Chapter XVI

Here was the Gate to which I found no key;
Here was the Wall o’er which I might not see.
Some little talk awhile of strategy
There was, and then--good afternoon, Paree!

WAR RELIEF

“Can you spare a Threepenny bit,
Dear Miss Turkey,” said Sir Mouse,
“For Job’s Turkey’s benefit?
I’ve engaged the Opera House!”

“Alas! I’ve naught to spare!”
Said Miss Turkey, “save advice,
I am getting up a Fair,
To relieve the Poor Church Mice.”

SUMMER MASS

In the cloisters of the grass,
Lit by buttercups and daisies,
Celebrants of summer mass,
Little creatures sing their praises.
From a myriad throbbing throats
Rises up their song of Love,
Like a mist of golden motes,
To the Golden Throne above.
And the good Lord, bending nigh,
Quite forgets his house of stone
Where the frightened sinners cry,
And the frowning priests intone,
And the saints (if saints they be)
Smile and smile in effigy.

ABOUT PEOPLE I HAVE MET

J. M. BARRIE

_A Round Robin from His Humble and Devoted Servants the Alphabet_

The Lord forgive if we transgress
Thus to familiarly address
One of our betters.
But, Jamie, do you no recall
The slate whereon you learned to scrawl
Your Humble Letters?

Well we remember how you drew
Our shapely features all askew,
Unflattering really.
You made A lame and B too fat.
And C too curly--what of that!
We loved you dearly.

From that first day we owned your spell.
And just because you used us well
We served you blindly.
Why, even when you put us through
A fearsome Scottish reel, we knew
You meant it kindly.

Jamie, ’tis said Grand Tales there be
Still biding in the A B C--
If this be true,
Quick, Jamie! Cast your golden net.
Maybe we have the grandest yet
In store for you.

THE HORSE

The Horse, I don’t mind telling you,

Is not an easy thing to do.

With Cats and Lions, I confess,

I’ve had a measure of success;

Likewise with Camels, Mice and Snails

And Frogs and Butterflies and Whales.

Eels and Rhinoc’ruses and Ants

And Porcupines and Elephants

And Bees and Yaks and Owls. But when

I try to draw a Horse, my pen

Sputters and scares the high-strung steed,

Who gallops off at such a speed

You have to take the beast on trust--
You can not see him for the dust.

THE TOWN CAT

The melancholy days are come,
The saddest of the year;
Of houses closed and doorbells dumb
And windows dark and drear.

Now Dives to his country seat
Has hied himself away,
And Tabby turned into the street
Must shift as best she may.

No more the cushion soft as silk,
The catnip ball no more;
No more the saucer full of milk
Behind the pantry door.

Nor shall she in the temple prey
Upon the lean church mouse;
The good Lord, too, has gone away
And closed his city house.

When Dives hies him back once more
To his town house, oh, shame!
Tabby will greet him at the door,
But not--no, not the same.

TOWSER

My hair hangs down on either side
Like a Niagara small.
Why is it this, my greatest pride,
Should bring about my fall?

Why is it that my well brushed hair,
That now so smoothly lies,
As soon as I descend the stair
_Always_ gets in my eyes?

No wonder, thus deprived of sight,
I step on empty air
And to the bottom of the flight
Rebound from stair to stair.

I’m not the sort of dog that cares
To make a fuss when hit;
But falling down a flight of stairs
Is not the worst of it.

As there I lie completely out
Of breath and very flat,
Why is it _always_ some one stout
That takes me for a mat?

THE OYSTER

In Autumn, when the leaves are dead,
They take us from our Oyster-bed,
And all the winter long they keep
Us up, without a wink of sleep--

And doesn’t it seem hard to you
When Spring is here, and skies are blue,
And we should like so much to stay,
We have to be in bed by MAY?

THE MOUSE

_A Study in Egotisms_

_Scene: A drawing-room.

Persons: Clarissa, the Mouse, Purrline._

CLARISSA: Help! Help! A Mouse!

MOUSE: Don’t be alarmed! _I’m_ here!
I hurried when I heard you scream--

CLARISSA: Oh, dear!
If it jumps up at me I shall expire!

MOUSE: If I may be permitted to enquire,
Why are you standing there in such a fright,
Upon a chair, clutching your frock so tight
About your--

CLARISSA: Help! Oh dear! I wonder what
That girl’s about! Good heavens! I forgot
It’s Jane’s day out. There’s no one in the house
But me--

MOUSE: Fair lady! I am but a Mouse,
A simple Mouse, but underneath this fur
There beats a heart whose motto is _Sans Purr_.
To see a lovely female in distress
Rouses in me the spirit of _Noblesse_.
To her protection instantly I fly.
No common _Mus Domesticus_ am I!
You may have heard--

CLARISSA: If only Jane were here!
What _shall_ I do?

MOUSE: Dear lady, have no fear!
As I was saying, doubtless you’ve heard tell
How once a Mountain bore a Mouse-child. Well,
_I_ was that Child! Or rather, to be more
Strictly veracious, ’twas my Ancestor;
And sometimes when I dream of deeds Titanic
I think that Mountain must have been Volcanic!
So have no fear! If any one should dare
Molest you, I am here beneath your chair,
Ready to spring--

CLARISSA: Mercy! I wonder why
It squeaks like that! It’s crazy! I shall die
If it--

MOUSE: Sweet lady! Though I cannot guess
From your queer speech the cause of your distress,
Your voice, quite meaningless to my Mouse ear,
Is strangely sweet and musical and clear;
And, though they violate our beauty-laws,
I never saw such shapely hinder paws
As yours, so smooth and beautiful to see,
So silky white, like sticks of celery.
Upon each side a tender sprig of gold--
Gold as pure Cheese, and toothsome to behold--
Climbs up and up! ’Tis called, so I am told
By Mice more versed in lady-lore, a Clock.
Once, it is said, a Mouse named Dickery Dock
Ran up the--

CLARISSA: Ouch!!!

MOUSE: I wonder if I dare!
Only the brave deserve--

CLARISSA: O Lord! This chair
Is giving way! If it should break!--What’s that?
It’s Purrline’s mew! Here, Puss! Puss!--

MOUSE: What? The Cat!
I’d _love_ to meet him! But it’s getting late.
My wife’s expecting me. I musn’t wait!

(_Exit_)

PURRLINE: Me-ouw!

CLARISSA: And is that _all_ you’ve got to say?
Did you expect the Mouse to wait all day?
For all _you_ care, I might have died of fright!
My! But I’m glad it got away all right!

CURTAIN

PEOPLE I HAVE NOT MET

THE TURTLE

I never wasted any love
On turtles, but the turtle-dove
Is quite another thing;
When I have nothing else to do,
I love to hear them bill and coo
While mating in the spring.

There’s something in their plaintive note
That brings a lump into my throat
And makes my pulses stir;
Something between a smothered snore
And the shrill creaking of a door,
That soothes me, as it were.

How strange is Nature’s alchemy,
To think that living in the sea
Should change a creature so!
The turtle of the finny kind
That swims the sea, is to my mind
The lowest of the low.

And yet, O inconsistency!
Although the turtle is to me
A most obnoxious beast,
When on a menu card I spy
“Green Turtle, Soup,” though it comes high,
I take two plates at least!

MICHAEL O’LEARY

When forming one of a storming party which advanced against an
enemy’s barricade, O’Leary rushed to the front and himself killed
five Germans who were holding the first barricade, after which
he attacked the second barricade, about sixty yards further on,
which he captured after killing three of the enemy and making
prisoners of two more.

You may talk of the Rebels of Ulster
And the shindy we had to chuck;
But we don’t give a rap for a family scrap
Whin the Prooshuns is running amuck.

Did you hear how Lance Corporal O’Leary,
Mike O’Leary of the Guards,
Wid his own two mits, tore a forthress to bits
Like a blissed conthraption of cards.

He’d a shmile, had Mike, that ’ud span a dyke,
And a fist that ’ud fell a horse,
And he ripped through the mire of blood and barbed wire,
Like a bull through a bunch of gorse.

Whin he waded in, sure ’twas a sin,
The way that he bashed and bruk ’em;
He dropped on thim Huns like forty tons,
And they niver knew what had struck ’em.

“Poor dears,” says Mike, “I’m thinking belike
All the news they’ve been told is lies,
So it’s up to me, ’ere it’s kilt they be,
To put the poor divils wise.

“Thim Huns, I’m told, while outrageous bold
Is over a trifle dull.
Sure, if that’s a fact, ’tis a friendly act
To hammer it through their skull.

“So here’s for insulting old Erin,
By thinking a thraitor she’d be!
And here’s for your Imperor sneerin’!
‘Contemptible army,’ says he.

“Here’s one for the mothers whose pleadin’
You stopped with a shot and a curse,
And one for the girls dead and bleedin’
And the girls that you spared--for worse.

“For the churches you shelled and the priests you felled
Here’s one! And the women, too,
You held for a shield on the battle field,
And the innocent babes you slew.”

Whin O’Leary had done, there was divil a one
Left to tumble to what he said--
Barrin’ only ten, which I’m wrong again,
For eight av the ten was dead.

CLORINDA

_A Fable for Heiresses_

Above the plate-glass window-pane,
Inviting every passing gaze,
Hung an inscription, large and plain,
“THE HUSBAND SHOP.” This, in amaze,
Clorinda seeing, stopped wide-eyed,
And stared, then turned and stepped inside.

A floor-walker whose faultlessness
And condescending air proclaimed
One of the _table d’haute noblesse_,
Approached Clorinda and exclaimed,
With graceful undulating palm:
“Something in husbands? _Oui, Madame._”

“We have the latest thing of all
In husbands; kindly step this way.
We’re using them on hats this fall,
In place of plume or floral spray,
The creature being pinned or tied
With chiffon bows on either side.”

He leads the way, all wreathed in smiles,
And wonderful in spotless spats
That flitter like twin butterflies
Along an avenue of hats,
Each one displaying on its brim
A husband--fashion’s latest whim.

Clorinda tries them each in turn
Before the glass; some are too small,
And some too cold, and some too stern,
And some are slightly soiled, and all,
When punctured by the hat-pin’s steel,
Betray by squirms how bored they feel.

At last Clorinda came to one
Marked “_Dibbs_,” that scarce seemed worth her while;
But when she tried it on for fun,
It met the hat-pin with a smile,
As if to say, “Oh, beauteous miss,
Even a stab from you is bliss!”

“The very thing! but thrown away
Upon a _hat_!” Clorinda cried.
“’Twould make a sweet corsage bouquet.”
The shoppers stared electrified,
To see Clorinda Dibbs depart
Wearing a husband next her heart.

ALCIBIADES J. SKINNER

Alcibiades J. Skinner
Was a famous after-dinner
Speaker. Great the way
He secured, just by excelling
In the art of Story Telling,
One good meal a day.

Chestnuts more than often passé
He exchanged for Marrons Glacés,
Canvasback and Quail.
Flat the feast and dull the dinner
Lacking that accomplished Spinner
Of Postprandial Tale.

Every mail brought invitations:
Teas and luncheons and collations,
Dinners without end.
No one to a Formal Function
Such impressiveness, such unction,
Such éclat could lend.

At that gruesomest of gruesome
Rites, The Banquet tendered to some
Literary Light,
None could say with such conviction,
“We have Snooks of _Snappy Fiction_
In our midst To-night.”

How he said it made no matter;
Shaft of Wit or Broadway Patter
Meets with like acclaim.
Latest Mot or Jest Historic,
To the dinner guest plethoric
It is all the same.

When he said, “This moment finds me
Unprepared,” or, “That reminds me,”
There would be a hum
Of expectance, or a rippling
As though Daniel (or Kipling)
Had to Judgment come.

Alas for Fame! As A. J. Skinner
Put it at the Author’s Dinner,
“Fame’s a fickle Jade!”
Had he then an intimation
That his own wide reputation
Was ere long to fade?

From that day his after-dinner
Stories thinner grew and thinner.
Sorry was his case.
Rare the dinner invitation,
Rarer still the lunch--Starvation
Stared him in the face.

One day as his eye was wandering
O’er a map, he fell to pondering:
“If I cross the Main,
Somewhere ’twixt the Poles and Tropics
I may find some brand new Topics
For my food campaign!”

So one Friday A. J. Skinner
Bought a passage and an “Inner”
On a sailing ship;
Not for sport or relaxation,
Not for rest or recreation--
’Twas a business trip.

Fatal trip, had he but known it!
Or a Fortune Teller shown it
Written on his palm!--
How one morning bright and sunny,
With a breeze as soft as honey,
And a sea as calm--

Somewhere in the South Pacific
There would spring up a terrific
Tropical typhoon--
Smite their helpless ship and bear it
On a mountain wave and tear it
Like a Toy Balloon.

Luckily for Mr. Skinner,
When she sank he was not in her.
Clinging to a Spar,
Being, too, an expert swimmer,
Soon he saw the breakers’ glimmer
On a sandy bar.

Lucky, did I say? Appalling
Choice of words! Would you when crawling
Up a Sandbank gritty,
On firm land a foothold winning,
Call it luck to meet a grinning
Cannibal Committee?

Well, to make a long narration
Shorter (by abbreviation),
Soon as he was sighted
Alcibiades J. Skinner
To a most select Shore Dinner
Was at once invited.

Never had the South Pacific
Witnessed such a beatific
Banquet as was here.
Never was such mirth unbounded
As when that far beach resounded
With unwonted cheer.

* * * * *

Epicures on South Sea beaches
Waste no time on Toasts and Speeches;
Happy dreams had they.
In their midst was A. J. Skinner,
Most nutritious After-Dinner
Speaker of his day.

EVE

_Apropos de Rien_

It is not fair to visit all
The blame on Eve, for Adam’s fall;
The most Eve did was to display
Contributory negligé.

THE HIGHBROW HEN

Said Farmer Dole to his speckled hen,
“Why don’t you lay for me now and then?”
Said the speckled hen to Farmer Dole,
“Because I’ve taken up birth control.”

SIR IPPYKIN

Grim Giant Graft sate in his cavern dim;
A king’s reward was offered for him dead.
He scowled to think it could not come to him,
That price upon his head.

Of all his foes he dreaded only one,
A knight of stalwart heart and spotless fame,
Who feared no creature underneath the sun--
Sir Ippykin his name.

One night to Ippykin there came a thought--
A mocking thought, that whispered in his ear:
“Ah, ha, Sir Knight! men say thou fearest naught;
They lie--thou fearest Fear!

“Fear smites you when you read the king’s decree
That whatsoever knight shall rid the land
Of Giant Graft will gain a golden fee,
Likewise his daughter’s hand.

“You fear to win, for fear that you must wed
The princess--for you love another maid;
You dare not lose the fight because you dread
Lest men call you afraid.”

Cried Ippykin, “Lord, how shall I cut through
This tangled coil?” Then of a sudden laughed
A gleeful laugh, and rose and hied him to
The cave of Giant Graft.

No chronicler was present to reveal
What passed between the knight and Giant Graft;
Or what the bargain was the which to seal
So many horns they quaffed.

But this is sure--thereafter from the lands
Of Ippykin once every week would stray
Certain fat sheep into the Giant’s hands
In some mysterious way;

And once a week the giant and the knight
Would chase each other round in seeming strife,
Until the king grew weary of the sight,
And pensioned both for life.

Then Ippykin and his true love were wed
And both lived happy till they passed away;
But Giant Graft, fat, flagrant, and well fed,
Is living to this day.

THE PSYCHOLOGY COP

The New York Police Force is to be instructed in psychology.--_News Item._

One morn, as Robert Ristwatch Rice
Sped _Childs_ward for his midday meal,
Upon his shoulder, like a vise,
He felt a grip of steel.

And in his ear a voice there hissed
(With spirits fraught, and crime),
And something snapped around his wrist
That did not tell the time.

“I’ve pinched yer now!” (devoid of tact
Was Sergeant Fay). “For shame!
Yer Hun! I caught yer in the act
Insultin’ that there dame!

“That skirt there in the showy lid,
And muff of classy fur.”
“My word!” cried Robert Rice, “I did
Not even speak to her.”

“What’s words to me, just froth and foam!
I’m a psycholic guy--
I lamp yer thoughts inside yer dome
With my subconscious eye!”

“Then you should know,” said Rice, “I’m a
MISOGYNIST!”--“By Gee!
That settles you!” cried Sergeant Fay;
“You come along with me.”

PHYLLIS LEE

Beside a Primrose ’broider’d Rill
Sat Phyllis Lee in Silken Dress
Whilst Lucius limn’d with loving skill
Her likeness, as a Shepherdess.
Yet tho’ he strove with loving skill
His Brush refused to work his Will.

“Dear Maid, unless you close your Eyes
I can not paint to-day,” he said;
“Their Brightness shames the very Skies
And turns their Turquoise into Lead.”
Quoth Phyllis, then, “To save the Skies
And speed your Brush, I’ll shut my Eyes.”

Now when her Eyes were closed, the Dear,
Not dreaming of such Treachery,
Felt a Soft Whisper in her Ear,
“Without the Light, how can one See?”
“If you are _sure_ that none can see
I’ll keep them shut,” said Phyllis Lee.

MRS. SEYMOUR FENTOLIN

It was Mrs. Seymour Fentolin who stood there, a little dog under
each arm; a large hat, gay with flowers, upon her head. She wore
patent shoes with high heels, and white silk stockings. She had,
indeed, the air of being dressed for luncheon at a fashionable
restaurant.
From a story in _The Popular Magazine_.

The lauded lilies of the field
Who toil not--neither do they spin,
The palm sartorial must yield
To Mrs. Seymour Fentolin.

A hat, French heels, white stockings, dogs!
Not even Solomon could win
The championship for showy togs
From Mrs. Seymour Fentolin.

The two extremes in décolleté,
Of ballroom and of bathing beach,
Here meet in a bewildering way
And mingle all the charms of each.

I am no social butter-in,
I do not crave to meet her bunch,
But where does Mrs. Fentolin,
If one might venture--take her lunch?

And might one ask that peerless dame,
Without appearing impolite,
Is _Seymour_ really her first name,
And has the printer spelt it right?

THE DEVIL AMONG THE LADIES