The Project Gutenberg eBook of Verse and Worse, by Harry Graham.

The train came early in to-night,
The sullen guard was soon awake,
And threw my luggage down, for spite,
To where the platform seemed a lake;
And did his best my box to break.
When sidled up a porter; straight,
He mopped the platform with a broom,
And, kneeling, made the well-filled grate
Blaze up within the waiting-room,
And so dispelled the usual gloom.
Which done, he came and took his seat
Beside me, doffed his coat, untied
His bootlaces, and let his feet
Peep coyly out on either side;
Then called me. When no voice replied,
He rolled his shirt-sleeve up, and rose,
And laid his brawny biceps bare,
And, where my eyebrows meet my nose,
He slowly shook his fist, just there,
And seized me by my yellow hair.
Then roughly asked me, had I got
A head as empty as a bubble?
Bidding me sternly, did I not
Desire henceforth to see things double,
To give him something for his trouble.
Nor could my arguments prevail;
Entreaties, threats were all in vain!
Returned he to the twice-told tale
Of how, from out the midnight train,
He bore my luggage through the rain.
I fixed him with my cold grey eye,
But all in vain; at last I knew
That porter hated me; (though why
I cannot understand, can you?)
And what on earth was I to do!
Next moment, though I still perspire
To think of it, I quickly found
A thing to do; and on the fire
I pushed him backwards with a bound,
And piled the coal up all around.
Cremated him. No pain he felt.
As a shut coop that holds a hen,
I oped the register and smelt
An odour as of burnt quill-pen.
My laughter bubbled over then.
I seized him lightly, with the tongs
About his waist; and through the door
I bore him, burning with my wrongs,
And laid him on the line. What's more,
The down express was due at four.

. . . . .

The mark is on the metals still,
A gruesome stain, I must confess,
And, when I pass, it makes me ill
To note the somewhat painful mess
Concocted by the down express.
Portknockie's porter; so he died.
The date of inquest is deferred.
'Tis thought a case of suicide;
And he who might have seen or heard,—
The guard,—has never said a word.

THE BALLAD OF THE LITTLE JINGLANDER

North and South and East and West, the message travels fast!
East and West and North and South, the bugles blare and blast!
North and West and East and South, the battle-cry grows plain!
West and South and North and East, it echoes back again!

For the East is calling Westwards, and the North is speaking South,
There's a threat on ev'ry curling lip, an oath in ev'ry mouth;
'Tis the shadow of an Empire o'er the Universe that falls,
And the winds of Heaven wonder when the Mother-country calls!

Now the call is carried coastwise, from Calay to Bungapore,
From the sunny South Pacific to the North Atlantic shore;
Gathers volume in its footsteps and grows grander as it goes,
From Jeboom to Pongawongo, where the Rumtumpootra flows.
The 'native-born' he sits alert beneath a deodar,
He sharpens up his 'cummerbund' and loads his 'khitmagar,'

His 'ekkah' stands untasted, as he girds upon his brow
The 'syce' his father gave him, saying 'unkah punkah jow!'

Come forth, you babu jemadar,
No lackh of pice we bring,
Bid the ferash comb your moustashe,
And join the great White King!

And Westward, where 'Our Lady of the Sunshine' (not 'the Snows')
Delights to herd the caribou, and where the chipmunk grows,
The 'habitant' he sits amid a grove of maple trees,
He decorates his shanty and he polishes his 'skis.'
And see! Through ranch or lumber-camp, where'er the news shall go,
The daughters cease to gather fruit, the sons to shovel snow!

They love the dear old Mother-land that they have never seen,
The Empire that they advertise as 'vaster than has been'!

Come forth, you mild militiaman,
To conquer or to fail,
Who is it helps the Lion's whelps
Untwist the Lion's tail?

The pride of race, the pride of place, and bond of blood they feel,
The Indies indicate it and New Zealand shows new zeal.
The daughters in their Mother's house are mistress in their own;
They are her heirs, her flesh is theirs, and they would share her bone!
Lo! Greater Britain stretches out her hands across the sea;
Australia forgets her impecuniositee;
On Afric's shore the wily Boer is ready now to fight,
For the Khaki and the rooinek, for the Empire and the Right!

Come forth, you valiant volunteer,
Come forth to do or die,
You give a hand to Mother, and
She'll help you by and by!

Upon her score of distant shores the sun is always bright;
(And always in her empire, too, it must somewhere be night!)
Her birthplace is the Ocean, where her pennon braves the breeze;
Her motto, 'What is ours we'll hold (and what is not we'll seize!)'
Her rule is strong, her purse is long, her sons are stern and true,
With iron hands she holds her lands (and other people's too).
She sees her chance and cries 'Advance,' while others stand and gape,
Her oxengoads shall claim the roads from Cairo to the Cape.

Come out, you big black Fuzzy-Wuz,
You've got to take your share;
We'll make you sweat till you forget
You broke a British Square!

North and South and East and West, the message travels fast!
East and West and North and South, the bugles blare and blast!
Hear we but a whisper that the foe is at the walls,
And, by Gad, we'll show them something when the Mother Country calls!

AFTWORD

'Tis done! We reach the final page
With feelings of relief, I'm certain;
And there arrives, at such a stage,
The moment to ring down the Curtain.
(This metaphor is freely taken
From Shakespeare,—or perhaps from Bacon.)

The Book perused, our Future brings
A plethora of blank to-morrows,
When memories of Happier Things
Will be our Sorrow's Crown of Sorrows.
(I trust you recognise this line
As being Tennyson's, not mine.)

My verses may indeed be few,
But are they not, to quote the poet,
'The sweetest things that ever grew
Beside a human door'? I know it!
(What an inhuman door would be,
Enquire of Wordsworth, please, not me.)

'Twas one of my most cherished dreams
To write a Moral Book some day;—
What says the Bard? 'The best laid schemes
Of Mice and Men gang aft agley!'
(The Bard here mentioned, by the bye,
Is Robbie Burns, of course,—not I.)

And tho' my pen records each thought
As swift as the phonetic Pitman,
Morality is not my 'forte,'
O Camarados! (vide Whitman).
And, like the Porcupine, I still
Am forced to ply a fretful quill.

We may be Masters of our Fate,
(As Henley was inspired to mention),
Yet am I but the Second Mate
Upon the s.s. 'Good Intention';
For me the course direct is lacking,—
I have to do a deal of tacking.

To seek for Morals here's a task
Of which you well may be despairing;
'What has become of them?' you ask.
They've given me the slip,—like Waring.
'Look East!' said Browning once, and I
Would make a similar reply.

Look East, where in a garret drear,
The Author works, without cessation,
Composing verses for a mere-
Ly nominal remuneration;
And, while he has the strength to write 'em,
Will do so still—ad infinitum!

ENVOI

Speed, flippant rhymes, throughout the land;
Disperse yourselves with patient zeal!
Go, perch upon the critic's hand,
Just after he has had a meal.
But should he still unfriendly be,
Unperch and hasten back to me.

. . . . .

O gentle maid, O happy boy,
This copy of my book is done;
But don't forget that I enjoy
A royalty on ev'ry one;
Just think how wealthy I should be,
If you would purchase two or three!

MORAL

No moral that I ever took
Seemed quite so evident before.
If purchasing an author's book
Will keep the wolf from his back-door,
It is our very obvious mission
To buy up the entire edition.

Printed by T. and A. Constable, Printers to His Majesty at the Edinburgh University Press

BY THE SAME AUTHOR.

Fiscal Ballads.

'The fiscal controversy has not been very fruitful in verse. So far as we are aware, only one balladist has found any genuine inspiration in it. That is Mr. Harry Graham, whose skill as a rhymer in other directions has already been abundantly proved. The ballads for the most part take a colloquial form, and while containing much humour, are full of sound doctrine.... Mr. Graham, it will be seen, has great facility in rhyme, and in all this rhyme there is reason. When the General Election comes this book should be a gold-mine for the political reciter.'—Westminster Gazette.

'A most amusing contribution to the literature of the fiscal controversy.'—Daily Telegraph.

'These ballads ... are very good. Indeed, we cannot remember any recent example of political truths expressed with such exactness as well as spirit in humorous verse. The fun is as good as the argument.... Of this admirable little book we will only say, in conclusion, that it will amuse and delight even those who had imagined that nothing more worth reading could possibly be printed on the fiscal question. We would strongly urge such persons to invest a shilling in "Fiscal Ballads," for we are confident they will not be disappointed. If the Free-Trade organisations are wise, they will seek leave to reprint selections from them in leaflets which can be circulated by the million.'—Spectator.

Ruthless Rhymes for Heartless Homes.

'It is impossible not to be amused by some of the "Ruthless Rhymes for Heartless Homes," by Colonel D. Streamer, nor can any one with a sense of humour fail to appreciate the many amusing points in the illustrations.'—Westminster.

'"Ruthless Rhymes for Heartless Homes" is the name of a really charming little book of rhymes. The words are by Col. D. Streamer, and the illustrations by "G. H.," and 'tis hard to say whether words or pictures are the cleverer.... The book is one which must, however, be seen to be appreciated; to properly describe it is impossible.'—Calcutta Englishman.

'Wise parents will, however, keep strictly to themselves "Ruthless Rhymes for Heartless Homes," by Col. D. Streamer. The illustrations by "G. H." are very amusing, and especially happy is that to "Equanimity," when

"Aunt Jane observed the second time
She tumbled off a 'bus,
The step is short from the sublime
To the ridiculous."'

'Another charming whimsicality published by Mr. Edward Arnold is "Ruthless Rhymes for Heartless Homes."'—Sydney Morning Herald.

'The veriest nonsense, possessing the quality that makes it akin to Carroll's work.'—New York Bookworm.

"Philip, foozling with his cleek,
Drove his ball through Helen's cheek.
Sad they bore her corpse away,
Seven up and six to play."'

Ballads of the Boer War.

'There is unquestionably a good deal of human nature in the book, and as an expression of sentiments which have remained hitherto inarticulate, as a revelation not always edifying, but often illuminating, of the heart of the man in the ranks, this little volume is a distinct addition to the literature of the war.'—Spectator.

'Racy expressions of Tommy Atkins' feelings in Tommy Atkins' language.... "Coldstreamer's" verses in their kind are as good as any we have seen.'—Academy.

'These colloquial rhymes express the private soldier's views in his own language.'—The Times.

'These racy ballads make a book which many will read with interest and sympathy.'—Scotsman.

'As good as anything yet done in the vernacular of Mr. Thomas Atkins. A book for every friend of the army.'—Outlook.

'One of the liveliest books of light verse we have come across for a long time.'—County Gentleman.

'Vigorous Kiplingesque verses, with sound common-sense and genuine feeling. Well worth reading and buying.'—To-Day.

Misrepresentative Men.

'One of the most amusing books of the year. Mr. Graham is a fluent and ingenious rhymester, with an alert mind and a well-controlled sense of humour.'—The Times (New York).

'"Misrepresentative Men" shows so high-spirited a mastery of words and metre (the result, we take it, of laborious days) that it will be read with pleasure by the most fastidious lover of what is amusing.'—The Nation (New York).

'Mr. Graham's verses are exceedingly clever, and Mr. Strothman's illustrations add to their cleverness.'—The Bookman (New York).

'A very amusing little book, by that cleverly humorous versifier "Col. D. Streamer," whose Ruthless Rhymes for Heartless Homes has had such a deserved vogue.'—Town Topics (New York).

'The most amusing biographical caricatures of celebrities that we have read for a long time. There is not a dull line in the entire collection.'—The Bookseller (New York).

'These satirical verses have the same ingenious humour as the writer's previous rhymes. The book is altogether refreshing.'—Town and Country (New York).

SELECTIONS FROM
MR. EDWARD ARNOLD'S LIST
OF NEW AND RECENT BOOKS.

THE LIFE AND TIMES OF THE
RIGHT HON. CECIL JOHN RHODES.

By the HON. SIR LEWIS MICHELL.

Illustrated. Two volumes, demy 8vo., 30s. net.

This important work will take rank as the authoritative biography of one of the greatest of modern Englishmen. Sir Lewis Michell, who has been engaged upon the work for five years, is an executor of Mr. Rhodes' will, and a trustee of the Rhodes Estate. He was an intimate personal friend of Mr. Rhodes for many years, and has had access to all the papers at Groote Schuur. Hitherto, although many partial appreciations of the great man have been published in the Press or in small volumes, no complete and well-informed life of him has appeared. The gap has now been filled by Sir Lewis Michell so thoroughly that we have in these two volumes what will undoubtedly be the final estimate of Mr. Rhodes' career for many years to come.

THE REMINISCENCES OF ADMIRAL MONTAGU.

The Author of this entertaining book, Admiral the Hon. Victor Montagu, has passed a long life divided between the amusements of aristocratic society in this country and the duties of naval service afloat in many parts of the world. His memory recalls many anecdotes of well-known men, and he was honoured with the personal friendship of the late King Edward VII. and of the German Emperor, by whom his seamanship, as well as his social qualities, were highly esteemed. As a sportsman he has something to say about shooting, fishing, hunting, and cricket, and his stories of life in the great country houses where he was a frequent guest have a flavour of their own.

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HOWARDS END.

By E. M. FORSTER,

Author of 'A Room with a View,' 'The Longest Journey,' etc.
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THE GRAY MAN.

The writer is one of the very few present-day novelists who have consistently followed up the aim they originally set themselves—that of striking a mean between the Realist and the Romanticist. In her latest novel, 'The Gray Man,' which Miss Wardle herself believes to contain the best work she has so far produced, it will be found that she has as successfully avoided the bald one-sidedness of miscalled 'Realism' on the one hand, as the sloppy sentimentality of the ordinary 'Romance' on the other. At the same time, 'The Gray Man' contains both realism and romance in full measure, in the truer sense of both words.

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THE DESERT VENTURE. 6s.

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IN A YORKSHIRE GARDEN.

MY ROCK-GARDEN.

ALPINES AND BOG-PLANTS.

A BOOK ABOUT ROSES.

By the late Very Rev. S. Reynolds Hole, Dean of Rochester.
Illustrated by G. H. Moon and G. S. Elgood, R.I.
Twenty-fourth Impression. Presentation Edition, with Coloured Plates, 6s. Popular Edition, 3s. 6d.

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BOOKS OF TRAVEL.

FOREST LIFE AND SPORT IN INDIA.

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Fully Illustrated. Demy 8vo. 12s. 6d. net.

The Author of this volume was appointed to the Indian Forest Service in days when the Indian Mutiny was fresh in the minds of his companions, and life in the department full of hardships, loneliness, and discomfort. These drawbacks, however, were largely compensated for by the splendid opportunities for sports of all kinds which almost every station in the Service offered, and it is in describing the pursuit of game that the most exciting episodes of the book are to be found. Tigers, spotted deer, wild buffaloes, mountain goats, sambhar, bears, and panthers, are the subject of endless yarns, in the relation of which innumerable useful hints, often the result of failure and even disasters, are given.

IN FORBIDDEN SEAS: Recollections of Sea-Otter Hunting in the Kurils.

The Author of this interesting book has had an experience probably unique in an almost unknown part of the world. The stormy wind-swept and fog-bound regions of the Kuril Islands, between Japan and Kamchatka, have rarely been visited save by the adventurous hunters of the sea-otter, and the animal is now becoming so scarce that the hazardous occupation of these bold voyagers is no longer profitable.

SPORT AND NATURE IN SPAIN.

By Abel Chapman and Walter J. Buck, British Vice-Consul at Jerez.
With 200 Illustrations by the Authors, E. Caldwell, and others, Sketch Maps, and Photographs.

In Europe Spain is certainly far and away the wildest of wild lands—due as much to her physical formation as to any historic or racial causes. Naturally the Spanish fauna remains one of the richest and most varied in Europe. It is of these wild regions and of their wild inhabitants that the authors write, backed by lifelong experience. The present work represents nearly forty years of constant study, of practical experience in field and forest, combined with systematic note-taking and analysis by men who are recognized as specialists in their selected pursuits. These comprise every branch of sport with rod, gun, and rifle; and, beyond all that, the ability to elaborate the results in the light of modern zoological science.

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The Himalaya is a world in itself, comprising many regions which differ widely from each other as regards their natural features, their fauna and flora, and the races and languages of their inhabitants. Major Bruce's relation to this world is absolutely unique—he has journeyed through it, now in one part, now in another, sometimes mountaineering, sometimes in pursuit of big game, sometimes in the performance of his professional duties, for more than twenty years; and now his acquaintance with it under all its diverse aspects, though naturally far from complete, is more varied and extensive than has ever been possessed by anyone else.

RECOLLECTIONS OF AN OLD MOUNTAINEER.

There are a few men in every generation, such as A. F. Mummery and L. Norman Neruda, who possess a natural genius for mountaineering. The ordinary lover of the mountains reads the story of their climbs with admiration and perhaps a tinge of envy, but with no thought of following in their footsteps—such feats are not for him. The great and special interest of Mr. Larden's book lies in the fact that he does not belong to this small and distinguished class. He tells us, and convinces us, that he began his Alpine career with no exceptional endowment of nerve or activity, and describes, fully and with supreme candour, how he made himself into what he very modestly calls a second-class climber—not 'a Grepon-crack man,' but one capable of securely and successfully leading a party of amateurs over such peaks as Mont Collon or the Combin.

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Transcriber's Notes

Pages 148 and 149: The words noted below are transliterations of the original Greek characters.

Then spoke a Greek, 'The Isles of Greece!
What can compare with those?
[Greek: Thalassa]! and [Greek: Eurêka]!
[Greek: Rhododaktylos êôs]!'

'But the country of my childhood
Is the best that man may know,
Oh [Greek: didêmi] also [Greek: phêmi],
[Greek: Zôê mou sas agapô]!'