Ex Libris C. K. OGDEN THE LIBRARY . OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES This Book is supplied by MESSRS. SMITH, Elder & Co. to Booksellers on terms which will not admit of their allowing a discount from the advertised price. Ex Libris C. K. OGDEN THE LIBRARY - OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA THE BRAIN OF THE NATION AND OTHER VERSES BY THE SAME AUTHOR THE HAWARDEN HORACE MORE HAWARDEN HORACE HUMOURS OF THE FRAY PARTY PORTRAITS p' THE BRAIN OF THE NATION AND OTHER VERSES BY CHARLES L. GRAVES LONDON SMITH, ELDER & CO., 15 WATERLOO PLACE 1912 [All rights reserved] TO THE EMPEROR" AND HIS AIDE-DE-CAMP NOTE Acknowledgments are due to the proprietors and editors of the Spectator, Punch, the Cornhill Magazine, and the Grabnell Magazine for leave to reprint pieces which have appeared in those periodicals. ' The De-National Anthem ' and ' The Anti-English English- man ' are reprinted from The Green above the Red and The Blarney Ballads respectively — two volumes of verse now out of print. I am indebted to A. P. G. for a revision of the former of these pieces, and to R. K. for suggesting improvements in the ' Breaking-Up Song.' C. L. G. March 19 12. CONTENTS RHYMES OF REVOLT THE BRAIN OF THE NATION THE DE-NATIONAL ANTHEM THE ABSENTEES . LINES ON A LOST LEADER HOLMES TRUTHS . THE RULE OF KING GOMBEEN THE ANTI-ENGLISH ENGLISHMAN THE PEACOCK . . . . PAGE 3 7 9 II 13 15 17 20 APPRECIATIONS SIR THEODORE MARTIN SAMUEL HENRY BUTCHER TO T. E. PAGE TO JOHN BUCHAN TO HANS RICHTER TO ALGERNON ASHTON, ESQ. TO THE RUSSIAN DANCERS GOOD NIGHT TO THE MAGPIES 25 37 38 31 35 39 42 45 viii THE BRAIN OF THE NATION HOLIDAY RHYMES PACE NORFOLK 51 NAIRNSHIRE IN JULY 53 NEW FRUITS FOR OLD 56 A DOG-IN-THE-MANGER'S DITTY .... 59 COUNTRY V. CLUB 62 A WANDERER IN WALES 65 TO MARS IN OPPOSITION 68 BREAKING-UP SONG 72 STUDIES IN DISCIPLESHIP LYRA INEPTIARUM LINES TO MR. SHOLES . STUDY FOR A POPULAR BALLAD THE GALWAY MARE . DACTYLOMANIA .... TO FREEDOM .... 77 83 86 88 90 93 VARIA MfeLODIE DE SifeCLE NORFOLK : ANOTHER VIEW OUR DEBT TO MR. DOTT A CORONATION NIGHTMARE JOURNALISTIC DETACHMENT PENNY FARES TO PARNASSUS THE JAMMIAD 99 102 104 107 109 no 114 RHYMES OF REVOLT THE BRAIN OF THE NATION [The qualifications of Mr. Pease for his new post as President of the Board of Education are thus summarised in the pages of Who's Who : ' Recreations : member of Cambridge University Football Team, 1878 ; member of Cambridge University Polo Team, 1880-81 ; master of Cambridge University Drag Hounds, 1880-81 ; master of own pack of Beagles, 1881-86 ; member of Lord Zetland's and Cleveland Hounds ; captain of Durham County Cricket Club, 1884-90 ; member of M.C.C. ; New Zealand, Princes, Mitcham, Sandwich, Seaton, and Darlington Golf Clubs ; cycling, fishing, shooting, &c. . . . Clubs : Brooks's, Turf, City Liberal, National Liberal.'] Good Mister Pease, whom Asquith, in lightheartedness of soul, The Board of Education has selected to control. Pray let a total stranger express his mild surprise That your well-deserved appointment should awaken hostile cries. That you're not a Senior Wrangler is indisputably true, But at Cambridge, thirty years ago, you won a Foot- ball Blue; And, judging by the practice which has now become a rule, You might have been an usher at a fashionable school. B 2 4 THE BRAIN OF THE NATION Unversed in the laborious works of Freeman or of Stubbs, You are at least a member of a dozen sporting clubs ; Your cricket still is passable ; you motor and you hunt ; And are quite as good as Runciman in managing a punt. You haven't wasted precious hours perusing pond'rous tomes ; You haven't studied Froebel or the works of Mr. Holmes ; In short, the tablets of your mind resemble, up to date — Where education is concerned — a brand-new virgin slate. Though yovir name is not in any of the Cambridge Tripos lists, You have kept a pack of beagles and are supple in the wrists ; Your handicap at golf is low : it isn't scratch, I grant ; But you play a great deal better than Asquith or Morant. Besides, you've been a Party Whip, and whipping's at the base — Despite humanitarians — of the schooling of the race ; And there's something rather spirited, romantic and sublime In a member of the Turf Club who's a Quaker all the time. THE BRAIN OF THE NATION 5 A modern Departmental Chief should own a rhino's skin Or else his equanimity will speedily wear thin ; But the following reflections may serve to mitigate The annoyance certain comments may have given you of late. No matter how profoundly from your staff you disagree, No matter how acutely you offend the N.U.T., This single consolation no disaster can efface — You'll never disimprove upon the chief whom you replace. And why complain of you alone, when England's vital force Her Fleet, is at the mercy of a subaltern of horse ^ When the national finances are entrusted to the care Of a statesman who resembles an hysterical March hare ? Now looking at the Nations on the edge of the Abyss, If we are sure of anything, at least we're sure of this : That after Armageddon, if a single State remains Unshattered, it will be a State pre-eminent in brains. 6 THE BRAIN OF THE NATION So at this all-decisive stage of England's long career O let us thank our lucky stars and suitably revere, As moulder of the Nation's mind, as Dominie supreme, A man who gained his colours for the Cambridge Polo team ! THE DE-NATIONAL ANTHEM God save our gracious Green, Long live our College Green, Gallant and free ! Scatter the Saxon crew, Strike the Red, White, and Blue, Roderick Vich Alpine Dhu, Cushla machree ! God save the septs and clans. Bless all the Micks and Dans, Bless all the Pats ! Heaven guard the gallant Manx, Heaven bless their herring-banks, Strengthen their triple shanks, Prosper their cats ! 8 THE BRAIN OF THE NATION Oh ! may heaven's choicest smiles Comfort the Channel Isles, And make them French ! God save good Patrick Ford, Hamstring the Orange horde, Handcuff each Tory Lord, Throttle the Bench ! God save the Socialist, Up with the Anarchist, Down with the Guelph ; Discrown the Ocean's Queen, Shatter the whole machine. Bless every smithereen, — Chiefly Myself. THE ABSENTEES An Echo of the Irish Railway Strike. [While Lord Aberdeen and Mr. Birrell were acting on the principle that ' Ireland is a grand country to live out of,' Mr. Jim Laxkin, the proUge of the Castle officials, did not apparently allow the sacred rights of illegality and disorder to suffer from undue discouragement.] B. Far from the Castle and the stream, Whose odours hem the Phcenix Park in, Say, Aberdeen, what fitter theme Could we discuss than Jimmy Larkin ? J. Agreed, dear Birrell, for I find That care has lost the power of carkin' Since I resolved to leave behind As acting-Viceroy, Jimmy Larkin. B. Why should I sacrifice my ease And slave at dull laborious clerkin' (I, too, can clip my final g's). When I can count on Jimmy Larkin ? lo THE BRAIN OF THE NATION A. Old Herod's was an iron rule — He made a hobby of tetrarchin' — But Herod was a perfect fool Compared to Mr. Jimmy Larkin. B. If Dublin's babies cry for bread, Let Yorkshire send them lots of parkin, And Banbury its cakes, instead ; But do not bother Jimmy Larkin. A. I think as little of my foes As of a plug that fails in sparkin' ; Lapped in majestical repose I leave it all to Jimmy Larkin. B. Superb was Nelson at the Nile, Superb was the notorious Tarquin (The rhyme, I own, is simply vile). But more superb is Jimmy Larkin. A. Me Scotland draws with ancient ties, I claim, you know, with Lochinvar kin. B. Me Wales enchants with brassy lies — Both. Ireland we leave to Jimmy Larkin. October ii, 1911. II LINES ON A LOST LEADER By the Ghost of Goldsmith * Here lies our good leader, whose charm was so great, He could pacify ' Tim ' in an Irish debate ; Who, born to resolve metaphysical kinks, To his Party gave up what he spared from the links, Once ironical Fate caused the stupider side To acknowledge a brain as its ruler and guide. With a mind like a rapier, whose delicate thrustings Were wholly unfit for the platform or hustings. And, applied to the treatment of things in the rough, Resembled a razor dissecting plum-duff ; Unaggressive in mien, yet the dourest of all When he found himself set with his back to the wall ; Unmoved by abuse, in adversity steady, Unprepared as a speaker, yet never unready ; The bitterest foes who his actions maligned Never dared to assert he had axes to grind. * The glaring inferiority of these lines to Goldsmith's well-known epitaphs in his Retaliation is, to judge by recent psychical communi- cations in verse, a strong proof of their genuineness. 12 THE BRAIN OF THE NATION Too remote from the mind of the man in the street With our latter-day orator Puffs to compete ; Too richly endowed to excel in one field, His lack of illusions he never concealed, And while readily owning the paramount claims Of politics viewed as the greatest of games, With infinite zest he would take himself off At the call of philosophy, music, or golf. So when at the last he determined to go, Though the House was fulfilled with unanimous woe, It was hard to decide who more deeply bewailed him, The foes who admired or the friends who had failed him. 13 HOLMES TRUTHS It was a little Circular (Marked ' Confidential ' too) Containing information Painful, perhaps, but true. But some one treacherously let The cat out of the bag, Which caused of late at Question time A most unholy ' rag.' It was a little Minister Whose speech was one long cry : ' Please, Sir, I never did it ; Please, Sir, it wasn't I. Please, Sir, it was another boy Who ought to bear the blame. But he's no longer with us — Holmes, please, Sir, is his name.' 14 THE BRAIN OF THE NATION It was the democratic press That, in the following days, Bedaubed the little Minister With its most fulsome praise, For nobly disavowing The obscurantist creed Embodied in the contents Of this pernicious screed. It was, if I may put it In language bald and brief. The story of an honest man Imperilled by a thief. And thrown instanter to the wolves By a disloyal chief, In whom extremists still profess Their unimpaired belief. Jiine igii. 15 THE RULE OF KING GOMBEEN [The function of ' gombeen-man ' — Anglice money-lender — is com- monly exercised over a great part of Ireland by the village grocers and keepers of spirit stores. At the present moment the splendid work done by Sir Horace Plunkett and other leaders of the co- operation movement in Irish agriculture, is being thwarted and imperilled by the virulent hostOity of Mr. T. W. Russell, M.P., the head of the Irish Board of Agriculture, an ex-Unionist,' whose desertion has been rewarded by office, and who, though a life-long advocate of temperance, has sided with the traders and the gombeen- men against the farmers and co-operators.] Devlin dear, an' did ye hear the news that's goin' round ? The farmers are resolved to bring the Party to the ground. They're burstin' up intirely the Nationalist machine, For there's a cruel plot agin' the rule of King Gombeen. 1 met with Johnny Dillon — faix ! he wasn't lookin' grand — And says he, ' How's poor ould Russell, an' how does he stand ? ' I He's the quarest of teetotallers that iver yet was seen, For he's fightin' like a Trojan in defence of the shebeen ! i6 THE BRAIN OF THE NATION I'm sick of Horace Plunkett and of hearin' what he's done To win for poor ould Ireland a good place in the sun. Him a credit to the country ? What the blazes do they mean ? Why, the credit of the country is nothin' but Gombeen ! Oh if the struggling grocers are defrauded of their due, Let it remind them of the way King John oppressed the Jew ! So let us hope the Holy Pope will issue a decree To fix five shillings as the price for iv'ry pound of tea. Whin laws can stop the Guinnesses from brewin' anny stout, An' whin the Fates make Willie Yeats a Unionist Boy Scout, Then I'll desert the Shylocks that keep the country lean. But till that day I'll bolster up the rule of King Gombeen. 17 THE ANTI-ENGLISH ENGLISHMAN ' From Polar seas to torrid climes, Where'er the trace of man is found, What common feeling marks our kind. And sanctifies each spot of ground ? What virtue in the human heart The proudest tribute can command ? The dearest, purest, hoHest, best, The lasting love of Fatherland.' * Then who is he who would deface The scutcheon of his country's fame ? Who calls each conquest a disgrace, Each victory the veriest shame ? One wretch alone on earth you'll meet, Though all the universe you scan, So steeped in treason and deceit. The Anti-English Englishman. * From Harkan's Anli- Irish Irishman. i8 THE BRAIN OF THE NATION Where'er he goes he subtly sows The dragon-teeth of civil strife ; Each hidden smart with deadly art He probes anew to festering life. Were England stripped of power, and laid Beneath a universal ban, He'd meet the prospect undismayed, The Anti-English Englishman. Where treason teems and hate is hot, He finds his true, his native soil, And keeps the rank Rebellion-pot For ever on the over-boil. What, with our deadliest foeman close. And charge triumphant in our van ? He'd rather fly with England's foes, — The Anti-English Englishman. 'Tis his unnatural task to breach His country's walls and lay them low, And then in rounded phrase to preach Submission to a savage foe. Majuba's height was his delight, That peace-at-all-price partisan ; He'd have us yield in every field, The Anti-English Englishman. THE ANTI-ENGLISH ENGLISHMAN 19 The anarchist from o'er the wave Steered his fell bark to Erin's beach, And, leagued with every native knave, Preyed on her life-blood like a leech. Who clasped that parricidal hand ? Who all the recreant crew outran ? The blackest of that baneful band, — The Anti-English Englishman. Yet, Erin, hope ! Thy tyrant's reign Is reeling at the righteous blast, The monstrous shadows flee amain, The judgment day is dawning fast. Oh ! then shall Heav'n's high wrath consume With all his misbegotten clan, O'erwhelmed in dark untimely doom. The Anti-English Englishman. c 2 i 20 THE BRAIN OF THE NATION THE PEACOCK A Journalistic Apologue. The peacock is a gorgeous fowl, Far more resplendent than the owl, Who, gazing on the peacock's tail. With envy suddenly turns pale. I also, when I see him stalk Along some stately terrace walk, Admire his iridescent hue And share the owlish point of view. His radiant plumes my eyes rejoice, But, if he should uplift his voice. Scared by his vile falsetto squeals, I take instanter to my heels. Now there are human peacocks too, A highly decorative crew. Distinguished by their ' mighty pens ' From common barndoor cocks and hens. THE PEACOCK 21 And when the human peacock's shriek Is only heard but once a week The six days' rest that comes between Restores us to a mood serene. But, when the bird elects to preach In his inflammatory screech Not merely on one day but seven, It makes a Hades of a Heaven. His predecessors plied the pen Of gentlemen for gentlemen ; Now other times bring other ways, And peacocks pontify to jays. APPRECIATIONS 25 SIR THEODORE MARTIN 1816-1909 Let the theme of loyal service other pens engage ; Let them praise the friend of Rulers, counsellor firm and sage, Laud the art wherewith you echoed in our English tongue Golden voices from the ages when the world was young ; Be it ours in grateful homage to recall the lays Chanted by the good Bon Gaultier in his salad days. Sixty years have passed since Aytoun joined your gay crusade — Dicky Doyle and Leech and Crowquill lending you their aid — Sixty years have passed since Fhairshon swore his famous feud, Since the flight of Gomersalez wondrously pursued ; Yet although our lives be moulded by a different rule, Still the cap you deftly fashioned fits the modern fool. 26 THE BRAIN OF THE NATION Comrade of our ' roaring 'forties,' in your pages still From the midmost fount of laughter may we drink our fill- Watch you, Rabelais' disciple, sunshine in your eyes. Shooting with an aim unerring folly as it flies. Punch, ' iqoq. ^^ SAMUEL HENRY BUTCHER Born, 1850. Died, December 29, 1910. Dowered with the glamour of his native isle That fired his tongue and lit his ardent gaze, That lent enchantment to his radiant smile, And grace to all his ways; He spread the light of Hellas, holding high The torch of learning with a front serene, A living witness of the powers that lie Within the golden mean. And whether in the groves of Academe, Or where contending factions strive and strain In the mid-current of life's turbid stream. His honour knew no stain. Heedless of self, he played a knightly part. Bowing to none but Duty's stern decrees. ISlil peccavisH unqiiam, noble heart. Nisi quod mortuus es. 28 THE BRAIN OF THE NATION TO T. E. PAGE Lines written for a gathering of his friends. Dear Page, you see us gathered here, In friendly but informal session, To mark the closing of the year That severs you from your profession ; Some who can only claim at best The tie of friendship as late comers, And some whose love has stood the test Of more than five-and-thirty summers. The pedagogue too often plays The humble role of gerund-grinder ; Of that great calling's nobler traits We hail in you a live reminder ; Not seeking to constrain or cramp Your pupils with pedantic fetters, But Hghtening, with wisdom's lamp. Their outlook upon life and letters. TO T. E. PAGE 29 You first unlocked the golden spell, For many a philistine Carthusian, That lives within the Mantuan shell, Or lurks within the fount Bandusian. With you they shared the hopes and fears Of the ' divine long-suff'ring ' roamer : You opened first their alien ears To organ-voiced, great-hearted Homer. We elders too, whose classics grow More rusty as our heads grow hoary, Still feel the ancient fervour glow When you recall their morning glory. Once more the Theban train sweeps by ; Once more the Siren voices lull us ; Once more we hearken to the cry Wrung from the heart-strings of Catullus. You have not swum into the ken Of those who run the picture papers. And form their estimates of men Less on their merits than their capers. What should they know of such as you, A class now daily growing fewer, Who do their duty and eschew All traffic with the interviewer ? 30 THE BRAIN OF THE NATION Too simple to assume a pose, Too fine a critic to be precious, With lucid, unaffected prose You intermittently refresh us : For there are editors who, vext By literary affectation, Find in your articles a text Incapable of emendation. Whatever things are void of stain. Whatever things are true and tender, Have ever found in you a sane, A staunch, a chivalrous defender. Stern in rebuke when party spite Outruns the dictates of decorum. And when presumptuous fools show fight A very malleus stultorum. Though you are freed from school routine— lam rude merito donatus — /\nd must in many a well-known scene Create a much-deplored hiatus, Yet shall you in retirement find The prelude to same high endeavour, And reap the harvest of a mind That sought the best and sought it ever. November 36, 1910. 31 TO JOHN BUCHAN John, you awe-inspiring wizard, Whose indomitable quill Stirs me to the very gizzard With sheer envy of its skill — Bear with me, although I bore you, While my thoughts at random flow Backward to the days before you Joined our Fathers of the Row. Fresh from Oxford, like an eagle You came soaring up to town, And amid the highest legal Luminaries settled down. Africa then laid her fetters On you for tAvo crowded years, Till the love of life and letters Drew you home to join your peers. 32 THE BRAIN OF THE NATION Ev'ry Tuesday morn, careering Up the stairs with flying feet, You would burst upon us, cheering Welhngton's funereal street, Fresh as paint, though you'd been ' railing Up from Scotland all the night. Or had just returned from scaling Some appaUing Dolomite. Did we want a sprightly middle On the humour of the Kirk ? Or a reading of the riddle Set in Bergson's latest work ? Did we want to show that Paley's Views were based on iravTa pel ? Or to prove that capercaillies Nested in the Isle of Skye ? All the needful information You had got from A to Z, With a wealth of apt quotation Under each and ev'ry head ; Whether lifted from Longinus, Or from Khammurabi's Code, Or Matt Arnold's Mvcerinus, Or an Epinikian Ode. TO JOHN BUCHAN 33 Pundit, publicist and jurist ; Statistician and divine ; Mystic, mountaineer and purist In the high financial line ; Prince of journalistic sprinters — Swiftest that I ever knew — Never did you keep the printers Longer than an hour or two. Then, too, when the final stages Of our weekly task drew nigh, You would come and pass the pages With a magisterial eye : Seldom pausing, save to smoke a Cigarette at half-past one, When you quaffed a cup of Mocha And devoured a penny bun. Yet these labours multifarious. Calling for the strength of ten. Only proved, though vast and various, Mere parerga for your pen, Leaving you abundant leisure To portray the eerie Celt, Or to win romantic treasure From the magic of the veld. o 34 THE BRAIN OF THE NATION But to higher posts and greater You were destined to succeed, And you quitted us to cater For the Million's mental need ; Culture in a stream unending From your portals pouring forth And a richer lustre lending To the ' Nelsons and the North.' Still I hope with kindly feeling You recall the days of yore, When I watched you gaily reehng Off your fohos by the score ; Self-effacing, self-suppressing When your elder took the reins. Though at half his age possessing Twice and more than twice his brains. 35 TO HANS RICHTER A Valedictory Ode in Rhymed Prose. RiCHTER ! for nearly five-and-thirty years A household word, a name to conjure with, Familiar in all music-lovers' ears As the all-British Smith, The hour at last has struck when we must part. Yet, ere you cross the Channel foam To your Viennese home Am Donaustrande, where of yore Mozart, Schubert and Beethoven, and later Brahms, Strove and endured and won immortal palms — Bear with a humble rhymer for a space, While he endeavours to rehearse, In unmelodious verse, The debt we owe you, last of the Olympian race. Majestically sane. You more than any other reconciled Our insular ears to Wagner's surging strain. Till those who held the Ring A quite unholy thing, Or Tristan furiously reviled, D2 36 THE BRAIN OF THE NATION And found it less harmonious than a blizzard, Owned at the last the magic of the wizard. And yet you never spurned The ancient ways, or turned From your allegiance to the mighty Nine, Beethoven's children, deathless and divine. Impartial worshipper of the new and old, Ranging from Bach to Strauss (Richard, the overbold. Who loves to make our blood, like his, run cold) You had the nojis To cater with an equally good will Alike for Brahmsian and for Wagnerite, And all conflicting factions to unite In common admiration of your skill. Beloved at once by amateurs and pro's — Like W.G., whom ev'rybody knows, The other Doctor famed for scores. Who, like you, used to count in threes and fours- You always kept your band In the capacious hollow of your hand. For who could challenge orders giv'n by one Who knew exactly all that could be done - By reed or strings or brass. And never let a blunder uncorrected pass ? TO HANS RICHTER 37 Conductors for the most part (so 'twas said About von Billow, but the saying fits No less your memory and your wits) Keep their heads always in the score : You, steeped in lyric and symphonic lore. Could keep the score entirely in your head. No more, alas ! at least in this our isle, Will rash trombonists, if they miss a cue, Be grievously cast down By the great Doctor's frown ; Or if they give it, prompt and clear and true, Be raised to rapture by the Doctor's smile. No more will our orchestral players find A long rehearsal's tedious grind Enlivened by the sudden lightning flash Of humorous rebuke, or feel the lash Of satire stinging in some mordant phrase, Or smite the stars uplifted by your frugal praise. And yet, while tempering your rule With seasonable mirth, you never played the fool. Mindful of dignity in ev'ry action — Unlike those virtuosi who on outre vesture Rely, or on extravagance of gesture. Or mainly on capillary attraction — 38 THE BRAIN OF THE NATION You let no affectation mar your mien Grand, leonine, serene ; But swayed your hearers by the triple dower Of sympathy, simplicity, and power. March i8, 1911. 39 TO ALGERNON ASHTON, ESQ. On Resuming his Quill. Algernon, whose long cessation From epistolary toil Sport for all the British nation Threatened utterly to spoil. Now with every nerve and sinew We unanimously bless Your decision to continue Writing letters to the Press. At the memorable tidings All the autumn landscape smiles Joy illumines Yorkshire's Ridings, Mirth convulses Scilly's Isles ; Cheerfulness returns to Woking, Gilding the sepulchral scene ; And a mood of gentle joking Shows itself at Kensal Green. 40 THE BRAIN OF THE NATION For they know their fame funereal Will its pride of place regain Buttressed by your magisterial, Massive, monumental brain. When you would not send them copy Editors grew pale and thin ; Now they emulate the poppy As your screeds come rolling in. Frowns desert the face of Buckle ^.s he wades through Howorth's reams ; Northcliffe condescends to chuckle, Burnham positively beams. As your praises forth are carolled. Ancient foes their strife forgo ; Hyndman eulogises Harold Cox, and Strachey, Captain Coe. Garvin fervently embraces Baron Courtney of Penwith, While John Redmond goes to races Arm-in-arm with F. E. Smith. TO ALGERNON ASHTON, ESQ. 41 Deans, too glad to be decorous, Fraternise with sandwichmen, As they chant in tones sonorous, ' Algernon's himself again ! ' November 8, 191 1. 42 THE BRAIN OF THE NATION TO THE RUSSIAN DANCERS Members of the Russian ballet, spring-heeled Jacks and spring-toed Jills, As I ponder on your prowess, so provocative of thrills, Admiration mixed with anguish my dyspeptic bosom fills. Nightly you have made us welcome to a wondrous colour feast Steeped in all the subtle magic of the immemorial East ; Primitive you are, but never vulgar in the very least. Every set and every section — priggish, human, dowdy, smart — Has succumbed to the seduction of your many-sided art : You have danced your way completely into England's solid heart. Hitherto the serious artist viewed the ballet with disdain As an operatic nuisance, neither relevant nor sane : But you never lend your talent to embellish the inane. TO THE RUSSIAN DANCERS 43 You have risen to your highest in the most exacting themes ; You have lent a Hving lustre to the charm of Schumann's dreams ; Thanks to you the glow of Chopin's fancy all the brighter gleams. All the stars, O Karsavina, danced deliriously in space At your natal hour and twinkled greetings to the human race On the advent of a mortal gifted with such elfin grace. Surely in your veins, Nijinsky, nothing but quicksilver flows, Indefatigable owner of the most fantastic toes — How I love your flying exit in The Spectre of the Rose ! Yet, O Muscovite magicians, reapers of a rich renown, Agile sons of the opossum, daughters of the thistledown, There's a melancholy aspect to your conquest of the town. You have heard your praises shouted till you cannot choose but blush ; Saponaceous scribes have hailed you with sophisticated gush; And the great arch-lubricator has beslavered you with slush. 44 THE BRAIN OF THE NATION With a quite unerring instinct for the things that do not count, They have dwelt upon your jewels, on your salaries' amount, Soiling with their sordid fingers beauty's very midmost fount. Minor bards (myself included) have bombarded you with rhymes ; Jokes about your names will figure in the London pantomimes ; Bernard Shaw will analyse you in the columns of the limes. Worst of all, 'tis lately rumoured that the maenads of Mayfair Are determined to establish Mordkin as their master there. Hoping in a dozen lessons with Pavlova to compare. Still, though sad infatuation you inspire in human geese, Level-headed normal persons — like the writer of this piece — May indulge in panegyric when your entertainments cease. 45 GOOD NIGHT TO THE MAGPIES Variations on a Theme by Praed. [Written for the farewell concert of the Magpie Madrigal Society, in June 191 1.] Good night to the Magpies ! Together No more shall we meet to rehearse ; We have come to the end of our tether, Anno Domini bids us disperse. As omens of joy and of sorrow We still shall be seen on the wing, But under the ensign of Commodore Benson No more shall we muster to sing. Good night to the Magpies ! — the meetings, Preceded by five o'clock tea, With amiable gossip and greetings, Informal and cheerful and free ; The organs that moved us to fury. By starting to play in the street. And the hats of the ladies we wished were at Hades, For blocking our view of the beat 46 THE BRAIN OF THE NATION Good night to the Magpies ! — the growlers, Who craved a more frivolous fare ; The erring soprani, whose ' howlers ' Aroused our conductor's despair ; The tenors, whose talent for sinking Stung his sensitive ear to the quick ; And the recreant basso, who failed in the Lasso To rivet his eye on the stick. Good night to the Magpies ! — the treasures Of choice madrigalian lore ; The primitive modes and the measures That Philistines voted a bore ; The words, so outlandish that Curtis Their sense couldn't always declare ; But we sang them, though frisky, and possibly riskv, Without ever turning a hair ! Good night to the Magpies ! — to Phyllis, And all of the pastoral train ; Diaphenia, fair Amaryllis, And the shepherds who brave their disdain. To ditties of amorous import. To elegies, sonnets, and psalms ; And, last, to the magic, now melting, now tragic, That bound us for ever to Brahms. GOOD NIGHT TO THE MAGPIES 47 Good night to the Magpies ! Valete ! It greatly enhances our grief, As each mag bids farewell to his matey, To part from our excellent Chief. How he bore with our faults and our follies, It fills me with perfect amaze ; Eternally youthful, and terribly truthful. And fearfully frugal of praise ! Good night to the magpies ! No longer This choir will be marshalled and led. Another and maybe a stronger Will rise and will reign in its stead. Will its ladies be proner to chatter ? Its basses sing better at sight ? Will its tenors sing flatter or sharper ? — no matter : Good night to the Magpies — good night ! HOLIDAY RHYMES SI NORFOLK A Study in County Characteristics. Norfolk, although no mountain ranges Girdle your plains with a bastioned height, Yet is your landscape rich in changes, Filling the eye with delight — Heathclad uplands and lonely dingles, Slow streams steahng through level meads, Flats where the marsh with the ocean mingles, Meres close guarded by sentinel reeds. Never a mile but some church-tower hoary Stands for a witness, massive and tall, How men furthered God's greater glory — Blakeney and Cley and Sail. Never a village but in its borders Signs of a stormy past remain. Walls that were manned by Saxon warders, Barrows that guard the bones of the Dane. £ 2 52 THE BRAIN OF THE NATION Deep in your heart Rome left her traces, Normans held your manors in fee, Italy lent you her Southern graces, Dutchmen bridled your sea. Flemings wove you their silks and woollens, Romany magic still to you clings, And the fairest daughter of all the Bullens Blent your blood with that of your Kings. Yours are the truest names in England — Overy Staithe and Icknield Way, Waveney River, Ringmere, and Ringland, Wymondham and Wormegay. Land of windmills and brown-winged wherries Gliding along with the gait of Queens ; Land of the Broads, the dykes, and the ferries, Land of the Sounds, the Brecks, the Denes. Gipsy lore, the heart of his stories, Borrow gleaned in his Norwich home. Broadland, aflame with sunset glories. Fired the vision of Crome. Tombland's echo throughout the pages Of Browne like a stately Requiem runs ; Nelson, ' a name to resound for ages,' Crowns the roll of your hero sons. 53 NAIRNSHIRE IN JULY Long ere to moor and river the lordly sportsman flies To regulate his liver with outdoor exercise, Unfashionably early from Euston forth I speed, And quit town's hurly-burly to wander North of Tweed. Not mine the joys of stalking the monarch of the glens, With much laborious walking over the Cairns and Bens ; Such sumptuous recreations are far beyond my means ; I spend my brief vacations mid less exalted scenes. Yet though bereft of treasures which wealth and speed bestow, We humble have our pleasures and do not deem them slow. We golf, we bathe, we ramble ; we turn our tint to bronze, And spread, with jam of bramble, innumerable scones. I cherish no ambition the countryside to scour With odorous expedition at sixty miles an hour : Mine is the scent of clover, the breath of new-mown hay, As on my trusty ' Rover ' I trundle down the brae. 54 THE BRAIN OF THE NATION Mine is the foxglove raising its white and purple spires, Mine is the broom all blazing with countless golden fires, Mine is the sunset glory that turns the Black Isle bright, And mine the mist-wreath hoary that veils it from our sight. Though sparing of Glenlivet and other kindred drinks, I carved the frequent divot, O Nairn, upon thy links. Till in a Scottish lassie, whose method of approach Reminded me of Massy, I found a model coach. O amiable Miss Elsie ! the mem'ry of your grace, Although I fly to Chelsea, time never shall efface. Your mien was fresh and vernal, your figure slim and svelte. And yet you hit your ' Colonel ' a most prodigious welt ! Nor should I fail to mention the charms of Dulsie Bridge, Where, braving the attention of the incisive midge, Nairn's eligible daughters repair for lunch or tea. And Findhorn's wooded waters wind darkling to the sea. And yet this noble nation, once feared of all its foes, Signs of degeneration occasionally shows ; For in the lonest shieling— O Scotland fair but false !— The very babes are squeahng the ' Merry Widow ' waltz. NAIRNSHIRE IN JULY 55 Where forth to war and pillage erstwhile the clansmen leaped, I visited a village Jemimaville ycleped ; And when a Cockney ' flapper ' donned recently a kilt, Though many longed to slap her, her blood remained unspilt. O Sandy, sadly erring from your ancestral ways, And foolishly preferring new-fangled alien lays. With unexpected meekness you greet each foreign fraud, And welcome, to your weakness, impostors from abroad. Alas ! with lightning fleetness my holiday slips past ; One never knows its sweetness until the very last ; This afternoon with sorrow I leave the North behind, And in the Strand to-morrow resume the usual grind. But when my body's pining 'neath London's smoky pall, Or when the sun is shining down like a brazen ball On flags that glow like lava, in spirit I'll return Across the moor by Dava or by the Muckle Burn. 56 THE BRAIN OF THE NATION NEW FRUITS FOR OLD [Mr. Boyle in the Cornhill expatiates on the delights of a number of unfamiliar fruits, including the tarippe, the cherimoya, the langsat, the rambi, the guango, the mandaroit, and the bododo.] O I am aweary of all the ancient fruits — The apple, the pear, yea, even the velvet peach, And when I behold them, any or all or each, My heart sinks down to the bottom of both my boots. The strawberry once I loved, but strawberries pall ; I love the nectarine still, but the only time When the taste of the nectarine touches a height sublime Is when you pluck it fresh from a sun-kissed wall. Time was when the orange attracted my callow lips, And the lemon blended with soda merited praise. But the glamour of both has waned in my latter days, For they break my heart with their everlasting pips. NEW FRUITS FOR OLD 57 No, the ancient fruits no more my allegiance claim. And I long for something that is not obsolete, * With a flavour of Will-o'-the-wisp,' yet not too sweet, And above all owning a weird, exotic name. Such qualities, I am sure, must be enshrined In the heart of the delicate, elegant tarippe. I can fancy its juices adown my gullet slip Like a river of liquid gold quadruply refined. And the name of the cherimoya my soul arrides, Recalling the whisper of muted .^olian strings, Or the melodies sung at the courts of elfin kings, Or the lapping at dusk of dim Lethean tides. Why should the langsat afar in a tropic land Waste all its sweetness on savages forlorn, While I with palate unsated in London mourn ? — This, this is a tiling no fellow can understand ! Could I but feast, in a humble catamaran, On the rambi, what measures divine would flow from my pen ! What deeds would I do, unknown to mortal ken, Inspired by the guango or even the jintawan ! S8 THE BRAIN OF THE NATION O why are our Bristol magnates grown so keen On shipping bananas alone to the Severn shore, When the throats of men like me are thirsting sore For the sweets of the mandaroit and the mangosteen ? O bring us the cool bododo, for which I pant, Give us the luing, and, ringed with an aureole, Your name shall blaze on Pomona's golden scroll As her truest and most devoted hierophant. July I, 1908. 59 A DOG-IN-THE-MANGER'S DITTY When I'm annually hunted Out of town by need of change, I'm consistently confronted By a problem passing strange. There are scores of charming places Where I'd gladly love to stay, But the folk who inundate them, Desecrate and permeate them, With their hats and boots and faces, Fill my heart with dire dismay. Thus, for instance, if to Cromer I repair, and on the shore. Like a civilised beach-comber Revel in the ocean's roar, Though the good Cromerians fire me With no hatred of my kind. Countless hordes from other regions, Liverpudlians and Glaswegians, Irresistibly inspire me With a fury black and blind. 6o THE BRAIN OF THE NATION Or, again, if I and Lucy — Lucy is my second wife — Take our tickets for Kingussie, Or frequent the hills of Fife, Though the Scottish folk delight me With their scones and baps and brose, Cockneys all around us clamber (Like so many flies in amber), Knickerbockered trippers blight me With their highly coloured hose. Cambria's charms anon allure me, But, no matter where I hie, No precautions can secure me Uninvaded privacy. Though I stretch myself sub Jove On Llyn Cwellyn's gloomy shores. Swarms from Bootle and from Bowdon Occupy the heights of Snowdon, Taint the air of Aberdovey, Picnic on the Fachs and Fawrs, Yesteryear my way I wended, Via Fishguard and Rosslare. Bent, in isolation splendid, On inhahng Erin's air. A DOG-IN-THE-MANGER'S DITTY 6i But, alas ! I found at Blarney AU the trippers that I loathe, And they made fair Rosapenna Quite a miniature Gehenna, And they Cockneyfied Killarney, Vulgarised the Hill of Howth. Failing with this crux {hac cruce) Adequately else to cope. Far afield have I and Lucy Now determined to elope ; And, to end this doleful story In a less disgruntled style, Since upon all home excursions We must meet our pet aversions, We are off to Ruwenzori And the Sources of the Nile. July 15, 1908. 62 THE BRAIN OF THE NATION COUNTRY V. CLUB Dear Jack, if rumour speaks aright And you've put off your annual flight To Inverness until September, And haven't gone to the Isle of Wight — Come out of London's fumes and reeks, O clubman of the pallid cheeks, Desert Pall Mall and Piccadilly, And stay with us for a couple of weeks. We can offer you little except repose ; But beyond the paddock a trout-stream flows, And in the lane that borders the garden No scent of petrol affronts the nose. Our style of living is not tip-top, But you're neither epicure nor fop. And you shall have the prophet's chamber As long as ever you care to stop. COUNTRY V. CLUB 63 I own that most of the reasons I give To tempt you hither are negative, But it is a boon that no fat stockbrokers Within our six-mile radius live. The boys are home from Rugby. Hugh Already is quite as tall as you ; Jack goes to Oxford in October, With hopes of winning a football blue. Maud's skirts are lengthened — she calls them ' trains ' ; Her hair, the most rebellious of manes, Is now put up, and she gives good promise Of passable looks as well as brains. If you hanker after a life of ease, We'll sling you a hammock under the trees. Where little is heard from morn till even Except the drowsy murmur of bees. If games allure, our friend the Dean, Next-door, has a capital bowling green ; Or Maud will take you on at tennis, And give you probably half-fifteen. 64 THE BRAIN OF THE NATION There's cricket, too, in the village ; Cobb, My coachman, trundles a curly lob ; Your godson Jack's a lusty smiter, And / don't always get out for a ' blob.' Well, come if you can, and let it be soon. For, though the landscape is best in June, You're not too late to see the glory Of ripe wheat under an August moon ; To witness, unaided by costly mummery Or wigs, or any sort of flummery. The finest pageant that England offers — The country arrayed in a garb still summery. 65 A WANDERER IN WALES Crossing o'er the English borders By my worthy doctor's orders, Well equipped with home-spun raiment ; Gold, to make immediate payment; Fully armed likewise with divers Weapons — fishing-rods and drivers, Niblick, putter, cleek, and baffy ; Thus I went to call on Taffy. Disappointments not a few Lent my trip a sombre hue. For I never saw Corelli At Llandudno or Pwllheli ; Did not see Shaw take a header In the sight of all Llanbedr ; Did not run against Mackinnon Wood, M.P., by Llyn or Ffynnon ; Did not meet with Donald Tovey On the links of Aberdovey ; 66 THE BRAIN OF THE NATION Failed to recognise Count Haynau In the environs of Blaenau ; Or encounter Baron Wrangel In the streets of Llanfihangel ; Did not pluck the wild persimmon On the summit of Plynhmmon ; Did not hear the voice of ' Mabon ' On the platform of Ruabon ; Never saw, worst blow of all, Raven-Hill at Raven Fall. Subject to these reservations Wales, throughout my divagations. Answered all my expectations. Ordered specially to ' slack it,' And avoid all needless racket. Soon I found that Cambria's railways Were the very best of snailways. Further, that this land of quiet Offered me a varied diet. Thus I sampled fair Portmadoc's Admirable shrimps and haddocks, And appeased a mighty twist with Mutton pies at Aberystwith ; Lunched off lamb and peas and lettuce At the hostelry of Bettws ; A WANDERER IN WALES e^ Mingled ham and eggs and shandy- Gaff beside the Mill of Pandy ; And partook of beer and trifle On the cairn that crowns Yr Eifl. For the rest, my Welsh impressions Justified my prepossessions. Though the trippers' ways at Barmouth Much reminded me of Yarmouth, Vocalists I heard at Bala Worthy of Milan's 'La Scala.' Though the Merioneth ' Terrier ' Should be more to make us merrier, Still the walls of Harlech stand Frowning over mead and strand ; Still the ancient songs that stirred Heroes to the fight are heard ; Still the old enchantment clings To the ruined halls of kings ; Still amid her hills and vales Throbs the unconquered heart of Wales, F 2 68 THE BRAIN OF THE NATION TO MARS IN OPPOSITION The strings had ceased, and with their strain (Mozart, the ever fresh and tender) Still ringing sweetly in my brain I stole into a Sussex lane, A much-refreshed week-ender, When suddenly there met my sight A scene so excellently bright As made mere musical delight Its sovranty surrender. I never saw my friend the Bear Or any other starry cluster. The Pleiads in their tangled lair, Or Cassiopeia in her chair, Shine with a larger lustre. But dwarfing all the other stars, As Peter dwarfed the other Tsars, The sanguine disc of mighty Mars Outshone the astral muster. TO MARS IN OPPOSITION 69 Portentous planet, on whose face The telescope of Schiaparelli, Through myriad myriad miles of space, Enables us canals to trace Minute as vermicelli ; Unhinged by your perturbing spells Servants omit to answer bells. And Swears begins to swear at Wells And Shaw to flatter Shelley. Although not usually prone To harbour vulgar superstitions. To see you on a sudden grown To such prodigious bulk, I own, Excites my worst suspicions. Are you encouraging Lloyd George Fresh fiscal instruments to forge To make unhappy Dukes disgorge Their dearest acquisitions ? In ages past you stirred the feud Of Fatimite against Abassid, And co-religionists imbrued With gore, although their attitude Was previously placid. yo THE BRAIN OF THE NATION And now you turn poor Mr. Ure, Who formerly was quite demure, Into a perfect stream of pure Financial Uric acid. Your baleful influence is the jo7is Of recent female revolutions, Transforming Sylphs to Amazons With hearts of steel and brows of bronze And iron constitutions. Who wrestle with the men in blue (A thing that I should hate to do) And harmless Ministers pursue With endless persecutions. Sleek Haldane, mildest-mannered sage That e'er translated Schopenhauer, Now pores on Clausewitz's page And, goaded by a martial rage, Bears witness to your power. While smug McKenna, spurred to roam In fighting kit across the foam. Now never feels himself at home Save in a conning-tower. TO MARS IN OPPOSITION 71 All classes by your lurid lamp Are led astray, from dukes to tinkers ; You aggravate the common scamp And force philosophers to ramp Like dissipated tinkers. Who shall escape your deadly glare Which causes panic ev'rywhere And strikes us pink, unless he wear Perpetually bhnkers ? Balcombe, Sept. i8, 1909. 72 THE BRAIN OF THE NATION BREAKING-UP SONG Now when we feel the ties that bind us Slacken awhile at the call of Home, Leaving our modern science behind us Leaving the lore of ancient Rome ; Ere we depart to enjoy for a season Freedom from regular work and rules, Come let us all, in rhyme and reason, Honour the best of schools. Here's to our Founder, whose ancient bounty Freely bestowed with a pious care. Fostered the youth of his native county. Gave us a name we are proud to bear. Here's to his followers, wise gift-makers. Friends who helped when our numbers were few. Widened our walls and enlarged our acres, Stablished the School anew. BREAKING-UP SONG 73 Here's to our Head, in whom all centres, Ruling his realm with a kindly sway ; Here's to the Masters, our guides and mentors Helpers in work and comrades in play. Here's to the Old Boys, working their way up Out in the world on the ladder of Fame ; Here's to the New Boys, learning to play up, Yes, and to play the game. Time will bring us our seasons of trial, Seasons of joy when our ship arrives, Yet, whatever be writ on his dial. Now is the golden hour of our lives. Now is the feast spread fair before us ; None but slackers or knaves or fools Ever shall fail to join our chorus, ' Here's to the best of schools ! ' STUDIES IN DISCIPLESHIP n LYRA INEPTIARUM Dedicated to the compiler of the ' Great Thoughts ' of Ella Wheeler Wilcox. Altruism Up through the soil, serenely singing Excelsior ! with all its might, Each Brussel-sprout its mate is bringing (One little sprout were a lonely sight !). Aspiration Our souls come from far, far away, From planet to planet they flit, But I'd Hke while I stay in this casket of clay Some luminous thoughts to emit. Culpable Omissions I Green peas, sent up without potatoes, Are like a babe with only eight toes ; And lamb, reft of the magic of mint-sauce. Recalls a Christmas minus Santa Claus, 78 THE BRAIN OF THE NATION II Hamlet, without the Royal Prince, Makes the fastidious critic wince. An omelette, made without an egg. Is like a tent without a peg. Hearts Each human being has a heart And is not meant to dwell apart ; But him as friend I chiefly prize Whose heart is of the largest size. Home Truths Over and over and over These truths will I say and sing. That a wandering life befits a rover, That a bell when pulled should ring ; That it's better to dine At eight than at nine. That a pong is a part of a ping; That the morning precedes the afternoon, That the sun gives forth more heat than the moon, That a throne is the seat of a king. LYRA INEPTIARUM Life's Irony By chance and not by patient toil Men build up their Bonanzas, But I spend butts of midnight oil Upon my simple stanzas. Love and Hate Would you make a little Eden Of the pew you occupy ? Then resolve to view your neighbour With no malice in your eye. If your enemy's down-hearted, Pat him kindly on the tete, And with coals of sudden kindness You will pulverise his hate. Magnanimity The man who, when his deadliest foe Is lying prostrate in the gutter, Will bravely go And offer him his last, his only pat of butter- He is the primest specimen, I ween, And makes the very Cherubim seem mean ! 79 8o THE BRAIN OF THE NATION New and Old New thoughts are like new boots, they gall and hurt you ; Old thoughts brace up the soul and right the wrong ; It is the modern poet's greatest virtue To clothe soul-shaking platitudes in song. Optimism the best Policy The man who makes a molehill of a mountain Has earned a bath in the Pierian fountain. The man who makes a mountain of a molehill. At golf will always play the crucial hole ill. Outside v. Inside* Do not measure by externals, Handsome is that handsome does ; Nuts are tested by their kernels, Bees are better than their buzz. * Idem Latine reddidit lepidissimus auctor T. H. W. Intra conspicias ; te nil externa morentiir ; Qui belle faciat, Cotile, bellus homo est. Nil valuere nuces qua tantum cortice pollent, Nee bona semper erit qua bene mussat apis. LYRA INEPTIARUM 8i Simplicity However full this crowded world, There's always room for a simple bard. It had need of me, or I would not be, / am here to make things less hard, And to extricate poor souls from drowning In the abysses of Robert Browning. Smile's Self-Help Smile a little, smile a little As you go along ; Even though your kine be kittle And your bones are growing brittle, Smiling makes them strong. Not alone when things are booming, But when grief's incessant glooming Ties you up in kinks. Smile — 'tis better than consuming Alcoholic drinks. 82 THE BRAIN OF THE NATION Soda-Water With my exhilarating bubbles I wash away a world of troubles. I set the sodden toper free From all the horrors of D.T. ; And all are better for knowing me. Ups and Downs Just as a shoe must have two Kinds of leathers, Its unders and its uppers ; So life has ups and downs Of varied weathers — Its Miltons and its Tuppers 83 LINES TO MR. SHOLES With apologies to Edward Lear. [' C.K.S.' complains in The Sphere that the editor of Everybody's Magazine recently wrote a letter to him addressed to ' C. K. Sholes.' He also mentions that in a paragraph, which has gone the round of a number of papers, reference is made to his ' rubicund visage and Paderewski-like coiffure.'] How pleasant to know Mister Sholes, Who writes such adorable stuff On bookmen and bibliopoles That we never can thank him enough ! His industry matches the mole's ; His pen is unending in flux ; Smart people he never extols, Though he's written a book about Bucks. His eyes are as keen as a vole's ; His figure is perfectly Spherical ; His singing of gay barcarolles Makes a musical audience hysterical. G2 84 THE BRAIN OF THE NATION He never has been to the Poles ; In summer he drinks lemon-squash ; He frowns upon Anglican stoles ; The name of his dog is FitzPosh. On Sundays he commonly bowls In a taxi to Robertson Nicoll's ; His favourite oath is ' By Goles ! ' He feeds all his goldfish on pickles. A thousand-and-one pigeon-holes In his brain-pan are bursting with knowledge ; He knows the right sound of St. Aldate's And has learned to avoid ' Christ Church College.' He never has dined with Lord Knollys ; He never goes gambling to Monte, But he owns two or three parasols That belonged to the late Charlotte Bronte. By the shooting of grouse or of goals His life he has never imperilled ; He never belonged to the ' Souls,' But he knows Mr, Percy Fitzgerald. LINES TO MR. SHOLES 85 He utters uncountable ' Skoals ' O'er the ruddy Omarian tipple, And his capers and high caracoles Make Mordkin appear like a cripple. He breakfasts on coffee and rolls ; He lunches off oysters and porter ; His curls have the blackness of coals — They're like Paderevvski's, but shorter. So whenever in Fleet Street he strolls, Policemen look hurriedly up And cry, ' That's the great Mr. Sholes Who writes such delectable gup.' 86 THE BRAIN OF THE NATION STUDY FOR A POPULAR BALLAD [With grateful acknowledgments to G. Hubi-Newcombe.] Won't you come, my dearest girlie. At the hour of dawning day, When the dewdrops bright and pearly Mirror back the Milky Way ! When the owl is gently hooting On the oleander-tree. And the nightingale is fluting Tira lira, tra la lee ? Oh, put on your daintiest kirtle Ere the turtle dove turns turtle And the magic of the myrtle Turns to ashes at our feet ; Come and listen to my pleading For 'tis you that I am needing. And my tender heart is bleeding For your love that is so sweet. STUDY FOR A POPULAR BALLAD 87 Wake and hurry with your toilet, Little bonnie girlie mine, Ere the petals of the violet * Wither in the noonday shine. Lo ! the world its best apparel Has ecstatically donned, And the song-birds raise their caro) In your honour, Hildegonde ; And the kindly cows are mooing As the cud they're gently chewing, And the cuckoos are cuckooing And the merry lambkins bleat. Come and listen to my pleading. For 'tis you that I am needing, And my tender heart is bleeding For your love that is so sweet. * Pronounce * voilet.' 88 THE BRAIN OF THE NATION THE GAL WAY MARE Air: Nora O'Neale. [With fraternal apologies to the author of ' Father O'FIynn.'] In the course of my wand' rings, from Cong to Kanturk — And a man of his honour is Jeremy Burke — I've seen many horses, but none, I declare. Could compare wid Jack Rafferty's fox-hunting mare. She was black as the sut, From the head to the fut, And as nate in her shapes as a Royal Princess ; Twinty miles in the hour was her lowest horse-power, 'Twould desthroy her intirely to go at a less ! No Arabian charger that's bred in the South Had so silky a coat or obaydient a mouth ; And her speed was so swift, man alive ! I'd go bail She'd slip clane away from the Holyhead mail. Her asiest saunther Was quick as a canther, Her gallop resimbled a lightning express ; Twinty miles in the hour was her lowest horse-power, 'Twould desthroy her intirely to go at a less ! THE GALWAY MARE 89 There was never a fence so conthrary or cruel But she would conthrive to surmount it, the jewel ! And Jack on her back, widout getting a toss, Glared ditches, no matther how crabbed or cross. An iligant shtepper, A wondherful lepper — Don't talk of Bucephalus or of Black Bess — Twinty miles in the hour was her lowest horse-power, 'Twould desthroy her intirely to go at a less ! They were clifted,* the two of them, Jack and the mare, Returning one night from the Blackwater fair : Bad 'cess to that road ! in the worst place of all There isn't a sign or a taste of a wall. Sure the Barony's grief Was beyant all belief — 'Twas the loss of the mare caused the greater disthress ; Twinty miles in the hour was her lowest horse-power, 'Twould desthroy her intirely to go at a less ! * Anglic e : ' Fell over a cliff.' 90 THE BRAIN OF THE NATION DACTYLOMANIA Methought on the uttermost verges Of earth and the infinite brine I stood, and gave ear to the dirges That make desolation divine — The voice of the wind in its anguish, The voice of the ocean at play, And the voices of Sirens who languish For lack of their prey. Sleek Harpies, who jousted with Jason, In multitudes hurried along. Still booming in soft diapason Their old Arimaspian song ; While hippogriffs, hotly careering Athwart the enamelled abyss. Slid over the azimuth, searing My heart with their hiss. DACTYLOMANIA 91 And out of the welter advancing I saw the great heroes of eld, Proconsuls renowned for their prancing And tyrants for heads that were swelled ; And Sappho was smiling at Cato, Who didn't approve of her dress ; And Raleigh had peeled a potato To pleasure Queen Bess. O melodies fitful and plangent, O mysteries ancient and rare, O souls that exhale at a tangent Dim wafts of Elysian air ! Why is it that mortals, unheeding The rampart that Reason hath set, Contend, with importunate pleading, In runes of regret ? Time dulls the gay tints of to-morrow. Time turns the bright falchion to rust. And 'tis madness to palter with sorrow When joy can be bought for a crust ; For Care can resistlessly clamber To peaks that are hoary and high, And flies that are prisoned in amber Must finally die. 92 THE BRAIN OF THE NATION Why cannot the amaranth wither ? The seraphs their splendour refuse ? Why must I unfaiHngly bhther Whenever this metre I use ? For to sense I shall never get back till I find in the trochee my cure, And the lilt of the tittuping dactyl For ever abjure. 93 TO FREEDOM From the Romaic of Alexander Soutsos. Art thou she whom once I joyed to gaze on, beautiful and brave, Queen-Hke in thy purple mantle, in thy hand a flashing glaive ? When the eagle crowned thy standards, thy uncon- querable guide. And behind thy chariot marching, every son of Hellas cried, ' Lo, my life upon thy altar am I ready to resign, Freedom, Goddess mine ! ' On thy path nor thirst nor famine cast our dauntless courage down. But with smiles of glad contentment welcomed we the martyr's crown ; And the maidens of Evrotas, o'er the bodies of the slain, 'Mid the psans of our heroes blended their triumphal strain, Till the tombs of our forefathers echoed back thy name divine, Freedom, Goddess mine ! 94 THE BRAIN OF THE NATION Dost thou call to mind the glories of the goodly days of old, When our sires, our wives, and children in our legions were enrolled ? When Miaoulis homeward bore. Towing sixty of the foemen's frigates to his native shore ! Till in joy at Hellas' glory laughed the glad ^gsan brine, Freedom, Goddess mine ! Free, with fealty unplighted, Neither guile, nor hate, nor envy harboured we, in love united. O give back to us, kind Goddess, give us back that golden time ! Give us back the days of glory, days of chivalry sublime, In the saintly guise of virtue gliding from thy heavenly shrine, Freedom, Goddess mine ! Then the Corcyrsean came, and like a smouldering mount of fire, Three long years our hapless country underwent aiHiction dire ; Three long years endured his insults, sunk in slavery and shame. TO FREEDOM 95 Till the slumbering fires awakened, bursting into furious flame, And the tyrant fell before thee, whelmed in sudden dark decline, Freedom, Goddess mine ! Is the lightning quenched for ever that of yore flashed from thine eyes ? Set the star of thy first shining, never more again to rise ? Faded is thy wreath of roses, emblem of thy happier days, Halting thy imperial footstep, wild and wildered is thy gaze. Woe is me ! no more is valiance, nor the grace of beauty thine, , Freedom, Goddess mine ! VARIA 99 MELODIE DE SIECLE O Sons of the new generation Athirst for inordinate thrills ; O daughters, whose love of sensation Is shown in your frocks and your frills - Come, faithfully answer my queries. If you would completely assuage The passionate craving that wearies Both sinner and sage. Has Ibsen no power to excite you ? Can't Maeterlinck make you applaud ? Do dancers no longer delight you, Who wriggle about a la Maud ? Are you tired of the profile of Ainley ? The tender falsetto of Tree ? Do you envy each bonnet insanely That harbours a bee ? H 2 100 THE BRAIN OF THE NATION Is the Metchnikoff treatment a failure ? Do you weep when you miss your short putts ? Have you ceased with enjoyment to hail your Diurnal allowance of nuts ? Are you bored by the leaders of Spender ? Or cloyed by the pathos of Caine ? Do you find that ' The Follies ' engender A feeling of gene ? Are you sick of Sicilian grimaces ? Unattracted by Chantecler hats ? Are you weary of Marathon races And careless in choosing your spats ? Are you jaded with aeroplaning And sated with social reform ? Apathetic ahke when it's raining And when it is warm ? Do you shy at the strains that are sober ? Does Wagner no longer inflame ? Do you find that the music of Auber And Elgar is equally tame ? Do you read without blushing or winking The novels of Elinor Glyn ? Do you constantly hanker, when rinking, For draughts of sloe gin ? MJ^LODIE DE SIECLE loi If I am correct in divining The tortures you daily endure, Don't waste any time in repining, But try this infallible cure : With the sharpest of musical plectra Go pluck at your soul till it's raw ; In a word, go and witness Elektra — Give up the jig-saw. March 2, 1910. I02 THE BRAIN OF THE NATION NORFOLK : ANOTHER VIEW Visions of old that we vainJy cherish, Dim and faint are your forms to-day ! Ancient memories fade and perish, Ancient houses decay. Leisurely methods are out of favour, Villagers follow the City mode, Rural odours have lost their savour. Speed and smell are lords of the road. Welcome, I ween, are the boons you offer, Norfolk, to aU who eschew repose ; Sporting links for the red-faced golfer Flaunting his florid hose. Sands for the matutinal dippers ; Surf where they tumble and shout and sprawl ; Sea-fronts blackened with cockney trippers, Raucous with strains of the music-hall. NORFOLK : ANOTHER VIEW 103 Here, no matter the hour you waken, London papers are out on sale. Here no hamlet, however forsaken, Is free from the Daily Mail. Here of yore was the home of the bustard ; Here were the Peggotty chapters planned j Here to-day is the Mecca of Mustard ; Here is the centre of Bloaterland. Still, though haunts where solitude brooded Ring to the roar of electric trams ; Though green orchards, of old secluded, Are marred by makers of jams ; Wholly unfit though he be to render Justice in verse to your golden prime, Norfolk, let an obscure week-ender Offer this meed of lowly rhyme. I04 THE BRAIN OF THE NATION OUR DEBT TO MR. DOTT [A letter, signed P. McOmish Dott, appears in The Outlook of January 14, 19 11, expressing the fear that England is falling into senile decay.] Though a man of simple nature, living in a humdrum way, To the spell of nomenclature I have always fall'n a prey; Names inspire me with ambition, names enrich my thinnest plot, But my choicest acquisition is the last, McOmish Dott. Latterly, while curio-hunting, I acquired some splendid loot, Gulifer and Gosch and Runting, Ernest Sole and Jesse Boot, Now in even fuller measure there has fallen to my lot New and valuable treasure labelled P. McOmish Dott. I've collected Mustard, Smellie, Hog with but a single Jubb, Earwaker and Whalebelly, Worple, Monte- cuccoli, OUR DEBT TO MR. DOTT 105 Gollop, Polyblank and Szlumper, Didham, Bultitude and Sprot, But I give my vote — a plumper — unto P. McOmish Dott. Lowther Bridget's lucubrations long have ceased to give me joy, Kipling Common's coruscations my fastidious palate cloy ; But a rapture fine and frantic, such as centred in Shalott, Lurks within the rich, romantic name of P. McOmish Dott. Somewhere in the Boreal regions first his sanguine star arose, Where the Macs abound in legions, alternating with the O's ; There he tossed the caber daily, there the golden eagle shot, There the giant capercaillie fell to P. McOmish Dott. Fed on mountain dew in Jura, and eschewing Saxon swipes. Soon he mastered the bravura of the devastating pipes ; Or amid the glens and corries traced the stag's elusive slot, Far from dull suburban ' swarries,' sturdy P. McOmish Dott. io6 THE BRAIN OF THE NATION Then he swept the board at college, gathering in his mental net Every earthly form of knowledge from Confucius to Debrett ; Till — for so the gossips tell us — Admiral Sir Percy Scott Grew inordinately jealous of his friend McOmish Dott. Next in retrospective vision southward I behold him fare, England, rent by indecision, nobly striving to repair ; Hand-in-hand with Gilbert Parker stopping ev'ry fiscal rot. Hand-in-hand with Ellis Barker — happy P. McOmish Dott! Last of all we see him, scorning our misgivings to assuage. As he trumpets forth his warning in The Outlook's central page. Telling us that by to-morrow England will have gone to pot, Less in anger than in sorrow — noble P. McOmish Dott. P.S.— Query : Is the P for Peter, Parsifal or Peregrine ? Any of them suits my metre, but to Parsifal I lean ; Still,I think I Hke him better in the form The Outlook's got, Prefaced by a single letter — simply P. McOmish Dott. I07 A CORONATION NIGHTMARE The morning was brilliant in Kensington Gore, When Emma remarked, as she called me at four, ' The elephant's waiting for you at the door.' So I put on my slippers, one brown and one black, Wrapped my form in a waterproof Union Jack, And cautiously climbed on the elephant's back. There were three of us there — the Archbishop and me, And a man with a racket, a portly Parsee Whose name, he informed me, was Jim Jamsetjee. ' Hurry up ! ' said the Prelate, ' or else we'll be late, For the dinner begins at a quarter to eight, And money is never returned at the gate.' So we rode and we rode, and the elephants sang, Beating time with their trunks, in a glutinous twang. An anthem of which I've forgotten the hang. io8 THE BRAIN OF THE NATION We were flying quite nobly when Jamsetjee cried, ' My elephant says that he's punctured inside,' And down from the welkin proceeded to glide. The various survivors to dinner sat down. But I saw the Archbishop was wearing a frown, For I had to reply to the toast of the Crown. I was pleased with the duty and proud of my fame. And firmly determined on playing the game, But unluckily couldn't remember my name. Then the mist cleared away as I rose to my feet — It was just at the corner of Arlington Street — And found myself airily clad in a sheet. It was awkward, because the procession was due. And the rest of the crowd were in red, white, and blue, And I couldn't unfasten the door of my pew. Then I rose in my wrath and exclaimed, ' Let me go ! I am suff'ring from partial collapse of the toe. But, whatever may happen, the King mustn't know.' There were pathos and pride in the words that I spoke, But a giant guffaw from the populace broke, And I thought they were justified — after I woke. 109 JOURNALISTIC DETACHMENT The dogs of war are unleashed, The eagles are waxing fat, But I read on the bill of The Daily Thrill ' Shots in a West-end Flat.' The news from Turkey is bad, The news from China is worse, But I read on the bill of The Daily Thrill ' Actress robbed of her purse.' There are terrible scenes in Rome, And horrible sights at Constant. ! But I read on the bill of The Daily Thrill ' Peer to play in a panto.' So I'm sure when the dreadful days Of Armageddon arrive, I shall read on the bill of The Daily Thrill ' Scene at a Welsh Whist Drive.' And when the last trump shall rend The World to its midmost hub. The Daily Thrill will adorn its bill With ' Raid on a West-end Club.' no THE BRAIN OF THE NATION PENNY FARES TO PARNASSUS [' There is only one literary paper, dealing not only with literature, but also with the broader issues of life, and at the same time putting finger-posts and milestones on the long and pleasant road of self-culture. This paper is sold at one penny every week, and is known in the four quarters of the globe as T. P.'s Weekly. . . . You do not know Literature if you have not studied the grandeur that was Greece and the glory that was Rome. It is not necessary to-day to know Greek and Latin to study the classics. ... If you wish to follow an ordered method of study in the quietude of your own. home, read " How to Study the Classics " in this week's T. P.'s Weekly.' — Advt. in Daily Chronicle.] Would you master the grace that was Greece's ? The grandeur that glorified Rome ? The names of Napoleon's nieces ? The way to perform on the comb ? Would you learn who discovered Watts-Dunton ? What Pemberton paid for his car ? And whether it's safer to punt on The Cam or the Cher ? PENNY FARES TO PARNASSUS in Do you want to be sure of pronouncing Correctly the painter called Cuyp ? To know when a baby is bouncing ? Why onions are wedded to tripe ? Where Meredith met Mrs. Norton ? Why Scotsmen ejaculate ' hoots ' ? And why our revered Dr. Horton Wears waterproof boots ? Don't wallow ignobly and meekly In ignorance vapid and vile, But trust to Tay Pay and his Weekly For helping you over the stile. For only the greed of a vulture, In gluttony wholly unique, Could cope with the banquet of culture He gives you each week. He'll gorge you with gobbets of Homer, And help you to feel that you've struck In Odysseus a modern beach-comber. In Circe a modern Wild Duck, And over the peerless Phaeacian, So noble, so pure in her ways, This gushing Hiberno-Alsatian Will ladle his praise. 112 THE BRAIN OF THE NATION He'll dose you with pilules of Dante, With plenty of jam of his own ; And he'll blither about Rosinante, For he won't leave Don Quixote alone ; You'll have, say, three minutes with Schiller, With Goethe it may run to five, And ten with Sir Arthur Couch (Quiller), Because he's ahve. Then your history — ah, he's the jockey To heighten the gingerbread's gilt ! With a style that is bounding and cocky And moves with an unctuous lilt ; With his fervid rebukes of the haughty Who harry the poor with their hate, And his generous views of the naughty, His love of the great. He'll tell you how Hannibal over The Alps with his elephants won. And how you go under in clover To-day, when escorted by Lunn. He'll tell you correctly the size of Our good Queen Elizabeth's ruff, And paint Joan of Arc in the guise of A militant sufl. PENNY FARES TO PARNASSUS 113 In fine, if you wish for a dollar — For it's only a penny a week — To master the lore of the scholar, Though guileless of Latin and Greek, To give to your usual tipples The taste of Pierian flip, Then come to O'Connor, ye cripples, He'll teach you to sip. H4 THE BRAIN OF THE NATION THE JAMMIAD Fragments from an unpublished Epic. [While looking through the papers of my friend the late Mr. Inigo Vert, F.R.S., who appointed the President of the Board of Customs and myself his literary executors, we came across a batch of sheets of foolscap headed ' The Jammiad : an Epic of Preserves.' An inspection of the contents showed that, while Mr. Vert had mapped out a poem of imposing dimensions, he had unfortimately only left a few fragments in verse, together with a synopsis of the scheme. In view, however, of the novelty of the subject and the fact that this was — so far as we are aware — his solitary deviation from the domain of prose, we have been led to believe that its publication would interest the literary world as well as the admirers of Mr. Vert's genius as a man of science. It will be noted that the metre adopted is that of the heroic couplet, the usual ten-syllabled line being varied by an occasional alexandrine, and that the influence of Pope — or shall we say of the Anti-Jacobin ? — is paramount. With these few prefatory remarks the fragment may be allowed to speak for itself. — C. L. G.] Argument. Exordium — Reasons for Choice of Subject — Suavity v. Satire — Hymettus the Home of Honey — Golden Apples of the Hesperides — The Genesis of Jam — Homer on Confectionery — Roman Bellaria and Greek Tpayiifxara — Byzantine Preserves — Renaissance Cookery — Discovery of the Sugar-cane — Jam, its derivation from Jamaica — Demerara, Climate and Products of — Marmalade, Viscous Properties of — Keiller not mentioned in Encyclopedia Britannica — Cambridge Sausages — Cooper, Cult of, at Oxford — Apricot Jam used for Omelettes — Its Intense Heat — Caution to Epicures to eat it slowly — Raspberry Jam, Ignoble uses of — Black-cmrrant Tea — Effect of Tariff Reform on the Cultivation of the Cape Gooseberry — The Giant Gooseberry — Sea Serpents — Different Attitude of the Sexes to Jam — Swiss Roll —William Tell — Red-currant Jelly and Roast Mutton — Different THE JAMMIAD 115 Names of the Whortleberry — Sustaining Power of Jam — Attested by Soldiers — Experience of Stanley in Darkest Africa — Sweetness and Light — The Jam of Nawanagar — Rival Claims of Earthenware and Glass — Chemical Substitutes — Ultimate Triumph of Science — ^The Passing of Molasses — Victory of Glucose and Saccharin. Let other Bards, moved by a deep Disdain, Descant on Life in a sardonic Strain, And prove by Logic of resistless Pow'r The Milk of human Kindness to be sour ; Let me the more congenial Task essay, Thy Sweets, Confectionery, to portray ! — To tell the Joys that in the Tartlet lurk What Gates delight the Briton, what the Turk ; To hymn the Bliss that Providence provides When Guava's Jelly down the Gullet slides ; To sing the subtle Flavours of the Quince That titillate the Tongue or make it wince ; To indicate th' amari aliquid That in the Medlar's inner Pulp lies hid ; And lastly, with a comprehensive Grasp, To paint the Virtues of the gentle Rasp, Whose Juices, potent o'er corporeal ill, Can mask the Powder and disguise the Pill ! O Oxford, desecrated now by Trams, Where Norman Arches jostle stuccoed Shams, I 2 ii6 THE BRAIN OF THE NATION Home of Lost Causes — since 'tis now confessed That Granta's Sausages are far the best — Yet one supreme Achievement still is thine That Matt himself omitted to divine, Linking thy Name for ever with a Dish Known to both Hemispheres as Cooper's Squish. Keiller, blest Shade, whose beatific Name Ten Million grateful Breakfasters acclaim, Say what inspired Ambition prompted thee To bring the Globes of Seville to Dundee, And in the triple Harmony include The Sweets that from Jamaica's Cane exude ? But though the golden Orange claims our Meed, Not so the Carrot, and still less the Swede. For by Adulteration's artful Aid Th' unblushing Turnip dares to masquerade In the Disguise of rare refreshing Fruit While all the Time a low plebeian Root ! Sing, Muse — for none as yet the Task hath tried- The paregoric Virtues that reside Beneath the swart Black-currant's silky Vest, When fell Catarrhs the bronchial Tubes congest, THE JAMMIAD 117 Inflame the Tonsils, and corrode the lab'ring Chest. With oily Balm the generous Cordial slips Between the Patient's parched and fevered Lips ; Thy Gates, O Uvula, are opened wide To welcome in th' invigorating Tide ; The languid Larynx feebly utters ' Hail ! ' The vocal Cords take up the wondrous Tale ; And normal Health resumes her placid Reign, O Mucous Membrane, o'er thy wide * domain. Nor are Preserves essential to the Life Of those alone who live remote from Strife. Our gallant Soldiers, summoned to campaign In deadly Climates, far across the Main, Less frequently emit the peevish ' Damn ' When heartened by a daily dose of Jam. So too, as stout Explorers oft attest. When horrid Savages their Path molest, When hideous Dwarves propel the hostile Dart, And grim Gorillas from the Jungle start. Sugar can still the Situation save, [Restore the fainting and confirm the brave. f] * Estimated by Strzygowsld in his Monograph as covering an area equivalent to seventeen acres. t Hanc lacunam calUdissime supplevit L. N. G. 118 THE BRAIN OF THE NATION Last, in funereal Measures let me sing The sad Discrowning of the Sugar King Molasses, dark-browed Monarch of the Cane, With Syrup, Chief of his attendant Train, And cheerful Candy, dear to us in Youth When nothing daunts the adamantine Tooth. Drawn by Hyblasan Bees, for so it seemed To me as in a Trance I lay and dreamed, I saw Molasses' Chariot onward bound To where th' opposing Squadrons stood their Ground. Dread Glucose, awful Monarch, led the Van, Lord of the Aldehydes, portentous Clan ; While at his Right I marked his famous Queen, The sweetest Thing created. Saccharin. For a brief Space the Issue stood in Doubt And then Molasses fled in total Rout. Thy Law, dread Science, bans the Cane-born Sweet, And leaves the World to Coal-tar and to Beet. PRINTED EY SPOTTJSWOODE AND CO. LTD., COLCHESTER LONDON AND ETON Works by Charles L. Graves. Fourth Edition. Small post 8vo. y. 6d. THE HAWARDEN HORACE. T//E TIMES. — ' Excellent, full of fun, of genial and apposite satire, without a trace of merely partisan bitterness.' THE SPECTATOR. — 'Mr. Graves deserves hearty praise, not only for the humour, but also for the good humour of its satire. ... It is not often that so much real fun, outcome of a robust humour working together with a fine scholarship is to be found in so small a space." With an Introduction by T. E. Page, M.A. Small post Svo. 3.?. dd. MORE HAWARDEN HORACE. PALL MALL GAZETTE. — ' Reveals the same pretty wit and the same unerring sense of the things which are and the things which are not in i^ood taste, as distinguished the preceding volume.' YORKSHIRE POST— 'The parodies are, as before, excellent in their grip of the original and in their adaptation to the modern subject.' Crown Svo. 3^-. 6d. net. THE HUMOURS OF THE FRAY. SPHERE. — ' A really delightful book. The spirit of the present volume must prove simply enchanting for those who hate so much that is vulgar in our modern liie.' DAILY TELEGRAPH.— • AM lovers of skilful and witty light verse should get Mr. Graves' volume at once, read it through three times on end, and then place it, on a handy shelf, by the side of Praed and Mr. Owen Seaman.' In Pictorial Cover, crown Svo. is. net. PARTY PORTRAITS : and other Verses. STANDARD. — 'Mr. Graves has won an enviable reputation as a humorist. Quite a number of personages fall under the author's gentle satire.' DAILY CHROIVICLE.— 'You are assured of entertainment in Mr. Graves' ' Party Portraits," whether or not you agree with them. Mr. Graves says the nice thing nicely, and then gets in the pinprick at the end ; but he doesn't mean to hurt anybody, not even Mr. Winston Churchill. . . . The " other verses " also are nimbly diverting.' London : Smith, Elder, & Co., 15 Waterloo Place, S.W. Poetry, With 48 Illustrations in Colour by the Earl of Carlisle. Demy 4to. 2 1 s. net. A Picture Song Book. Words and Music. The Songs taken from Various Sources ; the Pictures By the Right Hon. the Earl of Carlisle. *,* Also an Edition de Luxe of 250 copies, the Illustrations mounted, each copy being numbered and in a special binding. 42s. net. Dublin Daily Express. — ' In this beautiful collection of songs it is not so mucL tfie soni^s anJ their music that will attract attention — though they deserve it-~as the colour illustrations. The versatility displayed is truly remarkable . . . one of the most attractive and unique of the Christmas season gi^t books. With Portraits and Illustrations. Large crown 8vo. lOs. 6d. net. The Poetical Works of Mrs. Horace Dobell. Guardian, — This collection of poems is of ejctraordinary merit, and we have frequently had occasion to quote iiom it. The poems are numerous as they are varied,* Irish Independent. — ' In the Memoir which prefaces the collection there is a very pleasing picture of Mrs. Dobeil s happy family life, and we are informed how and when most of the poems were written. Small crown 8vo. 3s. 6d . net. Reaping the Whirlwind, and other Poems. By G. F. Bradby, Author of * The Great Days of Versailles,' * The Awakening of Bittlesham/ &c. J he Observer, — ' A series of dramatic lyrics that recall Browning s dramatic monologues. There is more than a touch of Brownmg in the ghoul-like " Connoisseur" ... an inteniely hviniJ picture, drawn with force and simplicity. Dublin Daily Express, — ' We shall carefully put this hook aside in a place where it may have for companionship the poetry of those also whom we are accustomed to call great . . . incisive and direct the poetry is always genuine. We shall certainly hear more of this author.' In Pictorial Cover. Crown 8vo, Is. net. Party Portraits, and other Verses. By Charles L. Graves, Author of ' The Blarney Ballads,* ' Humours of the Fray,* &c. Daily Chronicle. — ' You are assured of entertainment in " Mr. Graves's Party Portriits." whether or not you agree with them. Mr. Graves says the nice thing nicely, and then gets in the pinprick at the end.' iLvening Stanaara. — ' This witty writer is at his best in these verses. Lovers oi Wisdom While You Wait and its brother volumes should not raiss such diverting rhymes,' Manchester Courier. — Mr. Graves has delivered a remarkably clever piece o( fooling, rendered all the more notable because it is thoroughly good-humoured, and never degenerates into buffoonery. London : Smith, Elder & Co., 1 5 Waterloo Place, S.W. UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY Los Angeles This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. Form L9-50m-4,'61(B8994s4)414 PR 4728 Graves - GlBbr Brain of the nation University of California, Los Angeles L 005 329 194 4 pR 4728 G18br