Australia forgets her impecuniositee; +On Afric's shore the wily Boer is ready now to fight, +For the Khaki and the rooinek, for the Empire and the Right! + + _Come forth, you valiant volunteer, + Come forth to do or die, + You give a hand to Mother, and + She'll help you by and by!_ + +Upon her score of distant shores the sun is always bright; +(And always in her empire, too, it must somewhere be night!) +Her birthplace is the Ocean, where her pennon braves the breeze; +Her motto, 'What is ours we'll hold (and what is not we'll seize!)' +Her rule is strong, her purse is long, her sons are stern and true, +With iron hands she holds her lands (and other people's too). +She sees her chance and cries 'Advance,' while others stand and gape, +Her oxengoads shall claim the roads from Cairo to the Cape. + + _Come out, you big black Fuzzy-Wuz, + You've got to take your share; + We'll make you sweat till you forget + You broke a British Square!_ + +_North and South and East and West, the message travels fast! +East and West and North and South, the bugles blare and blast! +Hear we but a whisper that the foe is at the walls, +And, by Gad, we'll show them something when the Mother Country calls!_ + + +AFTWORD + + 'Tis done! We reach the final page + With feelings of relief, I'm certain; + And there arrives, at such a stage, + The moment to ring down the Curtain. + (This metaphor is freely taken + From Shakespeare,--or perhaps from Bacon.) + + The Book perused, our Future brings + A plethora of blank to-morrows, + When memories of Happier Things + Will be our Sorrow's Crown of Sorrows. + (I trust you recognise this line + As being Tennyson's, not mine.) + + My verses may indeed be few, + But are they not, to quote the poet, + 'The sweetest things that ever grew + Beside a human door'? I know it! + (What an _in_human door would be, + Enquire of Wordsworth, please, not me.) + + 'Twas one of my most cherished dreams + To write a Moral Book some day;-- + What says the Bard? 'The best laid schemes + Of Mice and Men gang aft agley!' + (The Bard here mentioned, by the bye, + Is Robbie Burns, of course,--not I.) + + And tho' my pen records each thought + As swift as the phonetic Pitman, + Morality is not my 'forte,' + O Camarados! (_vide_ Whitman). + And, like the Porcupine, I still + Am forced to ply a fretful quill. + + We may be Masters of our Fate, + (As Henley was inspired to mention), + Yet am I but the Second Mate + Upon the s.s. 'Good Intention'; + For me the course direct is lacking,-- + I have to do a deal of tacking. + + To seek for Morals here's a task + Of which you well may be despairing; + 'What has become of them?' you ask. + They've given me the slip,--like Waring. + 'Look East!' said Browning once, and I + Would make a similar reply. + + Look East, where in a garret drear, + The Author works, without cessation, + Composing verses for a mere- + Ly nominal remuneration; + And, while he has the strength to write 'em, + Will do so still--_ad infinitum!_ + + +ENVOI + + Speed, flippant rhymes, throughout the land; + Disperse yourselves with patient zeal! + Go, perch upon the critic's hand, + Just after he has had a meal. + But should he still unfriendly be, + Unperch and hasten back to me. + + . . . . . + + O gentle maid, O happy boy, + This copy of my book is done; + But don't forget that I enjoy + A royalty on ev'ry one; + Just think how wealthy I should be, + If you would purchase two or three! + + + _MORAL_ + + No moral that I ever took + Seemed quite so evident before. + If purchasing an author's book + Will keep the wolf from his back-door, + It is our very obvious mission + To buy up the entire edition. + + +FINIS. + + +Printed by T. and A. CONSTABLE, Printers to His Majesty +at the Edinburgh University Press + + + + * * * * * + + + + +_BY THE SAME AUTHOR._ + +Fiscal Ballads. + +(SECOND IMPRESSION.) + +_Fcap. 8vo. 1s. net._ + +'The fiscal controversy has not been very fruitful in verse. So far as +we are aware, only one balladist has found any genuine inspiration in +it. That is Mr. Harry Graham, whose skill as a rhymer in other +directions has already been abundantly proved. The ballads for the most +part take a colloquial form, and while containing much humour, are full +of sound doctrine.... Mr. Graham, it will be seen, has great facility +in rhyme, and in all this rhyme there is reason. When the General +Election comes this book should be a gold-mine for the political +reciter.'--_Westminster Gazette_. + +'A most amusing contribution to the literature of the fiscal +controversy.'--_Daily Telegraph_. + +'True ballads, with abundant vigour and piquancy.'--_Aberdeen Free +Press_. + +'Good both in intention and execution.'--_Speaker_. + +'These ballads ... are very good. Indeed, we cannot remember any recent +example of political truths expressed with such exactness as well as +spirit in humorous verse. The fun is as good as the argument.... Of +this admirable little book we will only say, in conclusion, that it +will amuse and delight even those who had imagined that nothing more +worth reading could possibly be printed on the fiscal question. We +would strongly urge such persons to invest a shilling in "Fiscal +Ballads," for we are confident they will not be disappointed. If the +Free-Trade organisations are wise, they will seek leave to reprint +selections from them in leaflets which can be circulated by the +million.'--_Spectator_. + +LONDON: EDWARD ARNOLD, 41 & 43 MADDOX ST., W. + + + + +_BY THE SAME AUTHOR._ + +Ruthless Rhymes for Heartless Homes. + +ILLUSTRATED BY 'G. H.' + +_Oblong_ 4_to._ 3_s._ 6_d._ + + +'It is impossible not to be amused by some of the "Ruthless Rhymes for +Heartless Homes," by Colonel D. Streamer, nor can any one with a sense +of humour fail to appreciate the many amusing points in the +illustrations.'--_Westminster._ + +'"Ruthless Rhymes for Heartless Homes" is the name of a really charming +little book of rhymes. The words are by Col. D. Streamer, and the +illustrations by "G. H.," and 'tis hard to say whether words or +pictures are the cleverer.... The book is one which must, however, be +seen to be appreciated; to properly describe it is +impossible.'--_Calcutta Englishman._ + +'Wise parents will, however, keep strictly to themselves "Ruthless +Rhymes for Heartless Homes," by Col. D. Streamer. The illustrations by +"G. H." are very amusing, and especially happy is that to "Equanimity," +when + + "Aunt Jane observed the second time + She tumbled off a 'bus, + The step is short from the sublime + To the ridiculous."' + + --_Daily Telegraph._ + +'Another charming whimsicality published by Mr. Edward Arnold is +"Ruthless Rhymes for Heartless Homes."'--_Sydney Morning Herald._ + +'The veriest nonsense, possessing the quality that makes it akin to +Carroll's work.'--_New York Bookworm._ + +'It is difficult to see the humour of + + "Philip, foozling with his cleek, + Drove his ball through Helen's cheek. + Sad they bore her corpse away, + Seven up and six to play."' + + --_Scotsman._ + + +LONDON: EDWARD ARNOLD, 41 & 43 MADDOX ST., W. + + + + +_BY THE SAME AUTHOR._ + +Ballads of the Boer War. + +_Fcap. 8vo, buckram._ 3_s._ 6_d._ _net._ + +(_Second Edition._) + + +'There is unquestionably a good deal of human nature in the book, and +as an expression of sentiments which have remained hitherto +inarticulate, as a revelation not always edifying, but often +illuminating, of the heart of the man in the ranks, this little volume +is a distinct addition to the literature of the war.'--_Spectator._ + +'Racy expressions of Tommy Atkins' feelings in Tommy Atkins' +language.... "Coldstreamer's" verses in their kind are as good as any +we have seen.'--_Academy._ + +'These colloquial rhymes express the private soldier's views in his own +language.'--_The Times._ + +'These racy ballads make a book which many will read with interest and +sympathy.'--_Scotsman._ + +'As good as anything yet done in the vernacular of Mr. Thomas Atkins. A +book for every friend of the army.'--_Outlook._ + +'One of the liveliest books of light verse we have come across for a +long time.'--_County Gentleman._ + +'Vigorous Kiplingesque verses, with sound common-sense and genuine +feeling. Well worth reading and buying.'--_To-Day._ + +'Mephitic exhalations.'--_Daily News._ + + +LONDON: GRANT RICHARDS, 48 LEICESTER SQUARE, W.C. + + + + +_BY THE SAME AUTHOR._ + +Misrepresentative Men. + +ILLUSTRATED BY F. STROTHMAN. + +(_Second Edition._) + + +OPINIONS OF THE AMERICAN PRESS. + +'One of the most amusing books of the year. Mr. Graham is a fluent and +ingenious rhymester, with an alert mind and a well-controlled sense of +humour.'--_The Times_ (New York). + +'"Misrepresentative Men" shows so high-spirited a mastery of words and +metre (the result, we take it, of laborious days) that it will be read +with pleasure by the most fastidious lover of what is amusing.'--_The +Nation_ (New York). + +'Mr. Graham's verses are exceedingly clever, and Mr. Strothman's +illustrations add to their cleverness.'--_The Bookman_ (New York). + +'A very amusing little book, by that cleverly humorous versifier "Col. +D. Streamer," whose _Ruthless Rhymes for Heartless Homes_ has had such +a deserved vogue.'--_Town Topics_ (New York). + +'The most amusing biographical caricatures of celebrities that we have +read for a long time. There is not a dull line in the entire +collection.'--_The Bookseller_ (New York). + +'These satirical verses have the same ingenious humour as the writer's +previous rhymes. The book is altogether refreshing.'--_Town and +Country_ (New York). + +'The hit of the season.'--_The Lexington Herald._ + +'A most attractively humorous work.'--_The Pittsburg Despatch._ + +'A little book of really clever verse.'--_The Milwaukee Sentinel._ + + +LONDON: GAY AND BIRD, 22 BEDFORD STREET, STRAND. + + + + +SELECTIONS FROM +MR. EDWARD ARNOLD'S LIST +OF NEW AND RECENT BOOKS. + + +THE LIFE AND TIMES OF THE +RIGHT HON. CECIL JOHN RHODES. + +By the HON. SIR LEWIS MICHELL. + +_Illustrated._ _Two volumes, demy 8vo._, 30s. net. + +This important work will take rank as the authoritative biography of +one of the greatest of modern Englishmen. Sir Lewis Michell, who has +been engaged upon the work for five years, is an executor of Mr. +Rhodes' will, and a trustee of the Rhodes Estate. He was an intimate +personal friend of Mr. Rhodes for many years, and has had access to all +the papers at Groote Schuur. Hitherto, although many partial +appreciations of the great man have been published in the Press or in +small volumes, no complete and well-informed life of him has appeared. +The gap has now been filled by Sir Lewis Michell so thoroughly that we +have in these two volumes what will undoubtedly be the final estimate +of Mr. Rhodes' career for many years to come. + + +THE REMINISCENCES OF ADMIRAL MONTAGU. + +_With Illustrations._ _One volume, demy 8vo._, cloth, 15s. net. + +The Author of this entertaining book, Admiral the Hon. Victor Montagu, +has passed a long life divided between the amusements of aristocratic +society in this country and the duties of naval service afloat in many +parts of the world. His memory recalls many anecdotes of well-known +men, and he was honoured with the personal friendship of the late King +Edward VII. and of the German Emperor, by whom his seamanship, as well +as his social qualities, were highly esteemed. As a sportsman he has +something to say about shooting, fishing, hunting, and cricket, and his +stories of life in the great country houses where he was a frequent +guest have a flavour of their own. + + +LONDON: EDWARD ARNOLD, 41 & 43, MADDOX STREET, W. + + + + +NOVELS. + + +HOWARDS END. +By E. M. FORSTER, + +AUTHOR OF 'A ROOM WITH A VIEW,' 'THE LONGEST JOURNEY,' ETC. + +6s. + +_BY THE SAME AUTHOR._ + +A ROOM WITH A VIEW. 6s. + + +THE RETURN. +By WALTER DE LA MARE. + +6s. + +'The Return' is the story of a man suddenly confronted, as if by the +caprice of chance, with an ordeal that cuts him adrift from every +certain hold he has upon the world immediately around him. He becomes +acutely conscious of those unseen powers which to many, whether in +reality or in imagination, are at all times vaguely present, haunting +life with their influences. In this solitude--a solitude of the mind +which the business of everyday life confuses and drives back--he faces +as best he can, and gropes his way through his difficulties, and wins +his way at last, if not to peace, at least to a clearer and quieter +knowledge of self. + + +THE GRAY MAN. +By JANE WARDLE. + +6s. + +The writer is one of the very few present-day novelists who have +consistently followed up the aim they originally set themselves--that +of striking a mean between the Realist and the Romanticist. In her +latest novel, 'The Gray Man,' which Miss Wardle herself believes to +contain the best work she has so far produced, it will be found that +she has as successfully avoided the bald one-sidedness of miscalled +'Realism' on the one hand, as the sloppy sentimentality of the ordinary +'Romance' on the other. At the same time, 'The Gray Man' contains both +realism and romance in full measure, in the truer sense of both words. + +_BY THE SAME AUTHOR._ + +MARGERY PIGEON. 6s. +THE PASQUE FLOWER. 6s. + + +LONDON: EDWARD ARNOLD, 41 & 43, MADDOX STREET, W. + + + + +NOVELS. + + +THE PURSUIT. + +By FRANK SAVILE. + +6s. + +That the risk of being kidnapped, to which their great riches exposes +multi-millionaires, is a very real one, is constantly being reaffirmed +in the reports that are published of the elaborate precautions many of +them take to preserve their personal liberty. In its present phase, +where there is the great wealth on one side and a powerful gang--or +rather syndicate--of clever rascals on the other, it possesses many +characteristics appealing to those who enjoy a good thrilling romance. +Mr. Savile has already won his spurs in this field, but his new tale +should place him well in the front ranks of contemporary romancers. + +_BY THE SAME AUTHOR._ + +SEEKERS. _A Romance of the Balkans._ 6s. THE DESERT VENTURE. 6s. + + +ANNE DOUGLAS SEDGWICK'S LATEST NOVEL. + +FRANKLIN KANE. + +By ANNE DOUGLAS SEDGWICK, + +AUTHOR OF 'VALERIE UPTON,' 'AMABEL CHANNICE,' ETC. + +_Second Impression._ 6s. + +'Anne Sedgwick is in the first rank of modern novelists, and nobody who +cares for good work can afford to miss one line that she +writes.'--_Punch._ + +'A figure never to be forgotten.'--_Standard._ + +'There are no stereotyped patterns here.'--_Daily Chronicle._ + +'A very graceful and charming comedy.'--_Manchester Guardian._ + + +AN ADMIRABLE NOVEL BY A NEW WRITER. + +A STEPSON OF THE SOIL. + +By MARY J. H. SKRINE. + +_Second Impression._ 6s. + +'Mrs. Skrine's admirable novel is one of those unfortunately rare books +which, without extenuating the hard facts of life, maintain and raise +one's belief in human nature. The story is simple, but the manner of +its telling is admirably uncommon. Her portraits are quite +extraordinarily vivid.'--_Spectator._ + +LONDON: EDWARD ARNOLD, 41 & 43, MADDOX STREET, W. + + + + +BOOKS ON COUNTRY LIFE. + +FLY-LEAVES FROM A FISHERMAN'S DIARY. + +By CAPTAIN G. E. SHARP. + +_With Photogravure Illustrations. Crown 8vo._, 5s. net. + +This is a very charming little book containing the reflections on +things piscatorial of a 'dry-fly' fisherman on a south country stream. +Although the Author disclaims any right to pose as an expert, it is +clear that he knows well his trout, and how to catch them. He is an +enthusiast, who thinks nothing of cycling fifteen miles out for an +evening's fishing, and home again when the 'rise' is over. Indeed, he +confesses that there is no sport he loves so passionately, and this +love of his art--surely dry-fly fishing is an art?--makes for writing +that is pleasant to read, even as Isaac Walton's love thereof inspired +the immortal pages of 'The Compleat Angler.' + + +MEMORIES OF THE MONTHS. + +By the RIGHT HON. SIR HERBERT MAXWELL, Bart., + +AUTHOR OF 'SCOTTISH GARDENS,' ETC. + +_SERIES I. to V._ + +_With Photogravure Illustrations. Large crown 8vo._, 7s. 6d. each. + +Every year brings new changes in the old order of Nature, and the +observant eye can always find fresh features on the face of the +Seasons. Sir Herbert Maxwell goes out to meet Nature on the moor and +loch, in garden and forest, and writes of what he sees and feels. This +is what gives his work its abiding charm, and makes these memories fill +the place of old friends on the library bookshelf. + + +COLONEL MEYSEY-THOMPSON'S HANDBOOKS. + +A HUNTING CATECHISM. + +By COLONEL R. F. MEYSEY-THOMPSON, + +AUTHOR OF 'REMINISCENCES OF THE COURSE, THE CAMP, AND THE CHASE.' + +_Fcap. 8vo._, 3s. 6d. net. + + +A FISHING CATECHISM. 3s. 6d. net. + +A SHOOTING CATECHISM. 3s. 6d. net. + +LONDON: EDWARD ARNOLD, 41 & 43, MADDOX STREET, W. + + +A GAMEKEEPER'S NOTE-BOOK. By OWEN JONES and MARCUS WOODWARD. With +Photogravure Illustrations. Large crown 8vo., cloth, 7s. 6d. net. + +In this charming and romantic book we follow the gamekeeper in his +secret paths, stand by him while with deft fingers he arranges his +traps and snares, watch with what infinite care he tends his young game +through all the long days of spring and summer--and in autumn and +winter garners with equal eagerness the fruits of his labour. He takes +us into the coverts at night, and with him we keep the long +vigil--while poachers come, or come not. + +The authors know their subject through and through. This is a real +series of studies from life, and the note-book from which all the +impressions are drawn and all the pictures painted is the real +note-book of a real gamekeeper. + + +TEN YEARS OF GAME-KEEPING. By OWEN JONES. With numerous Illustrations +from Photographs by the Author. One volume, demy 8vo., cloth, 10s. 6d. +net. + +'This is a book for all sportsmen, for all who take an interest in +sport, and for all who love the English woodlands. Mr. Jones writes +from triple view-points--those of sportsman, naturalist, and +gamekeeper--and every page of his book reveals an intimate knowledge of +the ways of the English wild, a perfect mastery of all that the word +"woodcraft" may stand for, and a true instinct of sportsmanship. This +book at once takes its place as a standard work; and its freshness will +endure as surely as spring comes to the woods that inspired +it.'--_Evening Standard._ + + +REGINALD FARRER'S GARDENING BOOKS. + +IN A YORKSHIRE GARDEN. + +By REGINALD FARRER. + +_With numerous Illustrations. Demy 8vo._, 10s. 6d. net. + +MY ROCK-GARDEN. Fully Illustrated. Large crown 8vo., 7s. 6d. net. Third +Impression. + +ALPINES AND BOG-PLANTS. Fully Illustrated. Large crown 8vo., 7s. 6d. +net. + + +A BOOK ABOUT ROSES. By the late Very Rev. S. REYNOLDS HOLE, Dean of +Rochester. Illustrated by G. H. MOON and G. S. ELGOOD, R.I. +Twenty-fourth Impression. Presentation Edition, with Coloured Plates, +6s. Popular Edition, 3s. 6d. + +A BOOK ABOUT THE GARDEN AND THE GARDENER. By the late Very Rev. S. +REYNOLDS HOLE, Dean of Rochester. Popular Edition. Crown 8vo., 3s. 6d. + +LONDON: EDWARD ARNOLD, 41 & 43, MADDOX STREET, W. + + + + +BOOKS OF TRAVEL. + +FOREST LIFE AND SPORT IN INDIA. By SAINTHILL EARDLEY-WILMOT, C.I.E., +lately Inspector-General of Forests to the Indian Government; +Commissioner under the Development and Road Improvement Funds Act. +Fully Illustrated. Demy 8vo. 12s. 6d. net. + +The Author of this volume was appointed to the Indian Forest Service in +days when the Indian Mutiny was fresh in the minds of his companions, +and life in the department full of hardships, loneliness, and +discomfort. These drawbacks, however, were largely compensated for by +the splendid opportunities for sports of all kinds which almost every +station in the Service offered, and it is in describing the pursuit of +game that the most exciting episodes of the book are to be found. +Tigers, spotted deer, wild buffaloes, mountain goats, sambhar, bears, +and panthers, are the subject of endless yarns, in the relation of +which innumerable useful hints, often the result of failure and even +disasters, are given. + +IN FORBIDDEN SEAS: Recollections of Sea-Otter Hunting in the Kurils. By +H. J. SNOW, F.R.G.S. Illustrated. Demy 8vo. 12s. 6d. net. + +The Author of this interesting book has had an experience probably +unique in an almost unknown part of the world. The stormy wind-swept +and fog-bound regions of the Kuril Islands, between Japan and +Kamchatka, have rarely been visited save by the adventurous hunters of +the sea-otter, and the animal is now becoming so scarce that the +hazardous occupation of these bold voyagers is no longer profitable. + +SPORT AND NATURE IN SPAIN. By ABEL CHAPMAN and WALTER J. BUCK, British +Vice-Consul at Jerez. With 200 Illustrations by the AUTHORS, E. +CALDWELL, and others, Sketch Maps, and Photographs. + +In Europe Spain is certainly far and away the wildest of wild +lands--due as much to her physical formation as to any historic or +racial causes. Naturally the Spanish fauna remains one of the richest +and most varied in Europe. It is of these wild regions and of their +wild inhabitants that the authors write, backed by lifelong experience. +The present work represents nearly forty years of constant study, of +practical experience in field and forest, combined with systematic +note-taking and analysis by men who are recognized as specialists in +their selected pursuits. These comprise every branch of sport with rod, +gun, and rifle; and, beyond all that, the ability to elaborate the +results in the light of modern zoological science. + +LONDON: EDWARD ARNOLD, 41 & 43, MADDOX STREET, W. + + +TWENTY YEARS IN THE HIMALAYA. By Major the Hon. C. G. BRUCE, M.V.O., +Fifth Gurkha Rifles. Fully Illustrated. With Map. Demy 8vo., cloth. +16s. net. + +The Himalaya is a world in itself, comprising many regions which differ +widely from each other as regards their natural features, their fauna +and flora, and the races and languages of their inhabitants. Major +Bruce's relation to this world is absolutely unique--he has journeyed +through it, now in one part, now in another, sometimes mountaineering, +sometimes in pursuit of big game, sometimes in the performance of his +professional duties, for more than twenty years; and now his +acquaintance with it under all its diverse aspects, though naturally +far from complete, is more varied and extensive than has ever been +possessed by anyone else. + +RECOLLECTIONS OF AN OLD MOUNTAINEER. By WALTER LARDEN. Fully +Illustrated. Demy 8vo., cloth. 14s. net. + +There are a few men in every generation, such as A. F. Mummery and L. +Norman Neruda, who possess a natural genius for mountaineering. The +ordinary lover of the mountains reads the story of their climbs with +admiration and perhaps a tinge of envy, but with no thought of +following in their footsteps--such feats are not for him. The great and +special interest of Mr. Larden's book lies in the fact that he does not +belong to this small and distinguished class. He tells us, and +convinces us, that he began his Alpine career with no exceptional +endowment of nerve or activity, and describes, fully and with supreme +candour, how he made himself into what he very modestly calls a +second-class climber--not 'a Grepon-crack man,' but one capable of +securely and successfully leading a party of amateurs over such peaks +as Mont Collon or the Combin. + +THE MISADVENTURES OF A HACK CRUISER. By F. CLAUDE KEMPSON, Author of +'The _Green Finch_ Cruise.' With 50 Illustrations from the Author's +sketches. Medium 8vo., cloth. 6s. net. + +Mr. Kempson's amusing account of 'The _Green Finch_ Cruise,' which was +published last year, gave deep delight to the joyous fraternity of +amateur sailor-men, and the success that book enjoyed has encouraged +him to describe a rather more ambitious cruise he undertook +subsequently. Mr. Kempson is not an expert, but he shows how anyone +accustomed to a sportsman's life can, with a little instruction and +common sense, have a thoroughly enjoyable time sailing a small boat. +The book is full of 'tips and wrinkles' of all kinds, interspersed with +amusing anecdotes and reflections. The Author's sketches are +exquisitely humorous, and never more so than when he is depicting his +own substantial person. + +LONDON: EDWARD ARNOLD, 41 & 43, MADDOX STREET, W. + + +THE COTTAGE HOMES OF ENGLAND. + +CHARMINGLY ILLUSTRATED IN COLOUR BY MRS. ALLINGHAM. + +_With 64 Full-page Coloured Plates from Pictures by HELEN ALLINGHAM, +never before reproduced_. 8_vo._ (9-1/2 _in._ by 7 _in._), 21s. net. +_Also a limited Edition de Luxe_, 42s. net. + + +A HISTORY OF THE LONDON HOSPITAL. + +By E. W. MORRIS, + +SECRETARY OF THE LONDON HOSPITAL. + +_With Illustrations._ 6s. net. + +'Besant long ago wrote "All Sorts and Conditions of Men," and won and +built thereby the People's Palace. Here is a better book. Its people +are real, its romance is facts, its palace is a hospital of a thousand +beds.'--_Daily Telegraph._ + + +THE BOOK OF WINTER SPORTS. + +With an Introduction by the Rt. Hon. the EARL OF LYTTON, and +contributions from experts in various branches of sport. + +Edited by EDGAR SYERS. + +_Fully Illustrated. Demy 8vo._, 15s. net. + + +THE DUDLEY BOOK OF COOKERY AND HOUSEHOLD RECIPES. + +By GEORGIANA, COUNTESS OF DUDLEY. + +_Handsomely printed and bound. Third Impression._ 7s. 6d. net. + +COMMON-SENSE COOKERY: Based on Modern English and Continental +Principles worked out in Detail. By Colonel A. KENNEY-HERBERT. Over 500 +pages. Illustrated. 6s. net. + +_BY THE SAME AUTHOR._ + +FIFTY BREAKFASTS. 2s. 6d. + +FIFTY LUNCHEONS. 2s. 6d. + +FIFTY DINNERS. 2s. 6d. + +LONDON: EDWARD ARNOLD, 41 & 43, MADDOX STREET, W. + + + + * * * * * + +Transcriber's Notes + +Pages 148 and 149: The words noted below are transliterations of the +original Greek characters. + + Then spoke a Greek, 'The Isles of Greece! + What can compare with those? + [Greek: Thalassa]! and [Greek: Eureka]! + [Greek: Rhododaktylos eos]!' + + 'But the country of my childhood + Is the best that man may know, + Oh [Greek: didemi] also [Greek: phemi], + [Greek: Zoe mou sas agapo]!' + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Verse and Worse, by Harry Graham + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK VERSE AND WORSE *** + +***** This file should be named 36702.txt or 36702.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/6/7/0/36702/ + +Produced by Mark C. 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