Part 2
An' wot cured me o' temperance Was neither tracts nor indigestion, But simply that I read, by chance, Some dry statistics on the question, Which proved to me, beyond a doubt, That lamps as wasn't oiled went out!
In them dark moments o' the war-- Of Nineteen 'Undred now I'm writing-- My country raised a mounted corps, As seed a deal o' gallant fighting; An' nigh a third of all that lot Was touched by fever, shell or shot.
Of the toteetallers as went, Wot boasted o' their sober 'abits, As much as _thirty-five per cent._ Took fever bad, an' died like rabbits; While, out o' them as liquored free, We didn't lose but twenty-three!
When them statistics first I 'eard, Nobody could 'a hacted quicker; I 'urried to the 'George the Third,' An' simply dosed myself wi' liquor. (Since then a many 'armless orgies I've 'ad wi' them there Royal Georges.)
An' only yesterday I 'ears The state o' things as 'ad existed: O' them _toteetal_ volunteers There wasn't only _three_ enlisted! When _one_ fell sick, an' orf 'e went, 'E made that Thirty-five per cent.!
Yes, figures proves you hanythink, To suit your private way o' thinking, They proves the blessedness o' drink, Or else they proves the curse o' drinking; An', if you manages 'em right, They proves a'most that black is white!
They proves that British Industries Is being ruined by the 'dumper'; They proves this year (as ever is) To be wot people calls a 'bumper.' An' when on exports they begin, Lor! wot a muddle they gets in!
They proves as 'ow the iron trade Is prosperous (or else declining); That more (or less) was never made By them as is engaged in mining. (We gets a varied mental meal Served up to us on plates o' steel!)
They proves, without the slightest doubt, Our manufacturies is growin'; They proves we're being quite cut out, Or else that our 'ome trade's a-goin'. (In which, per'aps, they ain't so wrong-- It _is_ a-goin', goin' strong!)
But there's some undisputed fac's-- An' even figures won't gainsay it: One is, if you puts on a tax, Someone or other _'as_ to pay it. ('We'll tax the poor man's corn,' says Joe; 'But touch 'is bread? Oh dear me, no!')
If England needs our pounds an' pence, An' taxes of our food to raise 'em, It don't require much common-sense To see as the consumer pays 'em; The thing I'm anxious for to learn Is wot does _'e_ get in return?
When prices they goes up a bit, The rich exchequer of the nation Is bound in honour to remit Somethink by way o' compensation. (Tho', all the same, I'd like to see The bloke as talks of _tea_ to _me_!)
An' that's a ticklish game to win; We'll stay exactly where we are if Them blooming furrin goods comes in, In spite of our protective tariff! 'Ha! but we'll keep 'em out,' sez you. Then where's our promised revenoo?
If that's the price as must be paid To forward Joe's Imperial mission; If we must bolster up our trade, An' not allow no competition, By taxing them as 'as to buy, 'Gawd 'elp our British trade!' sez I.
'CONTROVERSIAL METHODS'
It doesn't matter if I goes Inside our local Workman's Club To 'ave a game o' dominoes, Or drops into the nearest pub; In 'arf a moment in 'll walk Some bloke as starts a fiscal talk.
An' if I ever tries, per'aps, To criticise this scheme o' Joe's, There's always some excited chaps As leads from arguments to blows. An' then we throws the things about, Till someone calls the chucker-out.
They states that England's gone to pot, That ev'ry trade is lost to 'er; An' if I dares to say it's not, They calls me 'Little Englander'! (On one I 'ad to use my fist: 'E said I was a 'hoptimist.')
Nor yet it ain't no furrin foes As thus belittles Britain's fame; It's partisans o' good old Joe's As brings discredit on 'er name, By shouting out to ev'ryone That little England's day is done.
One night Jim Adams sez to me, 'Ole England's rotten to the core!' An' when 'e finds I don't agree, 'E ups an' calls me a pro-Boer! (I 'ad a word or two with 'im; 'E's still in 'orspital, is Jim!)
If them so-called Imperialists Is blokes as runs their country down, Upon 'er ruined state insists, An' tries to blacken 'er renown, Then I for one 'ud much prefer To be a 'Little Englander.'
If wot their politicians styles The 'patriotic' point of view Is saying that these British Isles 'As lost their trade an' credit too, I ain't a patriot no more: I'm just a hoptimist pro-Boer!
I'm not the sort o' chap as blames Them folks as don't agree wi' me, But when they calls me silly names Because my fiscal views is Free, It don't require no further flaws To see the weakness o' their cause.
A MESSAGE FROM BROADMOOR
Altho' my brain is sound and well, An' mentally I've nothing wrong, They've locked me in a padded cell, An' watches me the 'ole day long; 'Ow did I get in such a fix? 'Twas all along o' politics.
I'd studied Joe's Protection plan, An' thought I'd see what I could do To benefit my fellow-man By practisin' 'is 'opeful view That Exports is the all in all, And Himports should be nil--or small.
So, when I stayed with Uncle Bill (My visit ain't improved 'is manners), I managed, when I left, to fill My pockets with 'is best 'Avannahs; The cigarettes I left be'ind Was quite the cheapest I could find.
Yet Uncle Bill 'e couldn't see That since 'is Exports far exceeded 'Is Himports--thanks, o' course, to me-- That was exactly what he needed To make 'im prosperous again; 'E merely said I was insane!
'E couldn't understand, wot's more, ('E was a Cobdenite, an' still is), Why, when I traded at the door 'Is hovercoat for Weary Willie's, 'E, not the tramp, 'ad been the gainer; And yet--could anythink be plainer?
One day a foreign merchant fleet Was anchored orf a British pier; The cargo, mostly Russian wheat, Designed for himportation 'ere; True to my principles, that night I blew it up with dynamite.
* * * * *
The jury was a set o' twelve Old fossils o' the Asquith school; The judge was one they ought to shelve; My counsel was a bloomin' fool; 'E talked o' my 'disordered brain,' An' never mentioned Chamberlain!
So now they've sent me to a spot Congenial to my fiscal notions, Which, as I needn't say, is not The same as Devonsheer's or Goschen's. But I'm not mad, I must insist: I'm merely a Protectionist!
THE TURNING TIDE
Jim 'Icks was a Tory, ten years back; An' 'e cheered at each Tory win. An' 'e'd stand an' argue as white was black, For to 'elp them Tories in. But times (an' parties) is changed since then, An' 'e's wishful to 'elp 'em out agen.
'Rat!' sez you? Maybe that's true. Nor 'e ain't the only one As 'eard wot them Tories _said_ they'd do, An' as seed wot them Tories _done_; An' 'e don't feel noways bound, don't Jim, To blokes as 'as broke their word with 'im.
'E nursed 'is party a many a year, An' 'e swollered their party tricks. Just draw up a cheer to the fire, an' 'ear Wot they promised the likes of 'Icks. An' I'll tell you arterwards, if I can, Wot the Tories _done_ for the workin'-man.
* * * * *
Chamberlain, 'e was the fust to speak,-- An', o' course, 'e spoke cocksure,-- Of a pension of 'arf a crown a week For the old, 'ard-workin' poor. (An' many a cap was raised to Joe, When 'e made that promise, ten year ago.)
Balfour nex' to the 'ustings comes, With a scheme for to 'elp improve Them dwellin'-'ouses in crowded slums, Where there warn't no room to move. (An' many a 'ope was kep' alive By the thought o' that promise o' '95.)
Then come a plan for to keep away Them furriners orf our shores; We 'asn't no use for the likes o' they, Wi' the crowds at our poor-'ouse doors. (But our English workmen is still denied, An' our English waiters can wait--outside!)
* * * * *
Ten year ago, that were. To-day Such schemes is a trifle flat. 'Twas Election-time, as I needn't say, When they promised the likes o' that. An' our Unemployed in their thousands swarm, An' our Poor Law waits for the pledged Reform.
Ten year ago, that were; an' yet We're a-watchin', with 'opeless eye, Our slum-choked women-folk starve an' sweat, An' our stunted children die. An' late an' early, early an' late, The old men waits at the work'us gate.
I wouldn't be 'ard on them Tory chaps-- No doubt as they done their best; But I can't 'elp thinkin' some'ow, per'aps, They'd be none the worst of a rest. That 'undred majority makes 'em slow, Let alone all the trouble they've 'ad with Joe.
It's easy to sneer when you once begins, An' it's easy to badger an' blame; When the 'ins' is 'outs,' and the 'outs' is 'ins,' Very like they'll be just the same! No better, per'aps, but at least no wuss; An' they can't very well do _less_ for us!
Wot can this Guv'ment show to-day But them promises throwed aside? An' a country's confidence washed away On the ebb of a Tory tide?
* * * * *
Ten long years since they fust began! Ten good years for to plot an' plan! An' wot 'a they done for the workin'-man?
ENVOI
PROTECTIONIST! (if you exist) Whose sympathies I can't enlist, Be sparing of your curses! Ah, don't abuse my Fiscal VIEWS, But, out of pity for the Muse, Look only at my VERSES!
FREE TRADER, too, I beg of you, Whatever else you think or do, My lack of skill excuse. Ah! No doubt my VERSE could not be worse, And weak the rhymes that I rehearse; But, then, how sound my VIEWS are!
(Thus may I strengthen--or convert, And no one's feelings need be hurt!)
BILLING AND SONS, LTD., PRINTERS, GUILDFORD
_BY THE SAME AUTHOR._
RUTHLESS RHYMES FOR HEARTLESS HOMES,
By COL. D. STREAMER.
ILLUSTRATED BY 'G. H.'
Oblong 4to. 3s. 6d.
'It is impossible not to be amused by some of the "Ruthless Rhymes for Heartless Homes," by Colonel D. Streamer, nor can anyone with a sense of humour fail to appreciate the many amusing points in the illustrations.'--_Westminster Budget._
'"Ruthless Rhymes for Heartless Homes" is the name of a really charming little book of rhymes. The words are by Colonel D. Streamer, and the illustrations by "G. H.," and 'tis hard to say whether words or pictures are the cleverer.... The book is one which must, however, be seen to be appreciated; to properly describe it is impossible.'--_Calcutta Englishman._
'Wise parents will, however, keep strictly to themselves "Ruthless Rhymes for Heartless Homes," by Col. D. Streamer. The illustrations, by "G. H." are very amusing, and especially happy is that to "Equanimity," when
"Aunt Jane observed the second time She tumbled off a 'bus, 'The step is short from the sublime To the ridiculous.'"'
--_Daily Telegraph._
'Another charming whimsicality published by Mr. Edward Arnold is "Ruthless Rhymes for Heartless Homes," by Colonel D. Streamer, illustrated by "G. H."'--_Sydney Morning Herald._
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"Philip, foozling with his cleek, Drove his ball through Helen's cheek. Sad they bore her corpse away, Seven up and six to play."'
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LONDON: EDWARD ARNOLD, 41 & 43 MADDOX ST., W.
_BY THE SAME AUTHOR._
BALLADS OF THE BOER WAR.
Fcap. 8vo., buckram. 3s. 6d. net.
LONDON: GRANT RICHARDS.
(_Second Edition._)
'There is unquestionably a good deal of human nature in the book, and as an expression of sentiments which have remained hitherto inarticulate, as a revelation not always edifying, but often illuminating, of the heart of the man in the ranks, this little volume is a distinct addition to the literature of the war.'--_Spectator._
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_BY THE SAME AUTHOR._
MISREPRESENTATIVE MEN.
ILLUSTRATED BY F. STROTHMAN.
NEW YORK: FOX, DUFFIELD AND CO.
(_Second Edition._)
OPINIONS OF THE AMERICAN PRESS.
'One of the most amusing books of the year. Mr. Graham is a fluent and ingenious rhymester, with an alert mind and a well-controlled sense of humour.'--_The Times_ (New York).
'"Misrepresentative Men" shows so high-spirited a mastery of words and metre (the result, we take it, of laborious days) that it will be read with pleasure by the most fastidious lover of what is amusing.'--_The Nation_ (New York).
'Mr. Graham's verses are exceedingly clever, and Mr. Strothman's illustrations add to their cleverness.'--_The Bookman_ (New York).
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'The most amusing biographical caricatures of celebrities that we have read for a long time. There is not a dull line in the entire collection.'--_The Bookseller_ (New York).
'These satirical verses have the same ingenious humour as the writer's previous rhymes. The book is altogether refreshing.'--_Town and Country_ (New York).
'The hit of the season.'--_The Lexington Herald._
'A most attractively humorous work.'--_The Pittsburg Despatch._
'A little book of really clever verse.'--_The Milwaukee Sentinel._
_BY THE SAME AUTHOR._
PERVERTED PROVERBS.
THE BABY'S BAEDEKER.
NEW YORK: HARPER AND BROS.