THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 Other People's Wings 
 
 First Issue (in loose -wrapper), July 1899. 
 Second Issue (in stiffened cover), September 1899.
 
 Certain of the following pieces have appeared 
 in the 'OUTLOOK/ the 'ACADEMY,' and the 
 1 PALL MALL GAZETTE.' The writer's ac- 
 knowledgments are due to the Editors of 
 those journals.
 
 Other People's Wings 
 
 Parodies and Occasional Verses 
 By T. W. H. Crosland, 
 
 Author of Literary Parables. 
 
 London : 
 
 At the Sign of The Unicorn, 
 vn Cecil Court, W.C., MDCCCXCIX.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 MINOR . ; . 7 
 
 TO JOHN BUNYAN IO 
 
 ULTIMA THULE 12 
 
 NOCTURNE: IN HARNESS 13 
 
 A LITTLE LAY 14 
 
 KIPS 15 
 
 VERY LIKELY l8 
 
 THE ANCIENT CRITIC 19 
 
 THE GOOD CONCEIT 2O 
 
 THE PUBLIC .21 
 
 FOR A' THAT AND A 1 THAT 23 
 
 ADVICE 26 
 
 TO THE MINOR MUSE . . . . . .27 
 
 TO ERMYNTRUDE 29 
 
 ODE . .31 
 
 718165
 
 MINOR. 
 
 ( With acknowledgments to Mr. Rudyard Kipling?) 
 
 I WENT into a publisher's as woeful as a 
 
 hearse, 
 The publisher he ups and says, 'Why will 
 
 you chaps write verse ? ' 
 The girl behind the Remington she tittered 
 
 fit to die, 
 I outs into the street again and to myself 
 
 says I : 
 
 O it's verses this, and verses that, and 
 
 writing 'em is wrong ; 
 But it's ' special type and vellum ' when 
 
 you hit on something strong, 
 You hit on something strong, my boys, 
 
 you hit on something strong, 
 O it's 'signed large paper copies,' when 
 
 you hit on something strong. 
 
 I calls upon an editor a very nice young 
 
 man 
 Says he, ' Send in your stanzas and we'll use 
 
 'em if we can ' :
 
 8 
 
 Of course I sends 'em to him in the usual 
 
 bloomin' way, 
 Of course he keeps and keeps 'em, and he's 
 
 got 'em to this day ! 
 
 And it's verses this, and verses that, and 
 
 verses for to burn ; 
 But they set 'em up in pica when the tide 
 
 begins to turn, 
 The tide begins to turn, my boys, the tide 
 
 begins to turn, 
 O it's ' Two-twelve-six a sonnet ' when the 
 
 tide begins to turn. 
 
 I prints a little book and puts it round like, 
 
 for review, 
 Which when you come to think of it is the 
 
 proper thing to do : 
 ' We have upon our table Mr. Blanky's Leaves 
 
 that Fall' 
 And ' Another little ship of song ! Wants 
 
 ballast,' that was all. 
 
 And it's verses this, and verses that, and a 
 
 par to say you've sinned ; 
 But it's fine fat full-page notice when you 
 
 hit 'em in the wind, 
 You hit 'em in the wind, my boys, you hit 
 
 'em in the wind, 
 You're a 'owlin', 'eavenly Milton, when you 
 
 hit 'em in the wind
 
 9 
 
 We aint no 'eavenly Miltons, nor we aint no 
 
 idiots too, 
 But plodding men with fam'lies, and a pile to 
 
 make, like you ; 
 And all the time you see us down-at-heel and 
 
 looking weak 
 We're a-casting of our bread upon the waters, 
 
 so to speak : 
 
 For it's verses this, and verses that, and 
 
 things run pretty rough, 
 But there's Albert Gate in verses if you only 
 
 write the stuff > 
 If you only write the stuff, my boys, if you 
 
 only write the stuff, 
 O it's yachts and rows of houses if you only 
 
 write the stuff. 
 
 A 2
 
 10 
 
 TO JOHN BUNYAN. 
 
 JOHN, it was sweet of thee to be a tinker, 
 
 For poor men need a trade, 
 
 And of all the trades that picture well with 
 
 art, John 
 
 Intuitive, innocent art, John 
 It is the tinker's. 
 
 And it was sweet of thee to go to gaol, John, 
 Even unto Bedford Gaol : 
 Why may not all of us forthwith repair, John, 
 To some such sunless fastness, 
 
 And dream large dreams, John ? 
 
 And sweet it was of thee to make and write, 
 
 John, 
 
 A sweet and decent book 
 That hath an honest savour, like good bread, 
 
 John, 
 And keeps the general palate, though their 
 
 fictions 
 Do come, and go, John.
 
 II 
 
 Ah ! who would not, to author such another, 
 
 Take thy extremity, 
 
 Thy petty craft, thy gross, implacable doc- 
 trine, 
 
 Yea, even a threadbare, ' treatise-dowered ' 
 
 spouse, John, 
 And thank his stars, John ?
 
 12 
 
 ULTIMA THULE. 
 
 ( With acknowledgments to Mr. Stephen Phillips?) 
 
 O, THOU art shaping into greatness, boy ! 
 Thy book is pretty sure to surge next Spring 
 And then ! . . . 
 
 Huge stacks of thee will to the libraries go, 
 And all the virgins for a copy run : 
 And then ! . . . 
 
 Thy tumbling hair will in the West be seen, 
 An oriflamme at plutocratic teas : 
 And then ! . . . 
 
 Thy portrait in the salons shall be hung, 
 Thy picture laugh from hot-press'd magazines 
 And then ! . . . 
 
 Thy soul shall be upon vast serials spent, 
 Thy mystery spread upon the evening prints 
 Aadttenffft
 
 NOCTURNE: IN HARNESS. 
 ( With acknowledgments to Mr. W. E. Henley!) 
 
 AT the sultry hour of midnight, 
 When we keep the door propped open 
 For the little boys with flimsy, 
 I can hear our presses whirring. 
 
 Whirling, whirring, in a rhythm, 
 Steady, rational, persistent ; 
 Churning out the first, edition, 
 To illuminate the counties. 
 
 Like the noise of many waters 
 Broken on a weir of tea-trays 
 Is the sound a choppy droning : 
 And it rather soothes my heart-strings. 
 
 Yet, at times, I can't help thinking 
 How much of my life goes whirring, 
 Whirling, whirring, whir, whir, whirring 
 With the whirring of those presses.
 
 A LITTLE LAY. 
 
 THREE poets came to London town, 
 (Sing O for a crust and a stoup of ale !) 
 
 All proper men and all unknown, 
 (Sing O for patient merit !) 
 
 And one was a lovers' verse-maker, 
 
 (Sing Ring-a-ding-ding and Ring-a-ding- 
 dee!) 
 
 And honey-sweet his verses were, 
 (Sing O for the pretty ladies !) 
 
 And one dream'd old-world dreams, God wot, 
 (Sing O for the quaint pre-Raphaelite 
 touch ! ) 
 
 And many a flashing ballad he wrote, 
 (Sing O for fit and finish ! ) 
 
 And the third one was a man of might, 
 
 (Sing O for the flush'd, fair, scholarly page!) 
 
 And words of gold he did indite, 
 (Sing O for the quotable passage ! ) 
 
 Now, these three go like fashion-plates, 
 (Sing O for the pink, beneficent cheque ! ) 
 
 And they lack neither wine nor delicates, 
 (Sing O for English Poesy ! )
 
 KIPS. 
 
 After 'Bobs: 
 
 THERE'S a little round-faced man, 
 
 Which is Kips, 
 Writes the finest stuff he can, 
 
 Our Kips, 
 
 Takes the cake fer fancy prose, 
 Has the Muses by the nose, 
 Makes us all sit up in rows 
 
 Don't yer, Kips ? 
 
 An' 'e's travelled fur and far, 
 
 This 'ere Kips, 
 Seem' things just as they are, 
 
 Straight-tale Kips; 
 If it's bloo, or if it's brown, 
 Kiplin' kindly shoves it down 
 In a note-book of his own 
 
 Busy Kips ! 
 
 O 'e's eyes right up 'is coat. 
 
 Little Kips, 
 An' a siren in his throat, 
 
 Rudyard Kips;
 
 i6 
 
 An' when that there siren vents 
 All yer ear-drum feels in rents, 
 An' the listenin' continents 
 Says, 'That's Kips!' 
 
 Wot 'e don't know about life, 
 
 Mister Kips, 
 You can arst a pleeceman's wife 
 
 Can't they, Kips? 
 If the nation cheers and yells, 
 An' its buzzim kinder swells, 
 'E trots out Recessionals, 
 
 Sined, ' R. Kips.' 
 
 'E went queer the other day, 
 
 Poor old Kips, 
 Cruisin' somewheres Noo York way 
 
 Our Kips: 
 
 Ses the Fates, ' Cum, Kiplin', sup 
 Of this 'ere unpleasant cup !' 
 An' he took it standin* up, 
 
 Little Kips! 
 
 Nay we couldn't let 'im go, 
 
 Our Kips, 
 'Cos we found we loved 'im so, 
 
 Little Kips; 
 
 'E has suffered grief and pain 
 'Nuff to turn a feller's brain ; 
 BUT 'E'S GETTIN' WELL AGAIN- 
 
 Aint yer, Kips ?
 
 17 
 
 So 'ere's to Kips Bahadur, 
 
 Little Kips, Kips, Kips, 
 
 May 'e soon be on the larder, 
 
 Fightin' Kips, Kips, Kips! 
 
 This ain't no sort of ode, 
 
 But you've help'd the white man's load, 
 
 An' fer benefits bestowed, 
 Bless yer, Kips!
 
 i8 
 
 VERY LIKELY. 
 
 WHEN this man dies the world will say, 
 ' Out on him for a witless knave, 
 
 Who spent the morning of his day 
 
 Wooing the workhouse and the grave.' 
 
 And men who held his hand in theirs, 
 And drank with him, and lent him gold, 
 
 Will take each other unawares 
 With moralisings manifold. 
 
 And women whom he loved will hear 
 Of his departure, thanking God 
 
 They need not stand beside his bier 
 In copyrightless widowhood. 
 
 Whilst for himself, he'll lie and rot 
 
 As comfortably as the just ; 
 With all his peck of cares forgot 
 
 In the long silence and the dust.
 
 THE ANCIENT CRITIC. 
 
 (With acknowledgments to Mr. Laurence Binyon.} 
 
 HE watches the newcomers pass and throng, 
 His eyes half-shut against the noontide sun ; 
 
 The lean, the sleek, the futile, and the strong 
 Before him run. 
 
 Eager for praise and recognition, they 
 
 Bring him their dreams in gilt, and blue, 
 and red, 
 
 And stuff'd with purple patches; but all day 
 He shakes his head.
 
 2O 
 
 THE GOOD CONCEIT. 
 
 ( With acknowledgments to Mr. W. E. Henley?) 
 
 OUT of the cloud that covers me 
 And blots the stars and seldom lifts, 
 
 I thank whatever gods may be 
 For my indubitable gifts. 
 
 Under the whip upon the setts, 
 Men drive me many a galling mile, 
 
 My stock of Editors' regrets 
 
 Would fill a barrow, but / smile. 
 
 Fast by this trade of wind and wit 
 I mean to hold till life be done, 
 
 And every year I stay in it 
 
 Finds, and shall find me, tugging on. 
 
 It matters not how stiff and sheer 
 The climb how difficult the sum, 
 
 I am the man they've got to hear ! 
 I am the man that's bound to come !
 
 21 
 
 THE PUBLIC. 
 
 ( With acknowledgments to Mr. Rudyard Kipling?) 
 
 OH, the years we waste and the tears we waste, 
 And the work of our head and hand 
 Belong to the Public that does/it read verse 
 {And, probably, never will learn to read verse) 
 Which it does not understand ! 
 
 A fool there was and his youth he spent 
 
 (Even as you and I !) 
 
 Concocting rhymes that were excellent 
 
 (If the Public had only perceived what he 
 
 meant) 
 
 But the Public can't help its natural bent 
 (No more than you and I !) 
 
 Oh, the toil we lost and tJie spoil we lost 
 A nd the beautiful things we planned 
 Belong to the Public that doesn't buy verse 
 (And has made up its mind it will never buy 
 
 verse) 
 Which it cannot understand! 
 
 The fool was stripped of some foolish pence 
 (Even as you and I !) 
 
 Which he might have foreseen if he hadn't 
 been dense,
 
 22 
 
 But fools, of course, have none too much sense, 
 And, somehow, they suffer in consequence 
 (Even as you and I !) 
 
 Oh, it isn't the shame and it isn't the blame 
 That stings like a white -hot brand 
 Its coming to know that your verses won't sell 
 {Seeing at last that they never can sell} 
 And beginning to understand ! 
 
 A fool there was and he wrote with care 
 (Even as you and I !) 
 And he carried his work to a publisher 
 (Who gave him an estimate then and there), 
 And he dreams, at times, there are profits to 
 
 share 
 (Even as you and I !)
 
 FOR A' THAT AND A' THAT. 
 
 Air ' Dalmeny.' 
 
 Is there wha'd haver, i' a booth, 
 
 O' poor men's joys, and a' that, 
 And keek asklent at gear ? guid sooth, 
 
 We daur be rich for a' that ! 
 For a' that, and a' that, 
 
 The cares o' wealth, an' a' that, 
 Gowd, mebbe, canna reese the deid, 
 
 But gowd's the thing for a' that ! 
 
 What tho', i' faith, we maunna dine 
 
 But ance a day, and a' that, 
 Oor thairms is streek wi' meat and wine, 
 
 We fend alang for a' that !
 
 24 
 
 For a' that, and a' that, 
 Dyspepsia, and a' that : 
 
 A baggie fu's a baggie fu' 
 Let's pang 'emfu' for a' that ! 
 
 Ye see yon birkie wi' a hoe, 
 
 Wha earns his bread, and a' that, 
 He's hale, ye'll note, frae tap tae toe 
 
 An's but a coof for a' that. 
 For a' that, and a' that, 
 
 His 'appetite' and a' that, 
 The man o 1 independent means 
 
 He looks and laughs at a' that. 
 
 The poor hae mony preevileges, 
 
 Which they may keep, for a' that ; 
 They dinna ken what trouble is, 
 
 WV11 no repine for a' that : 
 For a' that, and a' that, 
 
 Their blissfu' state, and a' that, 
 The chiel wi' siller i' his pooch 
 
 Aye gets the pu' for a' that. 
 
 Then let us pray that come it may 
 It winna come for a' that 
 
 That on this earth, a' men be worth 
 Ten thoosand pund, and a! that :
 
 25 
 
 For a' that, and a' that, 
 
 'Twould mak a change would a' that, 
 And man to man, the warld o'er 
 
 Might brithers be, wi' a' that f
 
 26 
 
 ADVICE. 
 
 TIP no more deft phrase with rhyme, 
 
 Fashion no further rhapsodies, 
 Fit your thought to the flat of the time, 
 
 And try to be opulent and wise. 
 
 How should a man with eyes and fists 
 
 And brains to order and shape his strength, 
 
 Fool with the accidental twists 
 
 Of silver and gold in life's cable length ; 
 
 To please mayhap a schoolgirl or two, 
 Or furnish a critic with pegs for scorn, 
 
 Half a column of smart Yahoo 
 
 Seasoned with gall from a cockney horn. 
 
 Wherefore, my boy, sing not at all, 
 Let no note of your music drop; 
 
 Wool up your ears to the Muse's call 
 With briskness say, in a grocer's shop ; 
 
 Where you might compass bullion, 
 
 Aided perchance by a thrifty mate; 
 And, if you are lucky, who knows but your 
 
 son 
 
 May hornpipe the pinnacles kept for the 
 great ?
 
 TO THE MINOR MUSE. 
 
 OUT of the light of the age, 
 An age of superior things, 
 I call unabashed unto thee 
 O little Muse of the valley. 
 
 Scorn for the simple pipe, 
 
 The trivial trite tune 
 
 That a man may make in his youth, 
 
 Is the fashion with all the world ; 
 
 A fashion dear to the cheap 
 Young supercilious scribe, 
 Also, to wits and wags 
 And every honest fool. 
 
 So that thy numerous sons, 
 Sired by the windy Spring, 
 Bristle, or blush, or blench 
 At a hint of their parentage. 
 
 But little Muse of mine, 
 
 They err who have shame in thee, 
 
 And grievously do they err 
 
 Who bandy thy name when they scoff.
 
 28 
 
 For comely art thou, and wise, 
 And affluent of heart, 
 White are thy feet by the brooks, 
 And pleasant thy voice in the vines. 
 
 Thy Sister, the beautiful-brow'd, 
 Calm friend of them that endure, 
 Loveth thee from her heights, 
 And wherefore not we, who are naught ?
 
 TO ERMYNTRUDE 
 
 MADAME or Mademoiselle, as the case may be, 
 Behold this chaplet 
 Delectable, fragrant, mainly of roses 
 Lo, 'tis for your incomparable brows! 
 
 Madame or Mademoiselle, 
 
 Your charming ' at homes ' 
 
 Provide us with matter for many triolets, 
 
 Your wit is like an ever-living fountain, 
 
 The sparkle whereof makes one positively 
 
 wink; 
 
 Your person, 
 
 From the sunshine that crowns it 
 Down to the ambrosial clock'd stockings 
 And microcosmic shoon that round it off, so 
 
 to speak, 
 
 Your person merits the Apple, 
 And Paris himself would have said so 
 Had he had the felicity to know you. 
 
 Consequently, Madame or Mademoiselle, 
 When next your lord or your love 
 Goeth forth to his labour, 
 I pray you hint to him
 
 30 
 
 Of this mine offering, 
 
 For, if you do so, 
 
 He may be moved to thankfulness, 
 
 And by way of a quid pro quo, 
 
 Inform the gaping rabblement 
 
 (From the vantage-ground of half-a-dozen 
 high-class prints) 
 
 That I too have managed to jam my knees 
 
 Under the Olympian mahogany ; 
 
 That I too am an improvement on Words- 
 worth, 
 
 Coleridge without chaos, 
 
 Keats uncockneyfied, 
 
 Shelley effectualised, 
 
 Browning made obvious, 
 
 The inheritor of the excellent habiliments of 
 Tennyson, 
 
 And a full-blown British poet !
 
 ODE 
 
 ON THE DEATH OF THE 'SUNDAY 
 DAILY TELEGRAPH.' 
 
 (After Collins^ 
 
 How sleeps the sheet that sinks to rest 
 In innocent babyhood supprest 
 Without a word, without a hint, 
 Excepting these two lines of print : 
 ' Our paper, published heretofore, 
 Will not be published any more.' 
 
 By bishops' hands its knell is rung, 
 
 By Hugh Price Hughes its dirge is sung, 
 
 There Harmsworth comes, a pilgrim gray, 
 
 To wipe th' unbidden tear away, 
 
 And Rosebery shall oft repair 
 
 TO do some private smiling there.
 
 By the same Author. 
 
 LITERARY PARABLES. 
 
 Medium i6mo. gilt top, 2s. 6d. net. 
 (London : At the Sign of The Unicorn.) 
 
 OPINIONS OF THE PRESS. 
 
 ACADEMY. 'Really excellent work in a medium of which 
 very few writers have the secret. . . . Mr. Crosland can 
 turn a phrase with the best ; moreover, his phrases are the 
 phrases of a humorist, sardonic, clear-headed, and very clear- 
 sighted.' 
 
 OUTLOOK. 'Should find favour with all book-men." 
 
 SUN. ' Has the effect of sips of clear water after the 
 many rancid pools and babbling shallows of ' ' seasonal " 
 book- work. Too little of such work is done in England." 
 
 STAR. ' A witty book, and wicked withal.' 
 
 SCOTSMAN. 'Crisp, epigrammatic. . . . Cannot but be 
 read with interest." 
 
 BIRMINGHAM DAILY POST. ' Subtle phrases, sarcastic 
 humour, penetrating irony. ... A brilliant volume." 
 
 LEEDS MERCURY. ' A wealth of meaning. . . . The 
 reader has something he can linger over.' 
 
 MERCURE DE FRANCE. 'Ces paraboles litteraires sont 
 des epigrammes courtes et spirituelles, des allegories mali- 
 cieuses, des fragments de dialogue dont la conclusion absente 
 est evidente d'elle-meme ; parfois aussi les paraboles, sont 
 de simples mots pour rire, des mots de la fin. Mais elle 
 sont enfermees en un si bel ecrin que leur saveur s'en trouve 
 augmentee." 
 
 London: Printed & SCTUNOIWATS ft Soi, 
 Cambridge Cireui, W.C.
 
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