The Motley Muse Part 2

He answered brightly, 'Righto, pater!

'I'd like to be a British waiter!'

'Come, George,' I said, 'don't be absurd!

'I asked what _calling_ you preferred.

'The Bar (although, I've always heard, 'The work is something frightful), 'The Church, the Services, the Bench, 'Diplomacy--nay, do not blench, 'You know how good you are at French-- 'Is each of them delightful; 'I'll come for your decision later.'

Said George, 'I wish to be a waiter!

'Yes, at some cafe let me wait; 'For though I stroked my College eight, 'The year they won the Ladies' Plate, 'How mean a triumph _that_ is, 'Compared with his who daily bears 'Whole stacks of Ladies' Plates downstairs, 'Or "b.u.mps" the backs of diners' chairs, 'At Evans's or Gatti's!

'A "first" in "Greats" I deem no greater 'Than every exploit of the waiter.

'When single-handed he controls 'Some half-a-dozen finger-bowls, 'Than any Fellow of All Souls 'More talent he evinces, 'And shows why those who feel the charm 'Of balancing without alarm 'Six soup-plates upon either arm, 'At Kettner's, Scott's, or Prince's, 'To Judge's wig or Bishop's gaiter 'Prefer the napkin of the waiter!'

[Ill.u.s.tration]

'THE CRIES OF LONDON'

No 'Milk below maid' now awakes The city with her plaintive pipe; No tuneful pedlar hawks 'Hot Cakes!'

No wench at dawn the silence breaks With strains of 'Cherry Ripe!'

No cries of 'Mack'rel!' subtly blend With 'Knives to grind!' or 'Chairs to mend!'

The fireman's shout no more we hear; 'Punch' and his satellites are dumb; No more, when autumn days draw near, Do songs of 'Lavender!' rise clear Above the traffic's hum.

No 'China orange' now is sold; The m.u.f.fin's knell is mutely toll'd!

And yet our nerves are sorely tried-- Since Nature's lute has many a rift-- By 'cries' which Tube and 'bus provide: 'Fares please!' ''Old tight, miss!' 'Full inside!'

'No smoking in the lift!'

And oh! the gulf that separates 'Sweet lavender!' from 'Mind the gates!'

THE MODEL FARM

['If you want good milk, b.u.t.ter, cheese, beef, mutton, and bacon, keep the animals which supply these things amused--give them toys, in fact.'--The _Daily Mirror_.]

When a friend after breakfast some compliment pays To the nourishment recently taken, When he mentions the eggs with expressions of praise, And says flattering things of the bacon, I conduct him at once to my farm on the Downs Which is managed so blithely and brightly That the brows of my cows are unwrinkled by frowns And my chickens are jocund and sprightly, Where dogs in their kennels avoid being snappy, And ev'ry dumb creature is healthy and happy.

Each sheep is diverted with suitable toys That shall keep it obese and contented; Ev'ry pig, whose delectable flesh one enjoys, With a doll or a drum is presented; For 'tis thus that I nurture those succulent lambs That are always so sweet and so tender, And secure those remarkably delicate hams Which the sow is so loth to surrender; Ev'ry egg (as supplied to our own Royal Fam'ly) Is hatched by a hen who has patronised Hamley!

Each ox is devoted to 'Animal Grab,'

Ev'ry heifer plays 'tag' with a wether; There's a swan who at 'Pool' is no end of a dab, And the pigs play 'Backgammon' together.

'Pitch-and-toss' is the favourite game of the bull, 'Ducks-and-drakes' makes the goslings feel perky, While the crossest old ram never 'loses his wool'

When he plays 'Rouge-et-noir' with the turkey; Which is why all my produce--cheese, poultry or mutton-- Appeals to the taste of both gourmet and glutton!

THE ADVENTURER

['Gentleman, aged 26, seeks adventure; well up in finance, badminton, tennis, swimming, canoeing, bridge, and mechanics; banker's reference, if required.'--The _Times_.]

My word! I'm the chap for adventures!

There's nothing on earth I can't do, From dabbling in doubtful debentures To paddling a birch-bark canoe!

At golf, when I get into trouble, How 'dead' my approaches are laid!

At bridge, how I dauntlessly double Each spade!

While as for lawn-tennis, there never was yet A player who volleyed so hard at the net!

At chess I've invented a gambit That fills my opponents with dread; At billiards I don't care a d---- bit _How_ often I pocket the red!

In water I swim like a salmon, At football I kick all the goals; I'm simply first-cla.s.s at backgammon Or bowls, And, really, I'm equally deft and adroit When I'm handling a mallet or pitching a quoit!

And now for employment I hanker Where gifts such as mine are of use; (A character, backed by my banker, I'm only too glad to produce).

A life of adventure that's br.i.m.m.i.n.g With badminton, bridge, and canoes, With simple mechanics and swimming, I'd choose---- A life for a man who's 'well up in finance,'

With a sprinkling of sport and a dash of romance!

A PLEA FOR PONTO

[Sir Frederick Banbury moved in the House of Commons:--'That in the opinion of this House no operation for the purpose of vivisection should be performed upon dogs.']

When you're studying the habits Of the germ of German measles, When you're searching out a cure for indigestion, You may practise upon rabbits, Upon guinea-pigs, or weasels, If you think that they throw light upon the question; You may note how bad the bite is Of the microbe of bronchitis, By performing operations upon frogs, But I've yet to hear the mention Of a surgical invention That can justify experiments on DOGS.

I would sooner people perished Of lumbago or swine-fever (Or, at any rate, I'd rather they should chance it!) Than that any hound I cherished From a 'pom' to a retriever, Should be subject to the vivisector's lancet.

I know nought of theoretics, But in spite of anaesthetics --Ether, chloroform or other soothing drug-- (Though perhaps I argue wrongly) I should disapprove most strongly, If I found a person puncturing my pug!

If we wish to make a bee-line For the chicken-pox bacillus, From the hen-house there is nothing to debar us; We may learn from creatures feline What the causes are that kill us When we suffer from infirmities catarrhous!

But when dogs' insides we study, Then our hands and hearts grow b.l.o.o.d.y, And we needn't be a crank or partisan To display a strong objection To the so-called vivisection Of that animal we style the Friend of Man!

THE 'WASTER'

['I think that in certain respects the 'Waster' is one of the great forces of Empire; it is in him that the spirit of the Elizabethan gentleman adventurer survives most vigorously. To me the waster is a peculiarly English product; in many respects he appeals to me more than any one in the community.'--Sir HERBERT TREE.]

When others praise the pious, My own response is faint; I feel no morbid bias In favour of the saint.

My paeans, rather, let me raise To laud the 'Waster' and his ways!

I love to watch my hero, As through the streets he struts, With loud 'Pip! Pip!' or 'Cheer Oh!'

Greeting his fellow-Nuts, And haunting ev'ry public bar To cadge a c.o.c.ktail or cigar!

[Ill.u.s.tration]

Each Sat.u.r.day, at Brighton, How well he plays the role Of Admirable Crichton, At Grand or Metropole!

The British Lion's whelp, indeed, True scion of the Bulldog Breed!

The 'unco guid' may censure, The prudes their eyebrows raise; His pa.s.sion for adventure Recalls those s.p.a.cious days When Britain's flag, from sea to sea, Was borne by 'Wasters' such as he!

And soon 'twill be his mission, When fall'n on evil times, To bear the old tradition To far Colonial climes; The seeds of Empire there he'll sow.

Meanwhile, I wish to Heav'n he'd go!

THE CHOICE