All rights reserved THE CRACKLING OF THORNS RHYMES OF THE EAST 'A rare and accomplished talent for parody. The book is full of good-humoured laughter and cleverness in the virtuosities of verse. ' Scotsman. ' Dum-Dum's verse is capital fun. He has a neatness and unex- pectedness in rhyme that comes as an ever-new delight, and he is so genuinely and unforcedly humorous that he provides the most genial pleasure.' The King. ' Has already won his spurs, and proved himself a worthy com- panion of Mr. Owen Seaman. His comic muse can sweep a many- stringed, if sometimes a slightly bitter, lyre.' Daily Telegraph. ' Clever in rhyme, perfect in metre, and full of excellent touches of light humour. 'Scottish Review. ' Unusual facility for rhyme, a delightful sense of the ludicrous, an unerring ear for rhythm, and a delicate power of choosing the right, and, for preference, the unusual word.' Onlooker. ' Some delightful parodies. . . . We have rarely found a book of verses so entrancing as this one.' Literary World. 'Some of them particularly clever, and most of them full of humour.' Illustrated Sport ins an< i Dramatic Newt. ' Cheery at all times, and as a rhymester very dexterous. 1 Liverpool Post. ' His light descriptive verse ... is among the best of its class.' Spectator. ' We have tested his book by reading it two or three times at intervals, and find that it does not pall.' Academy. ' Hold the stuff of laughter in them. . . . Neither of these could be read, and the reader's gravity retained.' Daily Chronicle. 'Very fresh and clever. The parodies are excellent.' Man- chester Guardian. ' It is quite a pleasure to light on such thoroughly well-attuned efforts (in parody ).' Publish ers Circular. ' There is a most ingenious version of Mandalay in the manner of Walt Whitman, and The Last Hockey could only have been done by one who thoroughly understood Tennyson's management of blank verse." Outlook. 'With all his feeling for humorous contrasts, and his delightful taste in the grotesque, it is for his sense of style and technique that this volume, so free from all that is trivial and hackneyed and slipshod, will win the commendation of the best judges of this form of belles Itttres.' Punch. LONDON : ARCHIBALD CONSTABLE & CO., LTD. THE CRACKLING OF THORNS . ^ ' // is enough that I may play The Poor BY DU M-DUM AUTHOR OF 'RHYMES OF THE EAST* ' IN THE HILLS,' ETC. LONDON ARCHIBALD CONSTABLE AND COMPANY, LTD. 1906 Edinburgh: T. and A. CONSTABLE, Printers to His Majesty TO MY DEAR FRIEND OWEN SEAMAN (MASTER OF THE CRAFT) IN ACKNOWLEDGMENT OF KINDLY SPONSORSHIP AND INVALUABLE COUNSEL PREFACE MOST, if not all, of these verses are published by kind permission of Mr. Blackwood, and of Messrs. Bradbury and Agnew, in whose periodicals they originally appeared. They have, of course, been overhauled. I have tried to make a book which might appeal at any ordinary time to any ordinary person. To this end I have included no political pieces, and none, I hope, in which the subject-matter had only the transient interest of the moment. As the rejection of others was, in some cases, rather a painful proceeding, I trust that it may be accounted to me for righteousness. I should like, if I may, to take this opportunity of saying that my use of the pseudonym ' Dum- Dum ' is limited to the pages of Punch. JOHN KENDALL. CONTENTS PAGE ODE TO A NEW TALL HAT, I TO A FAT PIG, 4 MY TAILOR'S BILL, 7 MY LAST ILLUSION, II ODE ON THE PASSING OF ST. JAMES'S HALL, . . 1$ THRENODY ON A POLAR BEAR, 1 9 A BIRTHDAY SONG, 21 AN INSURANCE POLICY, 24 ODE TO THE BACK OF MY HEAD, .... 27 TO A CAGED LION, 3O THE SIMPLE LIFE, 32 LOVE'S COLOURS, 36 ODE TO A FUR-LINED COAT, 38 TO THE SEA-SERPENT, 42 LINES BY AN INSOMNIAC, 46 LEAP-YEAR PROSPECTS, 48 THE CRACKLING OF THORNS PAGE ODE TO THE 'WHOLE HOG,' 51 TO THE HIPPOPOTAMUS, 55 THE GOLF HABIT, ... 58 HONEST RELUCTANCE, 60 ODE TO A HORSE-SHOE FOUND LYING IN THE ROAD, 6l A BALLAD OF EDINBURGH TOON, 66 MY MALADY, 69 REFORM, 72 TRAGEDY, -75 TO MY SENSE OF HUMOUR, 78 ODE TO A NEW TALL HAT ALL hail, thou dear congenial tyrant, hail ! Hat of the gorgeous bloom and brimmy curves, Whose lustre bids the very sun grow pale, And strikes white blindness down the optic nerves Of him that too incautiously observes, How pure thy pride ! Thy raven gloss how chaste ! Thy tout ensemble, alas, how soon abased ! Thou art too fragile, O thou lovely thing, For this hard world, where storms be swift and shrewd ; Where danger wanders darkly on the wing, And men abrade, and * with forced fingers rude ' Scar thine incomparable nigritude, O woful tale, that careless hands should be Rough on so exquisite a Hat as thee ! A 2 THE CRACKLING OF THORNS A thousand perils wait thee in the street, Perils from which thou mayst not ride aloof : Full many a stabbing gingham thou shalt meet ; The sharp concussion of the hansom's roof And imminent window shall not find thee proof ; Nor warm consoling iron, nor suasive plush, Once gone, may all restore thy pristine blush ! Felt shall usurp thee in thy peggy home ; Harsh coatings rub thy delicate dress awry ; Tho' thou wert cased beneath a lucent dome Of clearest crystal, impious maids would ply The flippant duster to thine injury ; Dust thee, forsooth ! Dear heavens, how long, how long Must we support this lamentable wrong? Better and wiser 'twere that thou hadst been Garbed as thy rugged sires, who nothing knew Of silken nap or vulnerable sheen ; These from the coy and shivering beaver drew His furred protection, comely to the view, Strong in defence, to hurts of rain or wind Inured, and pleasing all, except the skinned I TO A NEW TALL HAT 3 And yet I know not. Were it so, perchance, To see thee hardy were to love thee less, E'en as the dam's peculiar vigilance For her one weakling something doth express Of love grown deep through tender pitifulness ; And thou wouldst lack beguilement, being stout, To lure friend Pluvius from his threatened drought. But come, dear Hat : upon my favoured brow Perch lightly, and affront the glowing skies ; There shall not be so bright a thing as thou On the fair scene ; this noon shall many eyes Water, and strangers turn to eulogise. Let us fare forth, and flaunt thy little span Of triumph, giving pleasure while we can ! THE CRACKLING OF THORNS TO A FAT PIG WHEN I peruse that tranquil countenance, When I behold you lying in the deep, Calm torpor of your customary trance, And smiling in your sleep ; When I compare the lives that men endure, The hard hours treading on each other's heels, With yours, an easy, drowsy sinecure, Unbroken, save for meals ; Stirred to the limits of mine injured pride By your outrageous otium cum dig. , O Hog, if I could only reach you, I 'd ' Larn ye to be a ' pig ! O Hog, O fat, insufferable Hog, The very barn-door hen must ply a leg Or go unvictualled ; even the household dog Has to sit up and beg. TO A FAT PIG 5 Judged by your smug complacency, you seem To think yourself a strangely favoured beast ; But is there not a shadow on the dream, A spectre at the feast ? You never budge. For your voracious need Mysterious broths are brought you from afar ; Strange washes coax you if you 're off your feed (Not that you ever are !) The great trough yawns beneath your very snout; You eat, you sleep, upon the selfsame spot ; People object to see you move about They 'd rather you did not. O Hog, so unsuspecting and so fat, Do you suppose that these attentions spring From Man's great kindness? If you swallow that, You 'd swallow anything ! Oft have I noticed, hovering round the sty Where you, unknowing, snore in Morpheus' arms, A gross red man, who with an owner's eye Approves your bulging charms. THE CRACKLING OF THORNS Darkly he jprods you with his oaken staff Like this I 'm sorry and remains awhile Gloating ; and laughs a grim, carnivorous laugh, While you sleep on, and smile. O Hog, so fat, so green, did you awake To the ferocious menace of those eyes, You would sleep less, methinks, but you would take A deal more exercise. MY TAILOR'S BILL MY TAILOR'S BILL 'Tis ever thus. My noblest aberration Results in wisdom after the event ; I never yet conferred an obligation Of which I didn't bitterly repent ; I never paid a tailor's bill (And after this I never will !) But that I shivered for the precedent. Brief was the scene, yet moving while it lasted. At the first shock, when he beheld the Boon, The noble fellow looked quite flabbergasted, Turned a pale green, and seemed about to swoon ; While all his chorused tailorhood Marvelled, and praised me where I stood Balmily beaming, like the bland, grave, Moon. THE CRACKLING OF THORNS Anon, with watery smile and due obeisance, He bore the rare and curious receipt, And gave me peace ; and I, in full complaisance, Patted him thrice ; and moved upon my beat Exuding merit, till the mood Waned, and I felt strange doubts obtrude, If in my action I had been discreet. True that to such impulsive generosity Self-approbation lends a fleeting charm, Yet, save we learn to curb impetuosity, Our afterthoughts will fill us with alarm ; For pauper's dole and Tailor's cheque Alike may bring a soul to wreck, And Charity may do a power of harm. Ay, many a vessel's lot has thus been blighted ; Men have been moral, even to excess, When lo ! a windfall came ! They got excited ; Threw off their cloak of frugal stodginess, Rose up, and did so carry on That they, and all their dross, have gone Down to Gehenna, leaving no address. MY TAILOR'S BILL 9 I trust that no such prodigal backsliding May lure my gentle Tailor to his fall. The loss of one so patient, so confiding, Would do me injury beyond recall. His homely faith is much to me ; And, failing him, I fail to see Whom I should honour, how be clothed withal. And what if in his breast the Dun should waken ? What if I have but edged his vampire-tooth ? And he should be so grievously mistaken As to seek blood more blood ; and, void of ruth, With foul and ghoulish lust assail His unsuspecting clientele ? The dear gods hold him ! This from me, forsooth ! Myself, I fear him not. But much I tremble Lest he should pass the news to other ears ; And round my gates a ravening horde assemble, Keen'd with the concentrated hopes of years, Thinking (vain optimists !) to find Their patron squeezably inclined, Till I be wearied of their vile arrears. io THE CRACKLING OF THORNS These are the doubts that come to me in legions : These are the thoughts that pierce me to the core ; While deep, deep down in mine interior regions, I hear my muffled inward monitor Mourning the loss of such a sum To that financial vacuum Which, as a child of Nature, I abhor ! MY LAST ILLUSION n MY LAST ILLUSION MORE years ago than I can state (Or would divulge if I were able) It was my privilege and fate To worship the enchanting Mabel. She was a maid of sweet fifteen ; Blue-eyed and flaxen as a fairy Was Mabel ; as a rule I lean To something darker, but I vary. And for a while the love-god smiled On our young selves, and all was jolly, Till I was shamefully beguiled By one who bore the name of Molly. For Molly's eyes were as black as ink, And Molly's hair was deepest sable ; It pains me even now to think How badly I behaved to Mabel. 12 THE CRACKLING OF THORNS But I was doomed to pay the price, For Molly proved both false and giddy ; We quarrelled once, we quarrelled twice, And I was jilted for a middy. bitter, bitter was my cup ! I moved abroad like one demented ; 1 hardly cared for bite or sup Till I saw Mabel, and repented. But Mabel's wrath was undisguised, She was distinctly stern and chilly ; I told her I apologised ; I begged her not to be so silly. I left no stone unturned to woo The suffrage of her tender mercies ; I wrote her letters not a few, And some extremely poignant verses ; Tears, vows, entreaties, all were vain : We parted with a final flare-up I only saw her once again, Just at the time she put her hair up. MY LAST ILLUSION 13 Years waned, and still we ranged apart ; But though in minor ways unstable, Down in its deeps, my battered heart Has always hankered after Mabel ; And often, when I heard the name, It would begin to throb con moto In homage to my boyhood's flame, And grief at having lost her photo. That is all over now. To-night For one brief hour we came together, And for that one brief hour you might Have knocked me over with a feather. Perhaps the fault was mine. Perhaps, In nourishing a youth's Ideal, I had forgotten how the lapse Of time would modify the Real. Maybe the charms that won a boy's Young heart were there in full perfection, But could no longer counterpoise My bias for a dark complexion. 14 THE CRACKLING OF THORNS But ah ! what boots the abstract doubt ? Seeing that she has wed Another, What boots it that I thought her stout, And ominously like her mother? 'Tis but my last illusion fled, Perished dissolved in idle folly ; The Mabel of my dreams is dead ; I wonder what became of Molly ! THE PASSING OF ST. JAMES'S HALL 15 ODE ON THE PASSING OF ST. JAMES'S HALL OLD Hall, that wert so long the classic shrine Of Music grateful to the cultured ear, Though something tedious to the Philistine Where all was German, complex, and severe, Thou shalt not pass unhonoured to thy fall Without some more or less ' melodious tear,' For of all sights, all sounds, that I recall, Are none more sanctified than thine, St. James's Hall. Sweet are the memories of thy native Pop., Where the grave Four that ministered thereat With strenuous horse-tail wrung some master-Op. From the complaining entrails of the cat. How diligent they were ! How calm their mien ! How great a dignity upon them sat ! There was a restful something on the scene Which (after meals) could make the maddest mind serene. 16 THE CRACKLING OF THORNS Thou wert, in truth, the Home of grave delights, Wherein no froward element could mar The cavernous gravity that ruled the rites ; Here, one would say, the coyest alien Star Could come out strong, nor fear to be defied By pin-drop or victorious catarrh, Saving, alas ! for one that basely plied With impious muffin-bell his grisly ware outside. There was a scene of tragedy one day, And Britain's capital had gathered there Her Beauty and Hysteria, to pay Homage to one they held surpassing fair, Not for his general favour (which was poor), But for the scandal of his head of hair ; 'Twas said that when he took his yearly tour, Twelve skilled detectives watched that mystic chevelure. Ah me ! He did but touch the happy keys, And magical music from his hands did flow ; Music of whispering zephyrs in tremulous trees, Lighter than fluttering feathers or falling snow, THE PASSING OF ST. JAMES'S HALL 17 Softer than murmuring brooks in a shadowy dell, Music most beautiful, most soft, most low. Oh, not a whisper broke that tranced spell, When hark ! it was! it was that cursed muffin-bell! Tinkling it rose ; and, jingling as it came, Louder and louder clanged with pitiless beat On the strained tympanum ; with eyes aflame The virtuoso, frozen to his seat, Sat horror-stricken ; jangling it passed by ; We heard it tinkling, tinkling, up the street ; And the great audience breathed one mighty sigh, And laughed, until methought that some must surely die. Then did that artist straightly go distraught. Madly he danced, and madly beat his breast ; With lifted palm he bitterly besought Aid from the most high gods ; his horrid crest Rose up like quills ; one scream escaped his soul, One scream of anguish not to be suppressed ; Wildly he tugged his crisped aureole, And bolted, e'en as bolts a rabbit down his hole. B i8 THE CRACKLING OF THORNS Farewell, old Hall I To-day the fickle throng Carry their worship to a newer fane. Farewell ! 'tis all the burden of my song. E'en as I write, methinks I see again The fond, familiar scene thy soothing spell O'ercomes me and I hear the sad refrain Of clear intestines throbbing out ' Farewell ! ' And hark ! it is ! it is I that cursed muffin-bell ! THRENODY ON A POLAR BEAR 19 THRENODY ON A POLAR BEAR WHO DIED IN SUMMER OF PLEURISY AT THE LONDON ZOOLOGICAL GARDENS O listen, listen, ladies gay ! No haughty feat of arms I tell; Soft is the note, and sad the lay That mourns the lovely Samuel. Let the kind tear be freely shed; Weep, you that loved him, weep, for he is dead! He came, a youngling from the rigid North, Unkindly rapt from his protesting dam, To be a people's pride, and wear thenceforth The ludicrous but honoured name of Sam. Twice seven years a quiet life he led ; Weep, you that loved him, weep, for he is dead! White was his ample fleece, and black his eye ; And oh, his sense of humour ! 'Twas his game To filch umbrellas from the passers-by, And, growling dreadfully, devour the same, 20 THE CRACKLING OF THORNS While the despoiled breathed curses on his head ; Weep, you that loved kirn, weep, for he is dead! He was not made for climate such as this, Our English summer pierced him to the bone, 'Give me,' he sighed, with bitter emphasis, ' The genial horrors of my native zone ! This is the very ' thus and thus he said ; Weep, you that loved him, weep, for he is dead! Alas ! we knew not that he inly wanned ; We could not look beneath that snowy pell ; Only we saw him frolic in his pond, Only we thought, ' How blithe is Samuel ! ' No minatory cough awoke our dread ; Weep, you that loved him, weep, for he is dead! Yes, pleurisy has knocked him out of time. His lungs were delicate ; the wear and tear Of long exposure to our frequent clime Has been too many for a Polar Bear ; And Death came sweeping up with sullen tread ; Weep, you that loved him, weep, for he is dead! A BIRTHDAY SONG 21 A BIRTHDAY SONG THE morn is bright, the skies are clear, The lark awakes, and Chanticleer Explosively proclaims the anniversary Of the glad day when I was born This jolly world of ours t' adorn, And be, I 'm told, a terror to the nursery. There are to whom a birthday brings The solemn thought that Youth has wings, Who dream of Chronos closing in around them, And weep to think that man must grow Old at an age of so-and-so (My own contemporaries, too, confound them !) And there be those whom such a date Serves only to infuriate, Who find existence void and pleasure hollow ; ' Why were we ever born ? ' they say, And darkly curse their natal day As the prime cause of all they have to swallow. 22 THE CRACKLING OF THORNS Myself, I do not hold with these. This Vale of Tears has much to please A merry soul ; if Man be born to trouble, The fact is neither here nor there ; If Life 's the bubble they declare, I find it an extremely pleasant bubble. Nor do I, like my craven peers, Confess to getting on in years Just when the joys of life are fairly started, Or mourn for my departed Youth Merely because I 'm no, forsooth ! I don't acknowledge that it has departed. True that the carping eye can trace Some lines on my engaging face, But what of them ? Their cause is very simple ; I 've had them for a long, long while : These are the places where I smile, And those well, any one can tell a dimple. A BIRTHDAY SONG 23 The polished argent of my crown Has lost its growth of sheeny brown, But many a head that 's prematurely thinned owes Its losses to the tropic hat. You could not call me really fat ; Not fat (I know, from looking into windows). But there, what boots the outer skin ? If jocund be the heart within, The rolling years affect one very lightly ; And a hilarious turn of mind That and my innocence combined Has kept me young and eminently sprightly. Wherefore, O pious Morn, to thee Be greeting ! And I hope to see Many returns, both prosperous and pleasant. And ere the day has gained his height, I will perform my 'customed rite, And go and give myself a birthday present. 24 THE CRACKLING OF THORNS AN INSURANCE POLICY MY dear and only love, before The very solemn hour arrives When we must join for evermore Our tastes, our tempers, and our lives, Let us insure a constant flow Of rapture at its highest pitch By settling down, through weal or woe, To win the Dunmow Flitch. Let that romantic trophy be A shining beacon and a star To keep us going strong and free From all demoralising jar ; And with benign, effulgent ray, Approve our cordial intent 'Gainst clouds on either side we '11 say On yours, for argument. AN INSURANCE POLICY 25 If ever through the coming year You feel a mood of dull distress, The cause whereof may not appear (Maybe the cook, or cussedness) ; If there should come a moment when You seem to lose your self-control, And counting slowly up to ten Fails to relieve your soul ; If you should feel insanely prone To controversial debate, Till reason totters on her throne From pure desire to aggravate ; If you would madly say, you will, Merely because I hope you won't, Dear, though the struggle makes you ill, Think of the Flitch, and don't. Think of the prize which none can win Save they can take their solemn oath (And stick to it through thick and thin) That, from the hour that sealed their troth, Their life has passed serenely by Without a pang in either heart A word disqualifies ; a sigh Upsets the apple-cart. 26 THE CRACKLING OF THORNS Let never discord pass our doors, Nor temper mar our perfect bliss By fault of mine or, maybe, yours (Yours, darling by hypothesis !) Let the bright Flitch dissolve your heat, And keep you, by our early vow, Always as nice as oh, my sweet ! As nice as you are now. So shall our days be wholly fair ; And, when the year is safely through, Down we will go to Dunmow's Mayor, And take our oaths till all is blue ; Then will our praise be fitly psalmed By men and maidens, far and nigh ; And we will have the Flitch embalmed, To witness if we lie. TO THE BACK OF MY HEAD 27 ODE TO THE BACK OF MY HEAD MY Self s part-creature, whose unlovely shape, Making thy lord a public raree-show, Doth ride my hitherto unconscious nape Plain to all eyes save mine ; to whom I owe The consequence, more galling than a blow, Of ribald gesture and unfettered jape That marks our passage wheresoe'er we go ; Back of my Head, this day I looked on thee, And do accept the gods' inscrutable decree. 'Tis sad to hear the personal remark Rising distinctly o'er the social hum ; 'Tis sad to see the mirth-enkindled spark In eyes that always brighten when we come ; Sad to be conscious of the gibing thumb, 28 THE CRACKLING OF THORNS Yet find the cause thereof profoundly dark ; To move 'mid waggish coteries, where some, With contumelious fluttering of the lid, Ask, ' Did you ever? ' or declare, ' They never did ! ' Oft I have cast an apprehensive glance Into some friendly mirror standing by, Fearing that by some tragical mischance I might have come away without my tie ; Yet was my habit formal to the eye. True, I am something strange of countenance, But there are others even more awry ; My contour there are many far more fat ; / never knew what those idiots were laughing at ! And it has been that men have called me proud; For I have tamed my features to a stare Of lofty tolerance, and spurned the crowd With the unruffled camel's tranquil air Of one superior, who doesn't care ! They knew not that my spirit cried aloud To beg the stronger kindly to forbear ; To bid the small be careful what he said ; And, with a brave man's wrath, to punch the weak- ling's head. TO THE BACK OF MY HEAD 29 To-day I tarried for a fleeting space Where my confiding tailor plies his craft ; I met my mirrored double face to face ; (How strange !) I sawhim sideways and abaft; And, for the coolness of the genial draught, Had cast my beaver from his pride of place ; And there, oh, clear as tho' 'twere photo- graphed, Thou crusher of a good man's sturdy pride, I saw thy multiple aspect, and was petrified ! I have no will to hold thee up to scorn, Nor power to say, No more be head of mine ! Thou art my burden, and must needs be borne. But I go humbly, and henceforth decline All indoor fetes : I shall not dance or dine, I shall go nowhere save when hats are worn ! Nay, further, be the blame accounted thine, Thou Object ! lest the worshipper should scoff, I, with extreme regret, shall take to Sunday Golf ! 30 THE CRACKLING OF THORNS TO A CAGED LION THOU, whom the craft of evil men Has prisoned in a narrow den, The brutes' dishevelled lord, Who sitt'st, in thine imperial woe, So royally morose, and so Majestically bored. Why grievest thou ? Dost dream, perchance, Of derring-do or fond romance Back in the golden days, When thou didst truculently win LEONA of the tawny skin, And agitating gaze? Ay, those were times ! Hilarious fights, Wild sport, and pastoral delights A life without a care Save, ever and anon, to quaff The brook, or crunch the high giraffe That formed thy staple fare. TO A CAGED LION 31 Dost thou recall thy shattered reign ? The grandeur of the broad domain Whose peoples groaned beneath One that upheld the jungle's law With stern, inexorable paw, Accompanied by teeth ? But man appeared ; and, big with doom, Came sneaking darkly through the gloom, And took thee in a lure ; What of the grim LEONA now ? Bagged, I expect. And what art thou ? A shilling Cynosure. Thou dinest on the dismal horse ; Is it not tough ? is it not coarse ? While daily, round thy cage, Children, whose fatted charms confess Their lamentable toothsomeness, Awake thy hungry rage. And better 'twere that thou hadst died ; Better that men had stripped thy hide And made thereof a mat ; For, most unkindest cut of all, They mock thee in thine utter fall By calling thee a cat ! 32 THE CRACKLING OF THORNS THE SIMPLE LIFE I ASK not wealth or high estate ; The burden of too large a hoard, The constant strain of being great, Would only make me bored. More houses than a man can use Were almost worse than none at all ; And quite the last that I should choose Would be a Gilded Hall. Besides, I 'd rather not have land. Enough that I might settle down In a small cot in Surrey, and A little flat in Town. (A few nice rooms just here a book, And there a picture decent wine, Good carpets, and a cultured cook, And I should not repine.) THE SIMPLE LIFE 33 My tiny coach-house might contain For night a brougham, for day a cart ; I should not mind their being plain As long as they were smart. Of horses, both to ride and drive, Three at the utmost ought to do ; And, at a pinch, one might contrive To get along with two. (The hovel on a ' rising plat,' Bosomed in trees, but not too dark. I like a bracing air. The flat Should overlook the Park.) I have no love of crude excess ; To one that only lives for show The income I would fain possess Would sound absurdly low. The theatre I find a source Of pleasure ; music serves to fill The yawning soul ; and then, of course, One has a tailor's bill, c 34 THE CRACKLING OF THORNS Not that I care for fine array : Five suits are just as good as ten To me ; but one would like to pay The creature now and then. (I would not have my hut too far From my more central pied a terre For me to use my motor-car, And save the railway fare.) A little sport at times a change, Say, twice a year, to novel scenes, These I should like within the range Of my exiguous means. With cheap amusements such as these, My life would be a quiet song ; It would not be a life of ease, But one should rub along. (My garden should be mainly grass ; Really well kept ; a copper beech, A cedar shrubberies and glass Enough to grow a peach.) THE SIMPLE LIFE 35 I only ask what may suffice For simple fare and low degree ; As long as I can have things nice, It 's good enough for me. 36 THE CRACKLING OF THORNS LOVE'S COLOURS IT is not in her azure eyes That Delia's main attraction lies. They have been much admired, it 's true, But I prefer a darker blue (I always did and always do). Her locks (a wealth of deepest brown) Have gained a general renown ; For me, my favourite shades of hair Are touched with sunshine here and there (They always are and always were). The creamy glories of her cheek Have charms that many hold unique ; To me the red rose gives a thrill More than the palest daffodil (It always has and always will). LOVE'S COLOURS 37 But though my Delia's outward hues May not be all that one would choose, Her full perfection blooms unseen : There is not there has never been A maiden so divinely green. 38 THE CRACKLING OF THORNS ODE TO A FUR-LINED COAT COME from the coy retreat where thou hast slumbered In calm oblivion to the rounding year ; Come, for the moments of his life are numbered ; O grave and gracious, dignified (and dear), The days draw close, the time of frost begins, And I have need of thee, sore need, my Coat of Skins. How have I mourned the dawn of other winters (A chilly thing am I, and frail to boot); The rude North knocked mycockles into splinters, The sharp East swept my heart-strings like a lute ; How bilious was mine aspect in the glass, How pink mine eyes, my nose how violet, alas ! TO A FUR-LINED COAT 39 And ever I grew hoarse, and ever more hoarse ; And I was torn with Sternutation's throes ; Men leapt to hear me cough; the musing war-horse Has cried Aha ! when I have blown my nose ; And my teeth chattered, and my windy bones Audibly rattled, like a cab on cobble-stones. And oh, 'twas bitter, when ' for all my feathers ' I ' was a-cold,' at every turn to meet Men robed in skins, supreme against all weathers, Proud men, who walked as tho' they owned the street ; And ever to the gods I made my prayer, 1 for a coat of Skins ! ' and much they seemed to care. And then ah then, methinks not even Jove knows Such joy as that which thrilled my shivering form When, starting with a full purse and a mauve nose, I made thee mine, and came home broke, but warm. (And how I paid, and what a ' musquash ' is, I count as two of heaven's profoundest mysteries.) 40 THE CRACKLING OF THORNS Thenceforward, let the wind be ne'er so numbing, I cared not, finding thee a sure defence. Thou wert so soft, so warm, and so becoming, I could not choose but do thee reverence ; Nay, I grew conscious of a mellow spice Of hauteur, which itself was cheap at any price. For thou, despite mine inches, didst invest me With a new loftiness of such brave sort, That many an awestruck cadger has addressed me As ' Colonel,' ha ! So ample was my port That there was one sought alms I heard him cry, 'My Lord'! 'My Lord,' he said, and mighty pleased was I. A fat, full, time ! Too soon that * blithe new- comer,' The silly cuckoo, robbed thee of thy use Ah sweet, I could not stand thee in the summer! I wore thee while I had the least excuse. Think not, I laid thee by of changing taste : Twas that thou wert so dear too dear to be replaced. TO A FUR-LINED COAT 41 Now may we meet afresh. This morn my lynx eye Discerns a relish of the poignant North. The passing nose looms redly. Come ! methinks I May, with a decent pretext, bear thee forth ! Come, let us take the air for some few rods, Gods ! Gods ! He moults ! He moults ! He has a moth ! Gods ! Gods ! 42 THE CRACKLING OF THORNS TO THE SEA-SERPENT STRANGE denizen of those unbottomed deeps Whence, having vanished for I know not how long, You come to ease our minds, and give the creeps To some astonished mariners at Aolong, Welcome, thrice welcome ! 'Tis a weary time Since last you came, and saw, and sank rejected, Dourly to welter in obscurest slime, Where man was not, and you would be respected. Year after year, with constant ill-success, You were benevolently spurred to soften Th' autumnal rigours of the Daily Press, And were denied and mocked at just as often ! TO THE SEA-SERPENT 43 Skippers would log you, giving times and dates, Fo'c'sle and quarter-deck combine in witness ; While picturesquely gifted bo'sun's mates Described your charms with more than naval fitness ; But the Great Lubber bitter shame be his ! Blind to the claims of evidence and reason, Spoke scoffingly of Giant Gooseberries, And kindred figments of the Silly Season ; So you retired to Ocean's oozy floor To soothe your hundred feet of outraged vanity, Nor rose, awhile, to shed the light of your May I say countenance, upon humanity. But now, how sweetly rings the old, old tale ! Men saw a mystic object diverse fancies Leaned to a rock, a turtle, or a whale, When lo ! before their horror-stricken glances 44 THE CRACKLING OF THORNS Coil upon coil unwound ; a frightful crest Craned upwards, and behold, in girth tre- mendous, In length full thirty metres, moved confest KRAKEN, the Serpent, monstr-ingens-horren- dous ! O KRAKEN, those were men of proven skill In war's alarms, with minds attuned to slaughter, Armed with horrific engines, which at will Had blown you skywards from your native water. Nobly they spared you, though I know not why ; One would have thought that any sporting cap'en Would go full steam ahead and have a shy, Just for the sake of seeing what would happen. But no such fracas marred the peaceful scene. You dived beneath the keel, and passed to labb'ard, And they forbore to seek the magazine, Nor loosed the hungry cutlass from the scabbard. TO THE SEA-SERPENT 45 One cannot wholly blame them for the fact ; No doubt, if one were placed in their position, One would have done the same ; they may have lacked Leave to expend their service ammunition ; Maybe their spirit thirsted for the shot Which more prudential counsel deprecated, Fearing that, if they missed a vital spot, You might have actively retaliated. And, though we feel a soupgon of regret, The chronicle remains the world has read it ; And you, great KRAKEN, though uncaptured yet, Are, partially at least, restored to credit, Not wholly ; but one never knows one's luck ; And we may hope, with confident reliance, That you will soon be comfortably stuck Or ' potted,' in the sacred cause of Science. 46 THE CRACKLING OF THORNS LINES BY AN INSOMNIAC TO THOSE DEVOTED SCIENTISTS WHO ARE SEEK- ING THE BACILLUS OF SLEEPING SICKNESS MEN of Science, you that dare Beard the microbe in his lair, Tracking through the jungly thickness Afric's germ of Sleeping Sickness, Hear, oh hear, my parting plea, Send a microbe home to me ! By the Congo's turbid flood Where he wantons in the mud, Through the dank and matted swamp Where he takes his nightly romp, Try and capture two or three Soporific germs for me. I am one that vainly woos Morpheus of the baffling snooze ; I have counted scores of sheep ; LINES BY AN INSOMNIAC 47 Quaffed narcotics, long and deep ; Sleeping Sickness ought to be Just the very thing for me. Though your early toils be vain, Noble fellows, try again ! Keep it up for goodness' sake ; Think of one who lies awake, Crying out across the sea, Send a microbe home to me! When at last the happy day Brings you thirsting to the fray, When you leap upon the foe, Bottling hundreds as you go, Send some spare ones, duty free, Home by parcel post to me. I would sleep till I were sick Gladly, if I knew the trick, But, for lack of Afric's germs, Sleep and I are not on terms. Men of Science, hear my plea, Send a microbe home to me ! 48 THE CRACKLING OF THORNS LEAP-YEAR PROSPECTS DAWN, at whose breaking the hearts of the gloomy Quicken like trees at the presage of Spring, Tell me of Her that is coming to woo me, Coming to wed me, her bridegroom, her king; Year, whose propitious arrival may restitute Courage in celibates worn at the knee, Friend of philogamists baffled and destitute, What of the bride you are bringing to me ? Is she a maiden commanding and queenly Deep-eyed and beautiful pleasant and plain ? Is she great Weller ! a widow, serenely Bent upon trying her fortune again ? LEAP-YEAR PROSPECTS 49 Or is she fairily dainty and gladsome Sweet one-and-twenty, or still in her 'teens ! What are her ' ways ' ? And you might as well add some Sound information concerning her means. How will she woo me? With ogling and deep sighs, Floods of hyperbole, butter and gush ? Should I be placidly blind to her sheep's eyes? How in the world can I compass a blush ! Say, if the lady insists upon kneeling, Calls me beloved, it may be, or sweet, What sort of lunatic I shall be feeling? What shall I do with my hands and my feet? When, in response to her fervid persuasion, Drops the decided though faltering 'Yes,' Who should begin to improve the occasion, Which should impart the initial caress ? 50 THE CRACKLING OF THORNS If she takes liberties, should I be colder ? Is it ' laid down,' or a matter of taste, Which puts a head on the other one's shoulder, Who puts an arm round the other one's waist ? Truly, O Leap Year, your sporting tradition, When it 's applied to a definite fact, Rather inverts one's accustomed position, Rather demands the employment of tact ! Still, it displays a refreshingly bright side ; Novel as well ; for, however things go, I 'm not afraid of them I 'm on the right side I needn't fear that monotonous ' No ' ! TO THE 'WHOLE HOG' 51 ODE TO THE ' WHOLE HOG ' (' Go the whole hog' to. To do a thing thoroughly or completely, to commit oneself to anything unreservedly. Dictionary.} EMBLEM of thoroughness, perfected Whole, King Hog, in whom all excellences meet To sovereign Oneness, absolute, complete : Supreme ideal of the strong man's goal, Whose glomerate bulk defies Th' inglorious arts of barren compromise : Star of ambition, Crown of toil, to thee I, with all possible respect, in homage bend the knee. Thou art no common hog, who, being slain, Is straightly hewn to separable parts, Whereof men chaffer in the public marts, And, at their pleasure, cut and come again ; 52 THE CRACKLING OF THORNS Of thee shall no man choose His favoured portion and the rest refuse ; He that would ' go ' thee piecemeal courts a fall, For Whole thou art, and must be swallowed Whole, or not at all. Thy shrine is girdled by a vantage fence Whereon men sit, and watch thee from afar, Craving but craven, all agog to mar, In some degree, thy corporate opulence ; Ravin'd, they lack the grace To screw their courage to the l sticking '- place ; * Willing to wound,' they sit ' afraid to strike,' From private motive some, and some from inward fears, belike. For there be those that would essay the meal, But for thine utter singleness forbear ; They have no stomach for such lordly fare, And qualms of surfeit blunt their puny zeal. TO THE < WHOLE HOG ' 53 Westphalia's ham my Pride Appeals to him that cares for naught beside ; These the crisp Rasher, those the crackling Loin, Would severally delight ; but thee, alas ! may none disjoin. And there be many, torn this way and that, Who of their stars entreat a favouring sign, Or with black arts an auspice would divine In the weird leapings of an occult cat ; While others fear to go, Lest they feel tardily discreet, and lo ! A strong head -gale impedes their fenceward way; 4 Inform us, then, good Hog,' say these, ' How sits the -wind to-day ? ' l Thus far the craven. There be other some That would absorb thee for the very sport ; But it would irk them. ' Life is all too short. Why should we lose our equilibrium? 1 Pigs are said to see the wind. 54 THE CRACKLING OF THORNS What profit that the Hog Has orby charms that none may catalogue? Have we not friends ? Let these attain the quest. We will observe the strife, and show a tolerant interest.' But ever and anon there rises one True to himself, and trustful in the gods Who dares all consequence, and fears no odds Knows what he wants, and means to have it done. Steeled with the Right of Might, Stung by imperative pangs of appetite, He leaps the bar : he plunges madly on : ' I go the Whole Hog, I ! ' one snap and the Whole Hog is gone ! TO THE HIPPOPOTAMUS 55 TO THE HIPPOPOTAMUS ON BEING THREATENED WITH EXTERMINATION WOE unto thee, Destroyer ! Thy victims' cup is full. Long have they borne thy yoke, and torn Their garments and their wool ! Afric is roused ; the vengeful foe Encompass thee about To lay th' Abominable low, And wipe the Tyrant out. Song of the Boatmen. 1 As o'er the placid waters We ply the frail canoe, BEHEMOTH comes, with bristling gums, And bites the barque in two. A thousand times we suffer wrack ; A thousand times we feel The horror of his mounting back Protuberant 'neath the keel.' 56 THE CRACKLING OF THORNS Song of the Husbandmen. ' Our fields were fat with harvest Of rich and kindly grain, But he has made felonious raid And havocked through the plain ; Our little children cry for bread, Our wives for corn to grind ; The scars of his disastrous tread Are all he leaves behind.' General Chorus of Insult. 1 Does aught of outward favour Belie his evil fame? Squat limbs and short, that scarce support His gross, unwieldy frame ; Ferocious front, beslavered skin, And reeking gape, afford Fit index to the Brute within BEHEMOTH the Abhorred.' Then woe to thee, Destroyer ; for the circles round thee close ; Ruthless and fierce, thou shalt not pierce the cordon of thy foes. TO THE HIPPOPOTAMUS 57 Go seek thy reedy fastnesses go walk the nether mud Do as thou wilt to hide thy guilt, they mean to have thy blood. Cunning shall nowise aid thee ; every side disaster lurks ; Thy leathern mail shall naught avail to guard thine inner works. For thee they bring the ' reeking tube ' to perforate thy hide With iron shard, and hit thee hard with things that burst inside. Thy ghastly spouse shall follow, and the death ye twain shall die With icy grip shall seize thy Hippopotamunculi ! None shall escape the massacre, save, haply, one or two To beg the sons of men for buns, all in a shame- ful Zoo ! 58 THE CRACKLING OF THORNS THE GOLF HABIT EVEN as one that ventures in his strength On some slow drug, and thinks to take no ill, But, surely weakening, finds himself at length Thrall to a tabloid, bondsman to a pill, So I, that sought a charm whereof men rave, That did but nibble, as it were in jest, Am grown a Public Scoffing and a slave, Me wretched ! to a practice I detest. For me the nights go heavily. For me Day brings the burn, the tussock, and the whin, The foozled anguish of a Club-house tee Crowded with sportsmen pawing to begin ; THE GOLF HABIT 59 Through the long hours a weariful course I trace With piteous ' top ' and agitating ' pull,' Or squander on th' illimitable space Blows that would stun an ordinary bull. The wild turfs leap to my impassioned scoops ; The thick clouds gather o'er the bunker's bed ; And the sliced ball precariously swoops In imminent circles round a stranger's head. So grinds the old wheel on. And every day I loathe the stubborn traffic more and more ; Nightly I vow to give my clubs away Only to start next morning as before ; Only to find more painful and more slow My devious passaging from tee to green ; (A hole I did in ten a week ago I missed this afternoon in seventeen) ; Only to salve the pangs of my despair With shattered shaft and stamping of the feet, And bell my sorrows to the ambient air In terms that border on the indiscreet. 60 THE CRACKLING OF THORNS HONEST RELUCTANCE MY dear, when I met you a summer ago, I found you so dainty, so pretty and sweet, That long I debated on whether or no To lay down my hand and my heart at your feet ; But / had got used to a bachelor life, And you were as lively as lively could be, So I didn't I thought you might prove, as a wife, A trifle too jumpy for me. And now that I 've watched you and seen what you are, I know that your heart is as true as your eyes, Your spirit as lofty and clear as a star, And gladly, oh, gladly I 'd try for the prize ; But my youth has left me alone in a groove, And yours is so fresh and deliciously new, That I daren't I fear that, for life, I should prove A trifle too stodgy for you. TO A HORSE-SHOE 61 ODE TO A HORSE-SHOE FOUND LYING IN THE ROAD O LYING in dishonourable dust ! Thou that wert strong beyond all mortal shoon, Yet earliest doomed to know corrupting rust, And ponder in unspeakable disgust On the hard labours of thy one brief moon, Alas, poor derelict ! When I review Th' uproarious environs of thy birth, Thy thankless toil, and transitory worth, I cannot choose but weep, and say, l What are things coming to? ' O that the Muses should inform my lyre To sing the violence of thy life's young dawn ! How lustily the bellows did suspire Breath for the flames ; how redly glowed the fire On the huge Smith, exulting in his brawn ! 62 THE CRACKLING OF THORNS How 'neath the sledge the myriad sparks upsprang From the ripe iron ; how from wall to wall Shadows, like frivolous goblins at a ball, Leapt, and the old black rafters rocked with each reverberate clang. Yet on he wrought with strenuous Ha ! and Ho ! Wielding the hammer in his mighty grasp Like a mere bauble : wilder seemed to grow The spectral ballet, wilder the fiery glow, Wilder the bellows' undefeated gasp. And still his ' noble stroke he lifted high,' Till, fully formed, he put thee to the proof Burning and fizzling, and the patient hoof Hissed, as beneath Odysseus' pine th' astonished Cyclops' eye. O, 'twere a subject for enduring song ! A theme whereof great MILTON may have dreamt, Or SHAKESPEARE, prime of high Parnassus' throng. Would I could do it ! But 'twould take too long, And the result would be beneath contempt. TO A HORSE-SHOE 63 So thou, made perfect in such toilsome wise, Clung to the sole, with close embrace and sure ; And passed, thy slow curriculum t' endure, To the unhonoured minor fields of equine enterprise. For of a truth, O monster as thou art, Thy ponderous habit little seems to smack Of the high-stepper in the gaudy cart (Save there were shafts a fair two ells apart), Or the lithe-limbed and finicking straddle- back ! Thine was a beast of Brobdingnagian turn, Which who should compass with equestrian knee Would bound resilient, as the parched pea Bounds and rebounds all buoyant on the unrepose- ful drum. Dull were thy labours as thy span was short. Methinks thou didst but drag the lumbering dray With slow and equal gait, nor dream of sport 64 THE CRACKLING OF THORNS Hardly of rest, save where the foamy quart Lured the dry Jarge to lubricate his clay, And the great nails grew wearied of the strain. And so came tragedy ; thy grip was spent ; Thou camed'st off and on the wagon went And when I see thee now, I weep ! And here we are again. Yet mark what comfort rounds my halting ode. For I, too, know affliction, and 'tis held That whoso finds a horse-shoe on the road And yields it haven in his poor abode Has, by that meritorious act, compelled Fortune's enduring smile ; his former cares Shall melt to nothing ; he shall have great store Of gold (whereby to mock his editor), Win in his gambles, and succeed in all his love- affairs. With reverent hand I lift thee from the soil, And in a decent kerchief bear thee hence ; There shall be no more trouble, no more toil To usward, while companioned we may foil Him and His Powers by thy sweet influence ! TO A HORSE-SHOE 65 Mine be thy roof-tree, and my Mascotte thou ! So shall thou rest, and I, at last, have struck Something reliable by way of luck, Which I have humbly sought full long, nor ever found till now. 66 THE CRACKLING OF THORNS A BALLAD OF EDINBURGH TOON THE lusty Sun did glower aboon, Wi' welcome in his cheerfu' rays ; I walked in Edinburgh Toon, A' in ma caller claes. For I had donned my coat o' cheiks That cost me guineas twa an' three, But an' ma pair o' ditto breeks That luiked sae pleasantlie. On ilka breek were creases twa, And they did hang sae fine, sae fine, Frae John o' Groats to Gallowa' Were nane sae fair as mine. An' first I honoured Geordie Street, An' syne I walked the Princes' ane, To gie to ilka lass a treat An' a' the laddies pain. A BALLAD OF EDINBURGH TOON 67 An' mony a laddie's hert was sair ; An' mony a lassie's een, ay, mony, Uplicht wi' joy to see a pair Sae canny an' sae bonny. I hadna walked an hour at maist, I hadna honoured half the Toon, The air grew drumlie like a ghaist, An' syne the rain cam' doon. An' first the dust it gently laid, An' syne it cam' in cats an' doggies, That loosed the cobble-stanes, an' played Auld Hornie wi' ma toggies. O waly for ma coat o' cheiks That cost me guineas twa and three ! An' waly for ma ditto breeks Sae bagfu' at the knee ! The creases twa are past reca' That gar'd them hang sae fine, sae fine ; Frae John o' Groats to Gallowa' Are nane sae puir as mine ! 68 THE CRACKLING OF THORNS O fause, inhospitable Toon, I rede thee, gin I come again, Ma claes sail be o' Reich-ma-doon, An' deil tak' your rain ! MY MALADY 69 MY MALADY I AM not feeling very well to-day ; I know not what the malady may be ; Less than a week ago I felt as gay And active as a grig. But I am sad ; I get no rest at night ; I tremble at the buzzing of a gnat ; I do not take my meals with appetite ; My heart goes pit-a-pat. My vigour and my sprightliness have flown ; The social qualities my friends enjoyed Have left me ; I desire to be alone, And not to be annoyed. I know there 's nothing wrong with limb or lung, Or liver, as the flippant might suppose ; (Rejoice, all you that love me, for my tongue Is like a red, red rose). 70 THE CRACKLING OF THORNS But there 's a something though I can't say what That burrows though I couldn't tell you where ; Nor could I even stroke th' afflicted spot And say, 'The pain is there* This is not one of those established ills Which of their nature leave an outward sign ; It does not make one pale about the gills, This malady of mine. ' It is the little rift within the lute ' ; Some fatal, undiscoverable germ That by and by will make the music mute, And drag me to the worm. And am I then beyond all human cure? And will the grim old gardener come and pluck My flower of beauty just when it's mature? Really, it's shocking luck ! No, no, a thousand times ! Pale phantoms, hence ! Away with morbid thoughts and empty sham ! I am in love ! Away with vain pretence ! Yes, by the gods, I am ! MY MALADY 71 'Tis Love that weaves this enervating spell ; Love whose familiar darts have laid me low ; It always used to make me feel unwell As if I didn't know ! And yet, how softly through my being steals The dolorous joy of Love's delicious pain ; How innocent, how very young it feels To be in love again ! Bite on, dear Germ. For though the heart be sad, Seeing that thou, and thou alone, canst win me Back to a youth's sweet fancies, why, I 'm glad To think I 've got it in me ! 72 THE CRACKLING OF THORNS REFORM TIME was when there were few more vile than I, Few (though I say it) more inured to crime, Few that have had so lamentably high A time. It were a fruitless labour to relate The facts of my deplorable career, My tastes were awful, and my moral state Dear, dear ! To virtuous appeal my heart was shut ; Blithely I swaggered on the downward track ; I must have been a dismal sort of nut To crack. But now O Love, O sovereign power of Love ! DELIA has raised my thoughts to nobler aims ; I have reformed ; I have a soul above Those games. REFORM 73 I hardly ever stay out late at night ; Billiards and cards I very rarely touch ; I seldom smoke at least, perhaps not quite So much. My temper, once notoriously short, Has lost its tendency to run amok ; I am as one with whom a child could sport (With luck). Also I have acquired the Art of Song That never dreamed I had a turn that way ; Tenor, I '11 trouble you ! And rather strong On A. Sometimes I sing and sing for hours on end Songs all of Love and I should sing much more But for the person (whom I once called friend) Next door. Ah, 'tis a goodly change ! Three moons agone, Ere I had cravings for a higher bliss, Who would have thought that I should carry on Like this? 74 THE CRACKLING OF THORNS And you, O DELIA, pearl of maidenhood, For whom, through whom, th' awakening began, Approve me, DELIA. Am I not a good Young man? It was for you, O DELIA, that I turned This new leaf over ; 'tis to you I bring This offering ; for you that I have learned To sing. I hope I have not spent my time in vain ; And, when you see how greatly I Ve improved, DELIA, I trust that you will not remain Unmoved. That, when in honeyed accents I confess My seemly passion, you, with answering glow, Will, for the sake of decency, say, Yes, Not No ! TRAGEDY 75 TRAGEDY You that of late were privileged to hear How I had doffed the cloak of evil-doing For Virtue's thin yet plausible veneer, To charm my DELIA when I went a-wooing, Mark how the false gods till th' eleventh hour Smiled, and then, sneering, cast me down to grapple With wounds that mock the staying flagon's power, And quite ignore the comfortable apple. I had not told my love oh, was it wrong ? For, though I found her all my fancy painted, I thought it better not to go too strong, As we had been but recently acquainted ; Wiser it seemed to let the thought take root In her young mind ; and, when the ice was broken, Essay my fortunes at the Christmas shoot (And trust the gods to keep her unbespoken). 76 THE CRACKLING OF THORNS Full thrice the sequent moons had waxed and waned, Yet there had come no noise of rival wooer ; And the wan star of Hope had risen, and gained A crescent brightness as the days grew fewer ; Now had I seen the final day but one ; My qualms of jealousy had ceased to rack me ; When down my colours tumbled with a run, Just as my confidence had reached its acme. waste, waste, waste, irrevocable waste ! O labour lost and tardily repented ! 1 do not cavil at the lady's taste ; It 's painful, but it 's not unprecedented ; But to be fooled deluded from the start Basely encouraged vilely brought to ruin, What of my struggles with the vocal art ? What about all those clothes I bought to woo in! These are the thoughts that pale a person's cheeks. But worse, oh worse beyond all computation, I hold the memory of those tedious weeks Squandered in moral rehabilitation ! TRAGEDY 77 Would it not make the coldest heart feel sad ? Does it not give the soul, however steely, a Pang, to recall those bursts I never had ? May you be sorry for it some day, DELIA ! O reader, reader, what a dole is mine ! After three dreary months of dreary labour In walks which certainly are not my line, Scorned by my friends, a nuisance to my neigh- bour, Just when my fears of rivalry were dead, . Just as I thought that I was out of danger, DELIA, the Prize, the girl I hoped to wed, Has got affianced to a total stranger ! 78 THE CRACKLING OF THORNS TO MY SENSE OF HUMOUR COME not, as thou dost ever love to come, Making a scandal of thy ' saving grace,' When awed hilarity must needs be dumb, And all save rigid equilibrium Is wholly out of place ; Flash no delirious humours through my brain What time I patronise the public air ; Let me not look an idiot in the train, Nor, with high mirth, affront the sacred fane ; There is no profit there ! Ah, come not thus ! But come, when Hope is thrown Out of his stride in Life's long handicap ; When I am all deserted and alone, And to the deaf gods make most bitter moan That no one loves a chap ; TO MY SENSE OF HUMOUR 79 When my most cherished schemes have ganged agley ; When I am crushed in person, purse, or pride, With none to succour, none to hear my plea, Come, Sense of Humour, come, and make me see Things from their comic side ! Come then ! come now ! enough that thou beguile One paltry hour. Poor devil that I am, I do but seek to sneer at Life awhile ; To jeer at Love ; and, with a ghastly smile, Say I don't care a ! Printed by T. and A. CONSTABLE, Printers to His Majesty at the Edinburgh University Press 000928315