LIBR/iRy ViaNia d13HS POEMS AND VERSES I'V REGINALD LUCAS .V- LONDON PRIVATELY PRINTED 1898 ^ tL-^ 4v J tiK^-^-^A^^^y]^ CL^ X^ 6t^c>evOC-7 c^^?- POEMS AND VERSES HY REGINALD LUCAS LONDON PRIVATELY PRINTED 1898 Q(\.' l(Ahf\ I I *-_ DEDICATION. Mv DEAR Lady Skelmersdale, For the sake of a Friendship which long ago exceeded its period of probation, and gains an added value with each year, I offer you this little book. Lord Tennyson once wrote to a correspondent, ' By all means write if you find solace in verse, but do not be in a hurry to publish.' In printing what follows I do not aim at ' publication,' any more than in private discourse I desire to lecture man- kind ; but to write for oneself is as unprofitable as to talk to oneself. Therefore I dare to present my modest output of verses to a few ; and I would have them appear under the aegis of your name. Ever yours faithfully, REGINALD LUCAS. 207 Piccadilly, March 1898. POEMS AND VERSES. o 22ND JUNE, 1897. H, rich in honour and renown, The perfect fulness of the time To-day has made your throne subhme. And added lustre to your crown. From northern snows, from tropic sands, Your subjects come with one accord To hail you as their ' over-lord,' Victoria, Queen of many lands ! The veil is rent, your flag unfurled Proclaims a loftier destiny ; Who follows in your train shall be Amongst the vanguard of the world ! And sixty years have taught the truth, That in this teeming world of men To strive and labour is not vain, Age may fulfil the dreams of youth. 2znd JUNE, 1897. For never race nor clime has seen Such mighty deeds so greatly wrought, Such projects to achievement brought, As England, since it called you Queen. The sceptre that you found was set In high traditions, proudest lore ; You took it in your hands and bore It on to nobler records yet. Not wanting are the prophecies Of those who brood on evil things, Of wreck where fond tradition clings, Of shattered faiths, of broken ties. What shall it be ? Shall England claim In sixty years as great a throne ; Or will it be despoiled, undone. And ' King ' a half-forgotten name? Far be the day ! Yet, if 'tis true. This rumoured writing on the wall, That England's crown is doomed to fall, And none shall wear it after you ; Yet based upon the 'stablished past, Your reign that draws towards its term, Shows you could hold the sceptre firm. Our purest Sovereign, if our last. 22nd J UN E^ 1897. ■Great Lady, on this day of days, No prouder thought than this can be — Your reahns are peopled by the free, Your realms are ringing with your j^raise. ( 4 ) VOX DEI. Light and darkness, sea and earth, God made ; unto man gave birth ; Resting when the days were seven — Then a sound came out of Heaven. First it smote on mortal ears, Floating lightly through the spheres. Near and far from pole to pole — Then man knew he had a soul. Finding tongues in every wave Sea to shore the message gave ; Mountains, echoing back the strain, Sent it out to sea again. High it soared across the blue — Brighter still the sunshine grew : Deep it moaned along the ground — Night itself grew more profound. Then God pondered as He stood : ' I had said chat all was good, Yet forgot to give man tongue That my praises might be sung. yOX DEI. ■' Truly this last gift of mine Blends the mortal with divine; Fitly now shall be confessed All that stirs the human breast. ' Maiden's gladness, lover's tale, Dirge of sadness, mourner's wail, Grief or joy, whate'er it be. All that turns man's heart to me. ' I will make my music heard In the singing of a bird; 1 will strike mankind with awe, In the mighty tempest's roar. * Men shall hear my voice and see Gleams of immortality ; I will make creation own, Praise is mine and mine alone. ' Heart of all that I create To my music shall vibrate. Till man draws his latest breath, Wrapt in darkness, hushed in death.' THE POET. Something in the souls of men Seeks an outlet in the pen ; Thoughts that burst from out the heart,. These have taught the poet's art ; Breasts with human passion wrung, Needs must find themselves a tongue Stand beside a lonely shore. Listen to the ocean's roar ; Hear it underneath the caves, Muttering through unending waves, Telling of the mysteries hidden 'Neath its surface tempest-ridden ; Loud it wails its mournful fate. Mighty, inarticulate. In the spring-time have you stood At the opening of a wood, 'Mid the cloistered stillness heard Untrained carol of a hird? Soaring high or floating soft. Still it sends a hymn aloft. Phantom bodies frail as dew, Darting gleams of lightning hue,. THE POET. Fill the air with tranquil hum ; No created life is dumb. Stand before the ripening corn, Wait beside a shady lawn, You shall hear the skylark's trill, All the world of sunshine fill ; Earth in noontide slumber lies, Music rings across the skies. In the dim cathedral kneel. Listen to the organ's peal ; You shall need no tutored ear. In your secret heart you hear ; Hark ! your spirit cries aloud, Heavenward, though your head be bowed. Stand beside an open grave. Life gone back to Him Who gave — ■ See the mourners, sombre, grim ; Lips are quivering, eyes are dim ; Each a living harp-string stands. Played upon by unseen hands. Ocean's tempest, woodland calm, Hymn of skylark, minster psalm, Thrill of life, and dirge of death, Come of God, Who gave man breath ; « THE POET. Bidding him in reverence Owning His Omnipotence, Fear no shadows, seek the light, Strain towards the Infinite \ Deem the inward voice a token That to him the Lord hath spoken ; Sounding, when his heart rejoices, Echoes of the angels' voices ; Speaking, when life's passions shake him, Sure that God will not forsake him. Poetry is one true feature, That betokens God's own creature. TWO REVERIES. I. If I should die to-night — if suddenly 'I'he thing which 1 call ' I ' should cease to be— No void were caused on earth : ah me, not mine To claim fulfilment of one high design. The sands are out, the little course is run, Scarce anything attempted ; nothing done : A passing atom 'midst unending hosts, A ghost that flitted through a world of ghosts. Convention led me, custom made me blind, Such puny cares as thrill a puny mind ; In mine infirmity ignobly meek. Praising base strength, whilst owning I was weak. Master of none was I, the slave of all. Not bold with stouter minds to risk a fall ; Chose not the narrow path, but life's broad road, Poor fashion's creature, parasite of mode : For rules of conduct ever sore perplexed, Made myself laws one day to break them next : Bankrupt in purpose, sterile of intent, Went for enjoyment where my neighbours went : Found pleasure-seeking with disgust was fraught, And truest pleasure gained where least 'twas sought. lo TWO REVERIES. Not poor in friends, indeed, yet all unblest In that which only gives life perfect zest. On kindred warmth the heart inflamed relies, And passion chilled 'mid dreary ashes dies : Or worse, unquenched, yet hid, it burns below,. We bear the smart, yet would not let it go. A vanished bubble in a raging sea, If I should die to-night and cease to be. II. Oh, God, inspire me with love And joy that I was born : I wait a perfect noon above. Earth gives a radiant dawn ! The golden light, the quickening dews. The sweetness of the breeze, Thy purpose and Thyself infuse, I see Thee, God, in these. Each day, each hour, freely give New blessings from on high ; In mercy teach me so to live That I may learn to die ! Alas, no hymns of mine requite The grace vouchsafed to me — This were my latest word to-night If I should 'cease to be.' 1 1 A DREAM. I DREAMT that at the Judgment Day, When time and earth had passed away, The souls set free from mortal clay Stood ranged before the Throne : Thereat the Dead their cerements burst, The Blest still mingling with the Curst, And all in quaking hearts rehearsed The evils they had done. I thought I stood in awed amaze, Not daring to uplift my gaze, To where, 'midst holiest hymns of praise, Christ stood at God's right hand. Then spake God's voice both calm and deep, ' What can ye say, ye wandering sheep. Who did not my commandments keep, Can ye my wrath withstand ? ' Thereat to Christ I raised my eyes ; ' On Thee, oh Lord, my soul relies : Full mindful of my frailties I put my trust in Thee.' Thus I : then God, in voice less stern : ' Well said : my truth thou didst discern ; Poor sinners who in heart did turn To Christ, shall pardoned be.' A DREAM. Last night I dreamt that I was dead : Some few who stood around my bed, When they perceived that Hfe had fled, Shed unavailing tears : I dreamt my spirit trembling stayed, And I, bereft of mortal aid, Could not but contemplate dismayed My tale of wasted years. Until one knelt and breathed a prayer ; I felt it pass me through the air ; It rose to heaven — entered there — Then spake a voice to me : ' Oh, not for any worth of thine, But since all judgment shall be mine, And selfless love I count divine, Thou too shalt pardoned be.' Loud rang the proud exultant note, Through earth and sky to realms remote The bless'd evangel seemed to float, ' Thou too shalt pardoned be ! ' — Glad tidings these, could we be told, That though our sins be manifold, The loving prayers of those who hold Us dear can set us free. ST. JOHN DICK CUNYNGHAM. AGED lO, DROWNED WHILST RESCUING A FRIEND, SEPT. 1897. ' His grave looks towards the sea where he fought and won liis last battle.' — [Letter from Colonel Dick Citiiyngkai/i, V.C.) ' His grave looks out towards the sea Which slew, yet gave him victory ; ' So wrote the father — worthy he A hero's tale to tell : Ah, boyish strength too sorely tried ! He saw his playmate in the tide, Fhnched not, but battled to his side ; Saved him ; and greatly fell. * Towards the sea ' — lie there, and sleep ; Not yours to hear the nations weep ; The hurrying highways of the deep It was not yours to tread ; Yet yours shall be the twofold crown, Who won a hero's high renown. And, free from worldly stain, lay down Among the blameless dead. ' Towards the sea ' — 'twere fitting grave For one who gave his life to save A comrade, sinking 'neath the wave : Then unto all who roam 34 ST. JOHN DICK CUNYNGHAM. Wide seas, a constant beacon stand ! And after — in a far-off Land, Oh, draw us on ; hold out your hand ; And bid us welcome home. ( >5 ) COUNTESS OF LATHOM. FATALLY INJURED NOVEMBER 23, 1897. We know full well the Preacher saith, ' In 'midst of life we are in death.' And we confess it true : Yet which of us is wont to say, * Me too death follows day by day ; I may be taken too ' ? No warning note : how should we fear ? Unscathed, unthreatened, year by year We watch the seasons pass : Though others fall, secure we stand, Nor heed how with unresting hand The Mower mows the grass. Oh, lady, gracious, constant, kind. Where 'mid the shadows can we find One cheering ray of light ? * In 'midst of life we are in death ' — A home lies shattered at a breath, And day is turned to night. 1 6 COUNTESS OF LATHOM. Yet, ah, forget not, ye who weep, The loved departed do but sleep ; Though gone beyond our ken, They wait for those who held them dear. Hereafter, in a gladder sphere, To meet, nor part again. 17 c. w. DIED 1896. The cynics say that never yet Man passed, and passing left a trace So deep that time could not efface His memory, nor friends forget. Ah yes, we know that time can make Our burdens lighter, ease our pain, And win us back to smiles again, Ev'n though our hearts have seemed to break. Some griefs there are that bow the head So low that, if time raised us not, In very dust would be our lot. Our manhood gone, our reason fled. Two years ago, oh well beloved. Two years ago you passed away ; Of you shall be my thoughts to-day, Since time has my allegiance proved. Together grew we to be men, Together found the world was fair, Together sought our pleasure there, Together — ah me, not again. i8 C. IV. Dear comrade, to the end of time Shall I the broken past renew, Not spend a merry day with you, Not hear with you the midnight chime. Oh, patient, brave, who bore the taint Of fatal sickness premature. Doomed a long anguish to endure, And suffered without moan or plaint : Resigned, serene, beneath your yoke. In dauntless cheer you looked around, In others' joys your solace found In weak self-pity never spoke. And when the bitter day had come. When last your hand in mine was pressed, You told me that your life was blessed Since you had loved your wife and home. Of what avail is my poor rhyme ? It cannot give me back my friend ; I cannot to his memory lend The splendour of a muse sublime. Yet go, my verse ! For though its worth Be nothing, since I claim no skill. No fonder thoughts than mine could thrill The sweetest singer upon earth. C. W. 19 Enough ! It is enough to know Whatever ties be loosed or made, My love for you can never fade : — The world is calling ; and I go. 20 JULY. I WANT to hear his voice again ; I want to hear him say the words ; He loves me — yes, he told me so : (We hstened to the waking birds, The Eastern sky was all aglow) : But thoughts and memories are vain, I want to hear his voice again. I want to hear his voice again ; To feel his hand upon my hand : The daybreak was so long ago — And did he truly understand ? I seem now to have faltered so : And doubt is such a grievous pain, I want to hear his voice again. I want to hear his voice again ; The winter days are long and drear. And silence numbs the very heart : One sound alone to me is dear, And we, for months must be apart Ah, me, I cannot bear the strain, I want to hear his voice again. ( 21 ) Yet I shall hear his voice again ; Once more we'll listen to the birds, Once more we'll watch the growing dawn And I shall hear him say the words ; Then shall my night be turned to morn : And life's rough places shall be plain, Since I have heard his voice again. TO A LADY ON HER BIRTHDAY. Another to your tale of years ! Well, no more change in you appears Than in a gem which time endears, Adding new value, Until it seems to have no peers — Ev'n so I hail you! No rarer pearl from depths serene Was ever drawn than you, I ween ; Not in the heavens at night is seen A purer star, Of all the host that shines between, An ear, afar. Enough of metaphor — to me No name can dearer, nobler be Than ' woman ' — on you reverently Do I bestow it. Moved by a simple chivalry As man, not poet. And I, if called upon to claim My title to the roll of fame. Would ask no nation's loud acclaim, Elsewhere I bend My hopes : here lies my loftiest aim, To be your friend ! AT THE PARK GATES. Looking and longing— ah, of what avail Is it to me, who stands without the pale : What profits it that I should feast my eyes, If my starved heart no comfort pacifies ? I gaze upon yon stately walls — your home ; As pilgrim to a sacred shrine I come, Whose cares be many, and whose hopes be few, All humble I ; aloof, unbending, you ! Never that door for me is opened wide — (To reach your heart to me has been denied) ; Those windows blankly stare me back again — (So in your eyes, dear, have I peered in vain). Ah, suffer me a while to linger near ; Not hoping truly aught to see or hear, Yet well content, since more I may not dare, To feel your spirit hovering in the air. TO A FRIEND. To woman in our hour of need We turn, and not in vain we plead, To grateful eyes revealed A ' ministering angel ' stands ; I asked for comfort at your hands. You touched me, friend, and healed. Some pangs no doctor's skill can reach. Some arts no written lore can teach ; When anguish rends the soul, 'Tis not in these our succour lies, I sought it, lady, in your eyes, Rose up, and went forth whole. Ah, think not if my verse be rude I therefore fail in gratitude, Not mine the poet's art ; With no inspired note it rings, Yet none the less be sure it springs From where you touched my heart. SUNSET. A FLAMING light came out of the west And shone through the drifting clouds ; But it passed as the sun went down to rest. And left them like dead men's shrouds. Then a silver star came over the lea, And shone in the sky alone : Oh, may such a beacon wait for me When my life's day is done ! As^ot, Sept. ^th, 1897. A WIDE black cloud spreads over the skies, Like the banner of Night unfurled : And a mournful note through the branches sighs As the moan of a weary world. But over the hills the sun breaks through And flickers a parting ray ; And it may be the Heavens will all be blue When night has passed away. Croin, Sept. i5t/i, 1897. ( 26 ) DARGAI. * It is impossible to speak too highly of the gallantry of the Gordon Highlanders in Wednesday's action, when the D;)rgai ridge was stormed. At the critical moment, after several unsuccessful attempts had been made to carry the heights, the men were drawn up, and Colonel Mathias, who commanded, addressed them. " Men of the Gordon Highlanders ! " he said, " The General says that position must be taken at all costs, The Gordon Highlanders will take it." ' This announcement the men received with a ringing cheer, and at the word of command to advance they bounded after their leader. Dashing across the open ground, their ofificers at their head, they scaled the height and drove the enemy from their position, the 3rd Sikhs and other troops following close behind them.' — The Times, Oct. 23rd, 1897. A SPEECH the faintest heart to thrill (The Colonel 'twas that spake it) ; ' The General bids us take that hill ; Come, Highlanders, we'll take it ! ' To Indian skies then Scottish cheers Went ringing and a-ringing ; And Scottish pipes the hill-man hears, Sees Scottish tartans swinging. Charge, Gordon Highlanders, charge on ! Charmed words the Chief had spoken, His line stood through the * fire zone,' Where more than one had broken. DARGAI. 27 They won the heights — each soldier's name Who faced that dread endeavour, Stands written on the roll of fame, Indelibly for ever. Oh, fools that write, and fools that preach, That England's might is sinking, Does not this tale some lesson teach, Will this not set you thinking? Each heart where blood of Briton runs To-day with pride is beating. And sons of ours shall stir their sons, The legend still repeating. While Britain rears such sons as these There's room for small misgiving; Britannia still shall rule the seas. And life is still worth living ! ( 28 ) SPOILT. And so your first season is ended, The last ball-room candle put out, And all the great things you intended Are settled somehow, beyond doubt. And how has it left you, I wonder ; Quite changed from the girl of last year ? It's only four months — rather under, Ye:t is this all true that I hear ? They say with life's glamour you're smitten. You've greedily swallowed the bait, Your social confessions, if written. Were envy, and malice, and hate. Ah me ! and last year you were talking. Unscathed in your childish delight. Of all you would do — we were walking Just here — where I'm sitting to-night. And then I had no premonition. It may be I shrank from the truth, I put down your social ambition To innocent gladness of youth. SPOILT. And now you've no time or attention For anything outside one set, Your old friends you've long ceased to mention And seemingly wish to forget. I don't underrate for a minute The spell that society throws, We all of us like to be ' in it,' And once you've the feeling, it grows. It isn't the least detrimental To have a ' Society ' mind. So long as it seeks what is gentle, And cherishes what is refined. But you and your friends have determined That you are the salt of the earth ; You needn't be titled and ermined. It isn't a question of birth ; Your set's a haphazard connection Of no defined system or laws, Who think one another perfection, And all the rest cyphers and bores. I know what the world is — you doubt it ? You see I don't live in it now, Because I'm quite happy without it ; It wasn't so once, I allow. 30 SPOILT. Why, no one had more fun than I did Before I was put on the shelf, When love of fair ladies divided My heart with the love of myself ; When long after morning had broken I'd stroll home alone from a house, Nerve-strung with confessions half-spoken, And drunk with the music of Strauss. Yes, truly I drained Pleasure's chalice, And took all the gifts the Gods sent, But as for this envy and malice, I don't think I knew what it meant. Perhaps to be selfish is human, We all like to go to the front. There never was man yet or woman But wished to be top of the hunt. But this field's so widely extended That if you're not left, and don't fall. You'll find now, I'm sure, as we then did, There's plenty of room for us all. Yet if you will always be racing (Yourself and your few friends apart). Remember that those you're outpacing Made way for you, p'raps, at the start : SPOILT. Remember, too, pace must be reckoned, You may find it too strong a burst, And no one likes being ranked second When once they've been ranked with the first. Of course you were Iiound to be altered In knowledge of life, and the rest. With that I should never have paltered, As deeming it all for the best : But don't go these ways, I implore you, I know you are all right at heart. You've still got your whole life before you, Forget that you've made a false start. And ah, by the Heaven above you, Don't show that you hold me less dear : You never shall learn that I love you — If so you'd have guessed it last year. A BALL-ROOM. A WELL-LIT room, a perfect floor, A dozen dancers, never more, No undue crowding round the door, Strauss tunes to dance to, Cool balconies, and ice galore Amongst the plants too. A little lady in her teens. Who's playing still life's opening scenes. And naively wonders what it means When her heart flutters. As if deep meaning each word screens Which someo7ie utters. A youth who loves, but does not dare. Dancing, it may be, in a square, Finds, when he clasps hands with his fair, That her hand lingers In his, and strips away despair With tell-tale fingers. A BALL-ROOM. 33 A chaperone who — bless her heart ! — Regards the whole thuig as a mart, Likes her child's partners to be ' smart ' (Word most mysterious), And takes a duke, earl, baron, bart., None else as serious. On speaking terms with all the town. Knows everybody's every gown, Debrett and Burke too upside down, And will not fail you In marking with her smile or frown Your social value. Young men, well-dressed and debonair. Who seem content to stand and stare, Until they think it time to pair ; Downstairs they've stolen. To seek the supper-room and there Eat an ortolan. Another; not less greedy he. But ah, not soothed so easily ! Whom all his friends regret to see Daily grow thinner. Though every night he's known to be Asked out to dinner. i> 34 A BALL-ROOM. No tempting dish, no wine, I wis, Could stay those gnawing pangs of his, No artifice on earth there is His flame to smother, Who loves a lady and knows this — She loves another. And here's one who has been well known To every hostess in the town For thirty years — he's said to own Four sons past twenty, But still loves dancing — though he's sown Wild oats in plenty. Some ladies — just a few — who hate To sit up every night so late, And with disfavour contemplate How modern dancers, Avoiding everything sedate, Love * kitchen lancers.' The first Ught in the eastern sky, Up from the street the Linkman's cry — Seizing the hours as they fly. Discretion scorning. Let's live to-night — what if we die To-morrow morning ? A BALL-ROOM. 35 For if our sense of youth we lose, And fling away our dancing shoes, The h'ghts soon fade ; 'mid sombre hues Joy seems a phantom, Which weary man in vain pursues, iVliitaiiis (juaniinn / ( 36 ) TO A LADY, WHO SAID THAT SHE WAS ' PERFECTLY CONTENTED.' In Stevenson these words I found — (Their justice I confess) — ' If we are happy, all around We radiate happiness.' Not happiest always those whose case Is that for which we long : Not always to the swift the race, Nor battle to the strong. True happiness exists, we know, But not in worldly things ; It is a grace the Gods bestow And in ourselves it springs. The good Gods we should praise, I wis, For blessings they have sent ; And truly I give thanks for this, That you are well content. For your sake, friend, my prayers were due That you should happy be ; And that glad light which burns in you, Reflected, shines on me. TO A LADY. 37 Then, lady, go your gracious way. Your destiny fulfil ; Whilst earth holds such as you I say ' Life is worth living still' ( 38 VOID. I SAID my heart was broken Three years ago, When your last word was spoken,^ That fatal ' no.' And now you see 'tis mended — Don't look annoyed ; It beats, yes, as it then did, But, dear, 'tis void. The pieces that lay shattered. Are knit quite fair, But passion, as they scattered, Fled — you know where ! TO AN AMATEUR ACTRESS. Not seldom, lady, have we met, each with allotted part. To ' take the boards,' a trifler I, you mistress of your art ; And off the stage 'tis now lang syne that, spite of ' waits ' between. We've found Life's drama gives the cue for many a pleasant scene. Upon the stage the good and kind is your accustomed role, In private life you — space forbids your virtues to extol ! I have no wit for epigram, yet be my homage this — Neither in drama nor in life you ever act amiss. AN EPISODE. Now we : one another, ourselves, are we hurting ? What is the position ? I really don't know : Do I love you ? not truly : I hate the word ' flirting,' And yet, dear, I own I don't want you to go. Do you love me ? I think not : I hope not : believe me I shrink from the thought it might end in your pain : Yet just for this summer, smile on, and deceive me ; I'm not quite a brute, but I fear I am vain. Then, let us part friends ; see the episode's ended : Years hence we will talk of the days that have been : We'll say it was time that the curtain descended ; But- — yes, we'll admit — 'twas a pretty love scene ! ( 40 ) 1 WRITTEN FOR THE MUSIC OF E. H. A. The skies are drear ; the gale is loud Across the stormy main ; The mast before its rage is bowed, My heart is bowed in pain ; For I must go away and roam In lands beyond the sea, And I have left a maid at home Who gave her heart to me. Though I should go the wide world round And many maids be fair, There's ne'er a maiden shall be found That can with her compare; And I will never be afraid Of her inconstancy, Where'er I go she's still the maid Who gave her heart to me. And I'll come back when skies are blue And birds are all in tune, When maidens' vows are sweet and true And all the world is June ; I'hen we will set old cares aside In love and kiughter free, And I will make the maid my bride Who gave her heart to me. ( 41 ) TO A LADY, WITH SOME FLOWERS. Last night, or this morning, 'twas just about dawn ; You said, ' Here's the day upon which I was born ; ' It struck me at once that the whole British Nation Should be in convulsions of congratulation. July twenty-first, eighteen seventy-nine. Should always be starred and marked red underline, x\s being one instance on which Fortune's smile Illumined the woes of the Emerald Isle. I venture, dear lady, to lay at your feet These blossoms, as deeming them fresh, fair, and sweet, And so not unworthy, if aught upon earth, Be worthy of you on the day of your birth. Accept then, I beg you, the gift that I send ; 'Tis humble, but I am your most humble friend, And humblest of all is this effort at verse, The sentiment's poor, and the poetry's worse ! 42 TO A LADY, WITH A BOOK OF MY POEMS. You asked me to send you my poems ; I send them, And unto your friendly indulgence commend them, I don't pretend any great praise is their due, But most are quite short, and at least they are few. Hitherto we've conversed in a frivolous vein, I beg that you won't let that happen again, It may be a low plane my friends put my verse on. But most of them grant I'm a serious person. You may not know yet, though I hope you may soon,. That really I'm not just a ball-room buffoon ; Unhappily most of one's partners get vexed. If one airs one's views on this life and the next. You're off to relax your Belgravian demeanour 'Midst torrents and pine woods around Pontresina, Perhaps if we met there we'd find that our ball talk^ Gave way to a style of discourse less like small talk. Good-bye, then, and pray let the lapse of a year Bring no other change when we meet again here ; Let mine be this new conversational movement — Dear lady, in you there's no room for improvement. ( 43 ) WRITTEN IN A COPY OF 'FELIX DORRIEN/ SENT TO MRS. CYRIL MAUDE. To ' Rosamund,' my ' Rosamund,' I send ; You gave the name ; could you your genius lend, My writing, like your acting, were exempt From fault — and honour mine ; not cold contempt. TO COLONEL HENRY UYER, WITH A COPY OF MY POEMS. My dedication says, you'll see, ' The verse is mine, the verse is me ; ' xAnd I believe it true ; My inmost self lies stript and bare In this small book, and yet I dare To give it, friend, to you. For though each page is strewn with faults. And no great thought my style exalts. Yet I'll not be afraid ; You've ever turned a friendly eye On me, though imperfections lie As thick upon my head. ( 44 CHRISTMAS, 1897. ON A CHRISTMAS CARD SENT TO MY MOTHER. You see this church ? If I were there I'd kneel and offer up a prayer On Christmas Day for thee ; Then at this Inn I'd go and dine, And pledge in my first glass of wine ' My mother over-sea ! ' TO MY NIECE, CECILY FRYER; WITH 'AN ALMANAC OF TWELVE SPORTS.' My dear God-daughter, I send you this book, It's full of fine things, as you'll see if you look. Beautiful pictures and elegant rhymes, Various sports fit for various times. I hope that you'll have in the new coming year Larks, like these ladies and gentlemen here, Freedom from all disagreeable concerns, And of Christmas a great many happy returns. ( 45 ) IN A BOOK GIVEN TO A FRIEND. I WISH you joy and health, Fame, fortune, power, wealth, Success attend on everything you do ; And may you tread life's stage To hale and green old age, And here's a merry Christmas, friend, to you. Fceminarum genus est mari simile, quod in horas mutatur, eandem per ssecnla pr^ebet speciem. All womankind are like the sea ; Of many moods ; yet needs must be Of one type everlastingly. Emori nolo, sed me esse mortuum nihil euro. — Cicero. Death's laying on of hands I dread, Yet have no fear of being dead. ( 46 ) ON A SILVER BOX GIVEN TO A LADY UPON COMINC; OF AGE. ' Of age,' you say — an empty phrase, Another of 'the Law's delays;' What, all this time to recognise you, We long ago learnt how to prize you ! AN APOLOGY FOR MY POETRY. Believe me, 'tis a Destiny I'm called on to fulfil ; I write my verse because I inust^ And not because I will. QU'EST CE QUE L'AMOUR ? What's love ? A power to curse or bless, A crux in man's life set, Where two extremes — unhappiness And happiness — have met. ( 47 'STANZAS WRITTEN IN DEJECTION NEAR NAPLES.'— Vide Shelley. The angry sea is flecked with foam, An angry squall rides up the sky, And angry that I left my home Am I. Depression deep beyond control Has seized on my disordered mind ; I groan, within my cabin hole Confined. Oh, warned by sufferings of yore, Why did I ever come to sea ? I might have known the fate in store For me. Shield me, ye Gods, this trouble through, I'll never tempt your wrath again By rash emprise ; or if I do, Why then ! I ( 48 ) v THE LEGEND OF THE PIRATES OF CROM. Hon. a. Cr— cht— n. Hon. G. M— lls. F. F — RQ— H— R, Esq. (C— m G— ds). Three pirates gay Set out one day To see what adventures might fall in their way In the course of a cruise in and out of Crom Bay. Ere going afloat, They put to the vote As to which of the three should take charge of the boat. And hoist — ^just to show he commanded — his coat ; For be it confessed They'd never possessed Such a thing as a flag, so they had to divest Themselves of the garments in which they were dressed, (Only coats — for though void both of honour and piety They seldom, if ever, offended propriety, And under their moral code shameful to them it is Not to be clothed in their lower extremities). They had then to brag No such thing as a flag When they put out to sea and went cruising for swag. But as bold as brass With an eye in his glass, I mean the other way round, (alas ! I'd started this rhyme Before I had time To see it was wrong— but I don't care a dime) I say as bold As heroes of old Was Artful Arthur, who up and told THE riRA TES OF CROM. 49 His mates the views he inclined to hold. ' Golumptious Greg, Attend I beg, It strikes me you want taking down a peg.' (With that he nodded and slapped his leg), ' And sure as ever an egg's an egg. If you are not careful I'll take that keg Of powder there. There's lots to spare, And make you sit on it like a chair And send you flying up into the air. Now, you be quiet. And don't you fly at Too high a game. Ah ! I see you shy at The risk ; yes, your age is a young one to die at' Now no man can he Hear such uncanny Remarks made, unless they are in Hindoostani — (A lingo which makes Frenchmen say ' non compranny ')> And not wish to hide in some corner or cranny ; And such was the case with the brigand named Fanny ; Whose nature and deeds were so truly atrocious He'd earned for himself the nickname of 'Ferocious.' For once his audacity failed, and with heart full Of terror, he turned his quid, saying, ' Oh, Artful, I say without The slightest doubt Your Godpa knew what he was about AVhen he gave you that name : for you mayn't be stout,, That's to say you ain't built like a lubberly lout, But I declare For savoirfaire Your equal ain't to be found anywhere. Now old Golumptious May be bumptious And true his looks ain't no ways scrumptious : 50 THE PIRATES OF CROM. But there he'll stand, With his brass stump-hand A noble sight when we comes to land, For there ain't no mortal under the sun When he sees old Greg, but'll cut and run. (Greg gave a hitch Fore and aft his breech, His left eye too gave a violent twitch ; He might have been seized with a sudden itch Or else he winked, meaning * I'm just sich') — Then on went Fan, * Now here's my plan If you can improve on it — well you can. Let's put out to sea And we'll agree To serve you true and faithfully. And moie indeed. If we succeed The whole of the credit to you we'll concede ; Who knows to what this cruise may lead ? Why you may get A title yet. An Admiral with epaulette If such promotion's etiquette, Or higher ; perhaps in the Order of Bath Her Majesty won't mind including Sir Arthur ; But if we fail Then mark me well, You won't come so very well out of this sail : Me and my mate We'll compensate Ourselves, if it turns out unfortunate On you, and vion ami^ we'll couper your tete.'' Says Arthur, ' Right, That suits me quite And that's the spirit in which to fight. But don't forget. When sail's once set That I'm your skipper, and you may bet. THE PIRATES OF CROM. 51 (I warn you friendly, "tisn't a threat) As such I never would scruple to shoot any Man of my crew if, ennuied with ship's routine, he Showed me the slightest intention to mutiny.' To cut short the story First Fan then Greg swore he Would follow his Captain to death or to glory. Up sail, and away They are out in Crom Bay, Golumptious Greg shouting ' Avast ' and * belay ! ' And down his throttle He empties a bottle Of rum, which makes all of his face very mottle ; He shouts a bit thicker, and louder and quicker, But otherwise don't seem the worse for the liquor. Until he gets cursed up and down by the skipper Who'd given the order to pull up the dipper ; And being no longer quite clear in the head As grave as the Pope He loosed the wrong rope And down came the mainsail amidships instead. But bar the curses Greg none the worse is Inflamed by the thought of slit throats and full purses, (He'll put by the former without need of hearses The latter — he'll thank fate for all its great mercies). Now Arthur was, as we have said, The bravest man afloat, And that his vessel bore instead Of flag, brave Arthur's coat. Thus it befell that as he sat, With hand upon the tiller, 52 THE PIRA TES OF CROM. He felt (not being very fat) First chill, then rather chiller. In fact his enterprising soul Began to halt and waver, He thought he'd abdicate control In Greg's or Fanny's favour. But whilst he sat perplexed with .doubt A-sneezing and a-coughing, Ferocious Fanny shouted out, ' Two sail, sir, in the offing.' The moment passed The die was cast, He nailed his coat (that's his flag) to the mast Gave his belt a pull just to make all fast Whilst Greg kept shouting ' Avast, avast ! ' I much deplore To add he swore The number of vessels were certainly four ; Thanks to the rum and his natural thick wit he Suffered severely from mental obliquity. The Captain spake, ' Ferocious, take That brute and give him a sobering shake, Then see who it is that's afloat on the Lake.' Ferocious dealt A mighty welt On the part which Golumptious exposed as he knelt THE PIRA TES. OF CROM. 53 (Which, to judge by his roaring, he sensibly felt), Then up and spied And loudly cried * On the oath of a pirate who never lied It's the " Squall " and the " Meteor " both out on the tide,' The Captain struck His thigh, * My buck The devil's in it, or we're in luck. Clear decks, clear decks, We'll pay respecks To the Lord who dresses in Horseguard's checks ; And it's on the cards The Coldstream Guards Will fall in short in their barrack yards, For we'll pay Mr. George, too, our kind regards ; Both him and his brother We'll jolly well smothei With powder until very likely their mother Won't recognise one of the two from the t'other : So shove old Golumptious up under the seat here Then run out your gun and go straight for the " Meteor." ' Of mariners The bard avers In legend semper virens i That often they Were lured away By captivating sirens. Men can't preserve A tranquil nerve, Unless he's more than human Ashore, afloat, At face, or note Of fascinating woman. 54 THE PIRA TES OF CROM. The yachts came near, And then quite clear, The Pirates saw inside them, A group so rare Of ladies fair, Their hands fell limp beside them. Each pirate's heart With violent start, Expanded into rapture They'd take the lot, They swore — if not They'd risk defeat and capture. Ferocious Pan Was the deuce of a man With ladies — indeed he was under the ban With husbands who loved their wives — so the tale ran- He gave a wink Which would make one shrink If one was a woman with nerves, and think One had come pretty near to destruction's brink. Brave Arthur stands And his eye expands As if he were Monarch of many wide lands ; (Golumptious lies grinning and kissing both hands.) Now ere they got Off a single shot , (I don't know if they were demented or not, j But the Pirates, it seems, had completely forgot i Their only one chance lay in making things hot ^ THE PIRA TES OF CROM. 55 As quick as they could one by one for each yacht). But as their boat came In range of them, The ' Squall's ' skipper bringing his bows right athwart her. Deluged the crew with a bucket of water. Then Arthur pished And Fanny wished The cruise /;/ prospectu had early been ' dished,' And Arthur swore He'd never more Be skipper unless his best oilskins he wore. Greg lay like lumber And snored in his slumber — Indeed to their project it must have been some bar That he was so early put quite hors de combat. Away from the scene Sailed the yachts serene, Leaving the Pirates uncommonly green ; And as to their bargain and what result came of it. As to its failure, and who took the blame of it, Well, history hasn't recorded the fame of it. Perhaps we shan't quarrel If I say the moral Of what I have written is this, that before all, If out of a battle, you'd bear off the laurel, Don't risk any nervous or mental distraction, From rum or fair ladies, before joining action ; And if you're defending, invoke (that's between us ) The gracious support of the daughters of Venus. Crom, September, 1897- ( 56 ) THE LEGEND OF THE LADIES' BATTLE. The Countess fair Was made aware That Baron Montrichard was laying a snare To catch a young man who was under her caie : In Bonaparte plots he had taken a share — The boy was a fool to be dans cette galcre : For the King of France Looked much askance At such folks and lead them the deuce of a dance ; And no one with personal ends to advance Was wise to display in his tone or demeanour Regret for Old Boney in far St. Helena. The name of the fool Was de Flavigneul ; He'd been in his boyhood to many a school Abroad, which makes young men discreet, as a rule, But really Fm certain That Sandford and Merton Or any engaging young lady from Girton, --s*' Or an Eton boy who never had ' sapped,' Or even a child young enough to be slapped, Were not more apt To go and get trapped Than this travelled student condemned to be clapped Into prison, and there have his vertebrum snapped. The Countess chose ; (Why, no one knows : To furnish a plot for this play, I suppose. THE LEGEND OF THE LADIES' BATTLE. 57 Or else from caprice ; ) To take in her niece, {A heroine's needed for every piece) As boarder (un paying) on permanent lease : And she thought it wise The youth's disguise Should be paraded before her eyes ; If you'd been expecting old Montrichard's visit you'd Also have felt an unusual solicitude, Knowing that when there are too many ' in it ' A secret is never quite safe for a minute. Now though she thought The youth was nought But a va/et-de-c/iambre, whom she'd always been taught Was a person whose love could not fitly be sought By any one who'd been presented at Court, "Twere vain to deny She'd cast an eye Of very great favour on him on the sly ; And (what made the matter more truly distressing) The Countess herself (there's no harm in confessing) Was in love with him, too, when she'd no means of guessing She'd got in her niece such a * well-disguised blessing,' Since the latter had found his looks so prepossessing She'd fallen in love with him past all redressing. Now it befell That mademoiselle Went out riding, and sad to tell Her untamed colt Proceeded to bolt And out of the saddle the lady to jolt, Sent her flying On to her head. And left her lying As if she were dead. 58 THE LEGEND OF THE LADIES' BATTLE. The refugee Came speedily And cried aloud, * Oh, Leonie ! ' (The lady's name ; Perhaps you'll blame My carelessness since I've not mentioned the same : The fact is as yet I've not really had time to ; Moreover it's rather a hard one to rhyme to). Well, when he found Her on the ground Stretched in a kind of death-like swound His agitation was most profound : * Oh, Leonie,' repeated he, I'm not the man I seem to be : Which accounts for the fact that my manners are free. But heroes in drama are often like me Reduced to strange courses of mystery. Now on my knee Beneath this tree To you my identity I'll discover I'm really the regular true stage-lover. As soon as he spoke The lady woke ; At first she thought it was only his joke ; Perceiving it wasn't, the silence broke With a sigh which stage-lovers are sure to evoke, A prompt interchange of some elegant phrases, Much clasping of hands and some rapturous gazes. Which the rule with stage-lovers and all their stage-ways isv. I'm afraid I can't Pretend the Aunt Was pleased with the turn of events, so I shan't Dwell longer on this — Let's proceed en avant! It was during a ball In the servant's hall That Baron Montrichard elected to call THE LEGEND OF THE LADIES' BA TTLE. 59 With a troop of dragoons, all stalwart and tall. The Countess was quick As the ancient Nick ; In less than a minute she'd hit on a trick, A subtle device to take the old rascal in, One not unworthy of Cooke or of Maskelyne. She turned to her friend De Grignon, ' Lend Your aid, sir, I beg ; for I've got to contend With a man who spares no-one in seeking his end.' De Grignon repHed with the utmost agility : No service he'd shirk if she happened to will it, he Had the misfortune In vain to importune The lady for love, but her heart was, he thought, hewn Of some cold hard substance like stone or like marble Which forced him to moan and to sigh ' Oh, Diable ! ' Now being her guest She bade him divest Himself of his garments and quickly get dressed In de Flavigneul's livery, breeches and vest. And then in his stead wait the Baron's arrest. '^ Dear Countess, for you I will plunge,swim, or sink,' cries he; Courage with him was an idiosyncrasy : His mother was brave as a Stanley or Howard is. His father was principally famed for his cowardice ; They both long ago had departed to Heaven,. Bequeathing to him an unduly large leaven Of instinct paternal conducive to pallor Of face — call it ' funk,' or the ' best part of valour.' The Baron fell slap Into the trap Never supposing he'd got the wrong chap, 6o THE LEGEND OF THE LADIES' BATTLE. And arrested De Grignon before you'd say * snap ' ! In fact, for the moment his zeal was so fervent, That thinking the Countess unjust to a servant, Without of the consequence having a presage, He bribed him himself to go off with a message : ' To horse, to horse, Let's have no loss Of time ; I'll give you a pass of course, My chief's in command of the neighbouring force, Tell him in detection I've proved such an artist. Already I've captured this young Bonapartist.' As soon as he'd quitted The Baron was twitted With having the commonest cautions omitted ; At his own instigation his victim had flitted ! The Baron, no wonder Went raving like thunder Consigning them all to a place — somewhere under •Our feet — whither fell the first angel of blunder : But whilst not denying he'd put his foot in it, he ■ Swore that before he'd left the vicinity. By hook or crook He'd bring to book The youth who had made him ridiculous look. Meanwhile the youth had scarcely taken A dozen steps before he was shaken With certain misgivings for having forsaken The gallant De Grignon to ' save his own bacon,' And back he stept To intercept The course of injustice — (the Don yclept Quixote of La Mancha, the doleful of visage. Would like to know chivalry thrives still in this age) ; THE LEGEND OF THE LADIES' BATTLE. 6j He said, ' My dear Countess, I know no amount is Enough to repay the full scope of your bounties, Yet give me, pray. Your leave to stay Until this all ends in a regular way : My dear Grignon, You shan't demean your n — Ame in my cause, and the gulf which you've seen yawn, Shall swiftly close, I'll face my foes, To you I'm most grateful, as you may suppose.' But long ere the Baron had had time to profit Of this gallant conduct (he'd not yet heard of it But continued to hold sorrow's cup and to quaff it) A message came In the King's own name, Or the name of the Council — it's really the same- — To say the free pardon so long advocated By the Baron himself had arrived, though belated. Well, here was news : He could not choose, But own himself tricked by the Countess's ruse, But being inclined To ease of mind, Not sorry escape from his troubles to find, He wisely decided to put a good face on it, Foreseeing a moment of joy, he would hasten it; With little delay He said his say ; The lovers began making love straight away : The Countess 'tis true, didn't look very gay. The Baron's announcement Meant her renouncement Of love which was real, whatever her bounce meant. I've heard women called such rude names as ' queer cattle,' But ladies are bad 'uns to beat in a battle : 62 THE LEGEND OF THE LADIES' BATTLE. They may be queer But they know not fear. Their fancy's quick, and their reason clear. They're not so selfish as men — not near, That's why to all right-minded people they're dear. And so in this instance the Countess we've found Has managed to make things quite pleasant all round. Already too long this effusion of mine is — The play is concluded; so I'll conclude— /^/w/V.' Thetford^ October^ 1897. ( 63 ) THE LEGEND OF THE FROZEN MOTHER-IN-LAW. Once in a town Of no renown {The author omitted to put the name down), There used to be A family A father, a mother, a daughter — these three ; I don't see my way I regret to say. To tell you their name in the orthodox way. For it's rather hard On a dog'rel bard. Unless he is willing all sense to discard, And use a conjunction that's quite absurd. To rhyme a word That never occurred In any known sentence that ever was heard. Down on this page I can easily jot ' MufF,' But that doesn't give me a fair rhyme to ' Watmuff : ' Of rhymes like ' snuff' And ' stuff' and ' puff,' And other one-syllable words I've enough ; But until the heights of Parnassus you've climbed to You'll find the whole name isn't one to be rhymed to ; It's easy enough to fit in when divided ; Otherwise, 'ere you fix it, you'll be pretty nigh dead. The daughter was wooed by a youth named Walter, With whom she was anxious to step to the altar. 64 THE LEGEND OF THE And if with his love she had threatened to palter He'd have moaned like a Guardsman exiled to Gibraltar, Her father said ' Yes,' But none the less The lovers were stranded in deep distress, In fact they were left in the deuce of a mess ; 'Twas all very well for the father to bless, In a way his consent it was well to possess, But the laws of the house were laid down by another, When slie spoke, their wishes they all had to smother. As best they might : For wrong or right Before her her husband could only * sit tight,' And when in opinion there came a diversity She gave the law ; he daren't try to reverse it, he Sensibly felt, That if one dwelt In any place more circumscribed than the Veldt With such a companion from day to day. One's sole chance of peace was to smile — and give way. But Walter had plighted his troth to dear Emily, And all of us know of this line, ' verbum semel e- Missum volat ' (Latin) ' irrevocabile ; ' 'Mongst cultured Britons or 'mongst wild Matabele, Dark men or blond, A word is a bond, Most binding of all on a lover who's fond. And so he swore That long before The pang of a broken engagement he bore He'd actually make her — his Mother-in-Law! So ran the drift Of life, no rift Appeared in the clouds, not a sign that they'd lift FROZEN MOTHER-IN-LAW. 65 When all of a sudden came Ferdinand Swift, -> A nephew of Watmuff ; quite young; yet he'd spent years Seeking success in American ventures : A cheerful youth, And one in sooth Who hadn't a rigid regard for the truth. It seems the Fates Out in the States Had brought him in touch with the oddest of mates. Who wasted no time in plain diggin' and delvin', But made great discoveries like our Lord Kelvin : He'd turned to science, And by-and-by hence Had learned to set physical laws at defiance By means of a simple and colourless fluid, An unknown brew, id Est no Druid Or ancient alchymist, or mystic magician, Aspired to such in his wildest ambition. His first intent Was only meant To deal with such meat as to Europe was sent. Where he thought he could make the economy greater By freezing alive than by refrigerator. If you contrive To freeze alive Your beasts, and unfreeze them where'er they arrive, So that the meat Is fresh and sweet, Why surely you've hit on a cunning conceit ! And if you rekindle the animal heat No doubt you can say your success is complete. Now Swift had got A little plot (Perhaps it was moral, perhaps it was not) To strike on the iron just when it was hot : 66 THE LEGEND OF THE He vowed that his friend was so full of good nature He wouldn't object if Swift came to tempt Fate here. He'd risked no denial, Put up a small phial Of each fluid ; then come to give them a trial. *Two birds in the bush are not worth one bird in hand,' That was the theory of life with our Ferdinand : *■ I'll see if I Cannot apply This excellent system to humanity. It's one that most people would willingly try, Supposing finances were going awry, Or otherwise people were left high and dry, No longer their only resource were to die ; They'd freeze; and rekindle again by-and-by.' But he couldn't persuade Man, matron, or maid, To have on themselves this experiment made ; Of being left frozen they all were afraid. Old Watmuff at once saw a chance of a respite {We've seen that he bore t'ards his wife more or less spite) : * It's just this way : I grieve to say Your dear aunt is suffering every day From dreadful neuralgia : now if you display Your fluid, and vow it would take it away, She's yours — If you want my consent : well, you may I ' When men colleague To hatch intrigue 'Tis well to keep an eye On those who hear, Because it's clear One may turn out a spy. FROZEN MOTHER-IN-LAW. 67 Thus Walter heard : He spoke no word, But straight to Madam went, And quick revealed What lay concealed Beneath their fair intent. ' Our course is clear, The phial's here, I saw him put it down ' — Oh woe betide ! Watmuff had died. Could he have seen that frown. Without delay She poured away The stuff and put in water : ' And now, young man,' She said, ' you can Aspire to my daughter,' Watmuff returned : His spirit burned, (Not knowing of course what his missis has learned). To try the experiment quickly : he yearned For the key of the place where his wine was interned, Which she'd taken away On their wedding day To put all temptation far out of his way And cure him (she said) of his vice, of his Kako — Ethes dibendi, and love of tobacco. THE LEGEND OF THE The rogues who'd connived In this plot, then arrived, Old Watmuff who hoped to be pro tem. unwived, And Swift by whom she should be froze, then revived. The lady gave way : ' My spouse I obey ' : Though it seemed little less than an auto da fe : She made pretence Of losing sense : Their satisfaction was most intense : Watmuff seized her bag and extracted thence The key of the cellar : then lit an Havanna And smoked in her face in a dissolute manner. The body they carefully hid in a cupbard, A semi-defunct up-to-date Mrs. Hubbard, Then hastened away to the favourite bin Intent to indulge in that time-honoured sin. Of which Knight Templars Were once exemplars — A course of proceeding which might bring remorse on Some folks ; besides shocking Sir Wilfrid Lawson. Down they sat, and began to become in their drink witty Never suspecting the awful propinquity Of open ears : 'Midst jibes and jeers The bottle of '34 port disappears. Till Swift perceiving His uncle leaving The strict path of prudence says, ' You're much relieving My mind : your talk puts me much at my ease ; It's quite on the cards that my aunt won't unfreeze : Remember, I did this with your consent, please : Inventors are all prone to failures like these.' Watmuff aghast Says, ' That's my last FROZEN MOTHER-IN-LAW. 69 Glass of port ; my desire for freedom is past : Supposing this " corporis rigor " should last, They'd hang me for murder Just think, if I heard her Gird at me now (she was always a girder) I'd really be glad — nothing could seem absurder ! ' Ferdinand, thinking he'd gone far enough, Proceeded to look for his unfreezing stuff. He saw the old man's grief : did not wish to mock it : But found that the bottle was not in his pocket ! He cried, ' Don't groan : My fault, I own, Just keep your eye on her until I have flown To my hotel : All may be well ; The bottle may be there for all I can tell ; If not, to restore the degree atmospheric her Body requires I'll fly to America.' Watmuff was distraught; Never man was distraughter. And vowed he would throw her forthwith in hot water. Now Walter was a crafty lad ; He made a little plan ; He meant to show them that they had In him a good young man. Oh, fair was Emily and good. No mortal could resist her, And angels always wished they could In their serene host 'Z/V/ ^er. 70 THE LEGEND OF THE They sat before the cupboard door, As if unconsciously, And told (quite loud) how nevermore They'd flout Mama's decree. And so they gained the longed-for end For which they had despaired, And her, whom Love had failed to bend, Diplomacy had ' squared.' Then out the dame Exulting came Intending to put Mr, Watmuff to shame ; Back he came, with two large cans both well on the boil To find to his horror that vain was his toil ; (What a theme for a sketch by the late Richard Doyle !) He wished he could slip off his own mortal coil, 'Twas all troubled water, his life, and no oil. Then into the room Disturbing the gloom Burst Ferdinand Swift whom he'd trusted, and whom He now thought had s,ent him post haste to his doom. ' It's right enough, I've found the stuff Come, into her ear we'll inject quaiitum suff.^ He cried : of the truth of course he'd not dreamt : he Never imagined the cupboard was empty. ' Hullaballoo ! Look here, you, This is a regular fine " how d'ye do " : If she's been taken And thumped or shaken She's smashed as certain as bacon's bacon. There's a nice prospect to which to awaken ! ' FROZEN MOTHER-IN-LAW. 71 Now whilst he swore And Watmuff wore A visage of woe never equalled before, Behold, Mrs. Watmuff walked in at the door. Her Spouse was o'erjoyed ; Mr. Swift was annoyed, And bluntly demanded what means she'd employed To escape from the trap to which she'd been decoyed. She told them her frozen form never was heated Because, thanks to Walter, their scheme was defeated. Watmuff's fate Was desperate : ' Freeze me,' he cried ; ' let me stay in that state : I can't hope for peace till I'm inanimate ! ' But his wife interfered ; He partly had cleared His character, since his grief really appeared So great at her death, which he'd caused, he supposed— And here (as the Press says) ' the Episode closed.' Cirencester^ December, 1897. London : Strangewav^;, Printers. UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY AA 000 602 398 o M *- *«« 9*5* fef^ #