Absurd Ditties

XXIV
THAT OF THE FAIRY GRANDMOTHER AND THE COMPANY PROMOTER

 
A Company Promoter was Septimus Sharpe,
And the subject is he of this ditty;
He'd his name – nothing more —
Painted on the glass door
Of an office high up on the toppermost floor
Of a house in Throgmorton Street, City.
 
 
The Companies which he had promoted, so far,
Had not – so to speak, – been successes.
As a matter of fact,
He had often to act
In a manner requiring considerable tact
To – financially – keep out of messes.
 
 
One day there appeared – Sharpe could never tell how, —
In a costume unusually airy,
A young lady. "Dear me!
How surprising!" said he.
"Now, who upon earth can this young person be?
Is it possible? Why! it's a Fairy!"
 
 
"You are right, Septimus," said the Fairy – "quite right,
For, in fact, I'm your Fairy Grandmother!"
Sharpe had to confess,
"I already possess
Two grandmothers. But," said he, "nevertheless,
In your case, I will welcome another.
 
 
"Especially if, Fairy Grandmother dear,
Your intentions are – pardon me, – golden.
I'll be pleased, if my till —
Or my coffers – you'll fill,
As, – like a good fairy, – I've no doubt you will;
Then to you I'll be greatly beholden."
 
 
The Fairy she smiled, as, quite sweetly, she said:
"You're mistaken, my dear young relation.
There's no fairy displays
In these up-to-date days,
Her powers in such crude and old-fashioned ways —
No! I bring you An Imagination.
 
 
"But exercise It, and you quickly will find
From your pathway all troubles are banished!"
She waved a small wand,
With a look sad yet fond,
Then, into the far and the distant "beyond"
Sharpe's good Grandmother suddenly vanished.
 
 
The spell she had cast very quickly began
In his brain to engender a vision.
He imagined a Mine
Filled with gold, pure and fine,
And a lovely Prospectus began to design
Every item worked out with precision.
 
 
He imagined Big Dividends; profits galore;
And some Dukes he imagined Directors.
And "the Public should share,"
He went on to declare,
"In such wealth as should cause the whole nation to stare."
There were Thousands —in Shares– for Projectors.
 
 
Then he went on imagining mine after mine,
With Prospectuses most high-faluting.
And the Public they fought
For the Shares he had brought
To the Market (they "safer than houses" were thought);
And each day some new Company was mooting.
 

* * *

(Extra Special.)

 
That he grew passing rich is a matter of course.
All his wealth to his wife he made over.
 

* * *

 
There has been a great smash;
Company's gone with a crash.
Gone also, I hear, has the shareholders' cash.
But, Septimus Sharpe —he's in clover.
 

XXV
THAT OF THE GEISHA AND THE JAPANESE WARRIOR

 
An almond-eyed maiden was pretty Jes-So,
Her effort in life was to please;
A Geisha was she, and she handed the tea
In a costume bewitching as ever could be,
And a style which was best Japanese;
And she often served bowls of exceptional size
To a Japanese warrior called Li-Kwize.
 
 
And daily Li-Kwize and the pretty Jes-So,
In their artless and Japanese way,
'Neath the Gom-bobble trees rubbed their hands o'er their knees,
Saying flattering things, such as over the seas,
It's the proper and right thing to say:
Little wonder, in sooth, that Li-Kwize fell in love,
While the Japanese turtle-birds twittered above.
 
 
But 'tis said that the course of true love ne'er ran smooth,
And a rival appeared on the scene,
He'd a glass in his eye, and his collar was high,
His gloves were immaculate, so was his tie,
And his legs were excessively lean;
A descendant was he of a long line of "Dooks,"
And his name was Lord Algernon Perkyns de Snooks.
 
 
In Japan, – on a tour, – he'd arrived with his ma,
On the tea gardens stumbled by chance,
And directly he saw all the girls he said "Haw!
I – aw – wish, don't you know, that I'd come here befaw" —
And he gave them a languishing glance;
To his feeble moustache he gave several twirls,
Declaring that Geishas were "Doocid fine girls!"
 
 
And he called for a dish of best Japanese tea,
And he ogled the pretty Jes-So,
While the warlike Li-Kwize stared in angry surprise
At the flirtation going on under his eyes,
And he wished that Lord Algy would go;
But, oh! dear me, no, he continued to stop
All the long afternoon in the pretty tea-shop.
 
 
On the morrow he came there again, and again
He appeared on the following day,
And it made Jes-So sad to hear language so bad
As Li-Kwize employed, as he "went on" like mad
In a grotesque, and Japanese way;
For he raved and he stormed as they do in Japan.
(You have seen how, no doubt, on a Japanese fan.)
 
 
He thrust, and he slashed at the air with his sword,
And he shouted aloud at each blow;
There is, really, no doubt he was greatly put out,
But he didn't do what you are thinking about:
He didn't slay Lord Algy – no:
For Li-Kwize he was subtle, as subtle could be,
He'd a far better plan up his sleeve, don't you see.
 
 
He went to the house where Lord Algy's mamma,
A stern, and a haughty old dame,
Was staying, and, tho' it was all in dumb show,
He managed – somehow, – that the lady should know
Exactly her son's little game,
The equivalent Japanese noise for a kiss
He expressed, – its significance no one could miss.
 
 
In pantomime glibly he told the whole tale,
While the lady grew pale, and irate:
"Ha! what's that you say? Takes tea there each day?
Geisha? Tea-shop indeed! Come, show me the way!
We must stop this before it's too late."
And she pounced on her son, with a terrible frown,
At the pretty tea-shop at the end of the town.
 
 
Not a word did she say, but she took by the ear
Lord Algernon Perkyns de S.;
She turned him about, and she marched him straight out —
An undignified exit, altho', without doubt,
An effectual way to suppress
A thing which no mother could view with delight,
And, for one, I contend the old lady was right.
 

* * *

 
The pretty Jes-So, and the warlike Li-Kwize
"Made it up," I am happy to say,
And the almond-eyed miss, with a Japanese kiss,
Filled the warrior's heart with a Japanese bliss,
In quite the conventional way;
While the turtle-birds sang in the Gom-bobble trees
All their prettiest songs in their best Japanese.
 

XXVI
THAT OF THE INDISCREET HEN AND THE RESOURCEFUL ROOSTER
(An Allegory.)

 
I dote upon the softer sex.
The theme I write upon doth vex,
For female inconsistency
A sorry subject is for me
To tackle;
Yet of a wayward female hen
I write this time, with halting pen.
Compound of pride, and vanity,
All feathers she appear'd to be,
And cackle.
 
 
A flighty hen was she, no doubt —
A foolish fowl, a gad-about.
"Lay eggs!" quoth she. "Why should I? – why?
And set! I won't, upon that I
'M decided."
Then, – on the Times instalment plan, —
A bicycle she bought, and 'gan
Domestic duties to neglect;
Her skirts were – what could one expect? —
Divided.
 
 
This conduct greatly scandalised
The farmyard; all looked on surprised,
All but the rooster staid and grim;
He did not fret. 'Twas not for him
To rate her;
He let her go her wilful way,
And purchased for himself one day
A strange contraption – glass and tin —
An article that's called an in-
Cubator.
 
 
The nearest grocer's then he sought,
Some ten-a-shilling eggs he bought;
The incubator set to work
(There was no fear that it would shirk
Its duty),
Then sat and waited patiently.
Not many days to wait, had he:
Within a week, to make him glad,
A family of chicks he had —
A beauty.
 
 
Surprised, his wife returned; but "No;
In future you your way may go,
And I'll go mine, misguided hen!"
Said he. She fell to pleading then,
But vainly.
"I'm better off without," he said,
"A wife with such an empty head.
 

* * *

 
He flourishes. His wife, grown stout,
Neglected, squa-a-ks and stalks about —
Ungainly.
 

Moral

 
It's a wise chicken in these days that knows
its own mother.
 

XXVII
THAT OF A DUEL IN FRANCE

 
Oh, Fa-la-la! likewise Hélas!
A shocking thing has come to pass,
For Monsieur Henri Delapaire
Has fallen out, – a sad affair, —
With Monsieur Jacques Mallette.
"La femme?" Of course! They both declare
They love la belle Nannette.
 
 
Ma foi! They'll surely come to blows,
For one has tweaked the other's nose,
Who quickly snaps, with fierce grimace,
His fingers in the other's face.
A duel must result.
A Frenchman's honour 'twould disgrace
To bear with such insult.
 
 
"Pistols for two!" – in French, – they cry.
Nannette to come between doth fly:
"Messieurs! Messieurs! pray, pray be calm!
You fill your Nannette with alarm."
"Parole d'honneur! No.
Revenge!" they cry. The big gendarme,
Nannette to call, doth go.
 
 
Quickly a crowd has gathered round,
Pistols are brought, and seconds found;
A grassy space beneath the trees,
Where gentlemen may fight at ease;
Then, each takes off his coat —
Glaring meanwhile as though he'd seize
The other by the throat.
 
 
The seconds shrug, gesticulate,
And pace the ground with step sedate;
Then anxious consultation hold
O'er pistols, for the rivals bold
Who now stand white and stern;
Their arms across their chests they fold,
And sideways each doth turn.
 
 
The seconds place them vis-à-vis,
And give them word to fire at "three";
Brave Monsieur Mallette shuts his eyes,
And points his pistol to the skies;
Brave Monsieur Delapaire
His hand to steady vainly tries,
It trembles in the air.
 
 
A deadly silence: "Un – deux – trois!"
Two shots are ringing through the Bois.
Two shots, – and then two awful calms;
As, senseless, in their seconds' arms
The duellists both lay.
(Their faces pale the crowd alarms,
And fills them with dismay.)
 
 
"Killed?" Goodness gracious – oh, dear no!
This couldn't be, – in France, – you know,
For pistols there they never load.
But caps were they which did explode:
They've only swooned with fright.
See! one some signs of life has showed;
The crowd claps with delight.
They both revive. They both embrace.
Twice kiss each other on the face.
 

* * *

 
"Stay! Hold!" you cry. "You said, I thought,
La belle Nannette the gendarme sought?"
She did, —la belle Nannette, —
She sought, and found him – charming quite.
She stays there with him yet.
 
 
She "never cared for Delapaire,"
She says with most dégagé air;
And "as for Monsieur Mallette, – well,
He may discover – who can tell? —
Someone to marry yet."
Meanwhile le gendarme pour la belle,
The fickle, fair Nannette.
 

XXVIII
THAT OF THE ASTUTE NOVELIST

 
Quite an ordinary person
Wrote an ordinary book;
'Twas the first he'd ever written,
So a lot of pains he took.
From a two-a-penny paper
He some little factlets² culled,
With some "stories of celebrities"
By which the Public's gulled.
 
 
Then of course he had a hero,
And likewise a heroine,
And a villain, and a villainess,
Whose nefarious design
Was most properly defeated
In the chapter last but one, —
Which described the happy ending —
There you were! The thing was done.
 
 
But, somehow, it didn't answer.
"Nothing strange," you'll say, "in that";
And, indeed, perhaps there wasn't
Very much to wonder at,
For the book was really never
Calculated fame to win,
And the author's coat grew shabby
And his body very thin.
 
 
And he pondered, and he pondered
O'er his misery and ills,
Till, one day, he met a party
Who was posting up some bills.
"What's the matter?" asked this person,
"You are looking mighty glum.
Books not selling? Advertise 'em.
That's the dodge to make things hum."
 
 
"Look at 'Whatsit's Soap,' and so on!
Look at 'Thingumbobby's Pills!'
It's the advertising does it,
And the owner's pocket fills.
Puff 'em up; the Public likes it;
And – (this from behind his hand) —
It doesn't matter if it's
Not quite true, you understand."
 
 
So the author wrote another
Book, and brought in Tsars, and Kings,
And Popes, and noble ladies —
Queens, and Duchesses, and things
And "the problem" of the moment;
And some politics, and cram,
With tit-bits of foreign language
Mixed with literary jam.
 
 
And in type he had it stated
That "the world was all agog"
For this "epoch-making" novel,
And – their memory to jog —
The public had it daily
In all kinds of sorts of ways
Thrust upon them, till it set
Their curiosity ablaze.
 
 
And from Brixton unto Ponder's End
'Twas daily talked about
This wonderful new novel
Long, long, long before 'twas out;
I forget how many hundred
Thousand copies have been sold;
But it's brought the lucky author
Notoriety, and gold.
 
 
This judicious advertising
Has indeed brought him success;
He's the "lion" of the moment
In Society (big S).
It is even said that Royalty —
But there! I mustn't say,
For he'll tell you all about it
In another book some day.
 

XXIX
THAT OF THE ABSENT-MINDED LADY

 
The lady hailed a passing 'bus,
And sat down with a jerk;
Upon her heated face she wore
A most complacent smirk;
Three parcels held she in her lap,
Safe-guarded from the least mishap.
 
 
The 'bus it rattled, bumped, and shook —
She didn't seem to mind —
And every now and then she smiled,
As something crossed her mind:
She evidently longed to tell
The joke, that we might smile as well.
 
 
"These men!" she said, at last to one
Who sat beside her. "It's absurd.
To hear them rave. They seem to think
That nobody – upon my word —
But men can do things in what they
Are pleased to call the proper way.
 
 
"My husband now, he's like the rest,
And said, when I came out
To do some shopping, I'd forget
Something, he had no doubt,
Or else buy more than I desired,
Or something which was not required.
 
 
"Now, three things I set out to buy
At Mr. Whiteley's store;
Three parcels here, I'm taking home,
Three parcels, and no more.
My husband he must own ere long
Himself entirely in the wrong."
 
 
She smiled, – a most triumphant smile.
"Exactly like the men!"
She said, and I – she looked at me —
Felt much embarrassed then.
Her scorn for men was undisguised;
The other ladies sympathised.
 
 
But, presently, I noticed that
Upon the lady's face
No smile was seen – a puzzled frown
Had come there in its place;
She squirmed, and fidgeted about,
And turned her pockets inside out.
 
 
She counted over – several times —
Her parcels – "One – two – three;"
Clutched at her purse, her parasol;
Then muttered, "H'm! Dear me!
There's nothing that I haven't got.
What can I have forgotten? What?"
 
 
She tapped her foot impatiently;
Stared out into the street;
She got up several times and searched
Quite vaguely o'er the seat;
Then gave a sigh and settled down,
Still wearing that bewildered frown.
 
 
Then, evidently lost in thought,
She sat as in a dream,
Till – o'er her face a pallor spread, —
She sprang up, with a scream:
"Oh, stop! Pray stop, conductor! Stop!
I've left the baby in the shop!"