PART I
_THE BABY'S BAEDEKER_
An International Guide-Book for the young of all ages; peculiarly adapted to the wants of first and second Childhood.
I
ABROAD
Abroad is where we tourists spend, In divers unalluring ways, The brief occasional week-end, Or annual Easter holidays; And earn the (not ill-founded) charge Of being lunatics at large.
Abroad, we lose our self-respect; Wear whiskers; let our teeth protrude; Consider any garb correct, And no display of temper rude; Descending, when we cross the foam, To depths we dare not plumb at home.
(Small wonder that the natives gaze, With hostile eyes, at foreign freaks, Who patronise their Passion-plays, In lemon-coloured chessboard breeks; An op'ra-glass about each neck, And on each head a cap of check.)
Abroad, where needy younger sons, When void the parent's treasure-chest, Take refuge from insistent duns, At urgent relatives' request; To live upon their slender wits, Or sums some maiden-aunt remits.
Abroad, whence (with a wisdom rare) Regardless of nostalgic pains, The weary New York millionaire Retires with his oil-gotten gains, And learns how deep a pleasure 'tis To found our Public Libraries.
For ours is the primeval clan, From which all lesser lights descend; Is Crockett not our countryman? And call we not Corelli friend? Our brotherhood has bred the brain Whose offspring bear the brand of Caine.
Tho' nowadays we seldom hear Miss Proctor, who mislaid a chord, Or Tennyson, the poet peer, Who came into the garden, Mord; Tho' Burns be dead, and Keats unread, We have a prophet still in Stead.
And so we stare, with nose in air; And speak in condescending tone, Of foreigners whose climes compare So favourably with our own; And aliens we cannot applaud Who call themselves At Home Abroad!
II
UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
This is the Country of the Free, The Cocktail and the Ten Cent Chew; Where you're as good a man as me, And I'm a better man than you! (O Liberty, how free we make! Freedom, what liberties we take!)
'Tis here the startled tourist meets, 'Mid clanging of a thousand bells, The railways running through the streets, Skyscraping flats and vast hotels, Where rest, on the resplendent floors, The necessary cuspidors.
And here you may encounter too The pauper immigrants in shoals, The Swede, the German, and the Jew, The Irishman, who rules the polls And is employed to keep the peace, A venal and corrupt police.
They are so busy here, you know, They have no time at all for play; Each morning to their work they go And stay there all the livelong day; Their dreams of happiness depend On making more than they can spend.
The ladies of this land are all Developed to a pitch sublime, Some inches over six foot tall, With perfect figures all the time. (For further notice of their looks See Mr. Dana Gibson's books.)
And, if they happen to possess Sufficient balance at the bank, They have the chance of saying 'Yes!' To needy foreigners of rank; The future dukes of all the earth Are half American by birth.
_MORAL_
A 'dot' combining cash with charms Is worth a thousand coats-of-arms.
III
GREAT BRITAIN
The British are a chilly race. The Englishman is thin and tall; He screws an eyeglass in his face, And talks with a reluctant drawl. 'Good Gwacious! This is doosid slow! By Jove! Haw demmy! Don't-cher-know!'
The English_woman_ ev'rywhere A meed of admiration wins; She has a crown of silken hair, And quite the loveliest of skins. (Go forth and seek an English maid, Your trouble will be well repaid.)
Where Britain's banner is unfurled There's room for nothing else beside, She owns one-quarter of the world, And still she is not satisfied. The Briton thinks himself, by birth, To be the lord of all the earth.
Some call his manners wanting, or His sense of humour poor, and yet Whatever he is striving for He as a rule contrives to get; His methods may be much to blame, But he arrives there just the same.
_MORAL_
If you can get your wish, you bet it Doesn't much matter _how_ you get it!
IV
SCOTLAND
In Scotland all the people wear Red hair and freckles, and one sees The men in women's dresses there, With stout, decollete, low-necked knees. ('Eblins ye dinna ken, I doot, We're unco guid, so hoot, mon, hoot!')
They love 'ta whuskey' and 'ta Kirk'; I don't know which they like the most. They aren't the least afraid of work; No sense of humour can they boast; And you require an axe to coax The canny Scot to see your jokes.
They play an instrument they call The bagpipes; and the sound of these Is reminiscent of the squall Of infant pigs attacked by bees; Music that might drive cats away Or make reluctant chickens lay.
_MORAL_
Wear kilts, and, tho' men look askance, Go out and give your knees a chance.
V
IRELAND
The Irishman is never quite Contented with his little lot; He's ever thirsting for a fight, A grievance he has always got; And all his energy is bent On trying not to pay his rent.
He lives upon a frugal fare (The few potatoes that he digs), And hospitably loves to share His bedroom with his wife and pigs; But cannot settle even here, And gets evicted once a year.
In order to amuse himself, At any time when things are slack, He takes his gun down from the shelf And shoots a landlord in the back; If he is lucky in the chase, He may contrive to bag a brace.
_MORAL_
Procure a grievance and a gun And you can have no end of fun.
VI
WALES
The natives of the land of Wales Are not a very truthful lot, And the imagination fails To paint the language they have got; Bettws-y-coed-llan-dud-nod- Dolgelly-rhiwlas-cwn-wm-dod!
_MORAL_
If you _must_ talk, then do it, pray, In an intelligible way.
VII
CHINA
The Chinaman from early youth Is by his wise preceptors taught To have no dealings with the Truth, In fact, romancing is his 'forte.' In juggling words he takes the prize, By the sheer beauty of his lies.
For laundrywork he has a knack; He takes in shirts and makes them blue; When he omits to send them back He takes his customers in too. He must be ranked in the 'elite' Of those whose hobby is deceit.
For ladies 'tis the fashion here To pinch their feet and make them small, Which, to the civilised idea, Is not a proper thing at all. Our modern Western woman's taste In pinching leans towards the waist.
The Chinese Empire is the field Where foreign missionaries go; A poor result their labours yield, And they have little fruit to show; For, if you would convert Wun Lung, You have to catch him very young.
The Chinaman has got a creed And a religion of his own, And would be much obliged indeed If you could leave his soul alone; And he prefers, which may seem odd, His own to other people's god.
Yet still the missionary tries To point him out his wickedness, Until the badgered natives rise,-- And there's one missionary less! Then foreign Pow'rs step in, you see, And ask for an indemnity.
_MORAL_
Adhere to facts, avoid romance, And you a clergyman may be; To lie is wrong, except perchance In matters of Diplomacy. And, when you start out to convert, Make certain that you don't get hurt!
VIII
FRANCE
The natives here remark 'Mon Dieu!' 'Que voulez-vous?' 'Comment ca va?' 'Sapristi! Par exemple! Un peu!' 'Tiens donc! Mais qu'est-ce que c'est que ca?' They shave one portion of their dogs, And live exclusively on frogs.
They get excited very quick, And crowds will gather before long If you should stand and wave your stick And shout, 'A bas le Presidong!' Still more amusing would it be To say, 'Conspuez la Patrie!'
The French are so polite, you know, They take their hats off very well, And, should they tread upon your toe, Remark, 'Pardon, Mademoiselle!' And you would gladly bear the pain To see them make that bow again.
Their ladies too have got a way Which even curates can't resist; 'Twould make an Alderman feel gay Or soothe a yellow journalist; And then the things they say are so Extremely--well, in fact,--you know!
_MORAL_
The closest scrutiny can find No morals here of any kind.
IX
GERMANY
The German is a stolid soul, And finds best suited to his taste A pipe with an enormous bowl, A fraulein with an ample waist; He loves his beer, his Kaiser, and (Donner und blitz!) his Fatherland!
He's perfectly contented if He listens in the Op'ra-house To Wagner's well-concealed 'motif,' Or waltzes of the nimble Strauss; And all discordant bands he sends Abroad, to soothe his foreign friends.
When he is glad at anything He cheers like a dyspeptic goat, 'Hoch! hoch!' You'd think him suffering From some affection of the throat. A disagreeable noise, 'tis true, But pleases him and don't hurt you!
_MORAL_
A glass of lager underneath the bough, A long 'churchwarden' and an ample 'frau' Beside me sitting in a Biergarten, Ach! Biergarten were paradise enow!
X
HOLLAND
This country is extremely flat, Just like your father's head, and were It not for dykes and things like that There would not be much country there, For, if these banks should broken be, What now is land would soon be sea.
So, any child who glory seeks, And in a dyke observes a hole, Must hold his finger there for weeks, And keep the water from its goal, Until the local plumbers come, Or other persons who can plumb.
The Hollanders have somehow got The name of Dutch (why, goodness knows!), But Mrs. Hollander is not A 'duchess' as you might suppose; Mynheer Von Vanderpump is much More used to style her his 'Old Dutch.'
Their cities' names are somewhat odd, But much in vogue with golfing men Who miss a 'put' or slice a sod, (Whose thoughts I would not dare to pen), 'Oh, Rotterdam!' they can exclaim, And blamelessly resume the game.
The Dutchman's dress is very neat; He minds his little flock of goats In cotton blouse, and on his feet He dons a pair of wooden boats. (He evidently does not trust Those dykes I mentioned not to bust).
He has the reputation too Of being what is known as 'slim,' Which merely means he does to you What you had hoped to do to him; He has a business head, that's all, And takes some beating, does Oom Paul.
_MORAL_
Avoid a country where the sea May any day drop in to tea, Rememb'ring that, at golf, one touch Of bunker makes the whole world Dutch!
XI
ICELAND
The climate is intensely cold; Wild curates would not drag me there; Not tho' they brought great bags of gold, And piled them underneath my chair. If twenty bishops bade me go, I should decidedly say, 'No!'
_MORAL_
If ev'ry man has got his price, As generally is agreed, You will, by taking my advice, Let yours be very large indeed. Corruption is not nice at all, Unless the bribe be far from small.
XII
ITALY
In Italy the sky is blue; The native loafs and lolls about, He's nothing in the world to do, And does it fairly well, no doubt; (Ital-i-ans are disinclined To honest work of any kind).
A light Chianti wine he drinks, And fancies it extremely good; (It tastes like Stephens' Blue-black Inks);-- While macaroni is his food. (I think it must be rather hard To eat one's breakfast by the yard).
And, when he leaves his country for Some northern climate, 'tis his dream To be an organ grinder, or Retail bacilli in ice-cream. (The French or German student terms These creatures '_Paris_ites' or '_Germs_.')
Sometimes an anarchist is he, And wants to slay a king or queen; So with some dynamite, may be, Concocts a murderous machine; 'Here goes!' he shouts, 'For Freedom's sake!' Then blows himself up by mistake.
Naples and Florence both repay A visit, and, if fortune takes Your toddling little feet that way, Do stop a moment at The Lakes. While, should you go to Rome, I hope You'll leave your card upon the Pope.
_MORAL_
Don't work too hard, but use a wise discretion; Adopt the least laborious profession. Don't be an anarchist, but, if you must, Don't let your bombshell prematurely bust.
XIII
JAPAN
Inhabitants of far Japan Are happy as the day is long To sit behind a paper fan And sing a kind of tuneless song, Desisting, ev'ry little while, To have a public bath, or smile.
The members of the fairer sex Are clad in a becoming dress, One garment reaching from their necks Down to the ankles more or less; Behind each dainty ear they wear A cherry-blossom in their hair.
If 'Imitation's flattery' (We learn it at our mother's lap), A flatterer by birth must be Our clever little friend the Jap, Who does whatever we can do, And does it rather better too.
_MORAL_
Be happy all the time, and plan To wash as often as you can.
XIV
PORTUGAL
You are requested, if you please, To note that here a people lives Referred to as the Portuguese; A fact which naturally gives The funny man a good excuse To call his friend a Portugoose.
_MORAL_
Avoid the obvious, if you can, And _never_ be a funny man.
XV
RUSSIA
The Russian Empire, as you see, Is governed by an Autocrat, A sort of human target he For anarchists to practise at; And much relieved most people are Not to be lodging with the Czar.
The Russian lets his whiskers grow, Smokes cigarettes at meal-times, and Imbibes more 'vodki' than 'il faut'; A habit which (I understand) Enables him with ease to tell His name, which nobody could spell.
The climate here is cold, with snow, And you go driving in a sleigh, With bells and all the rest, you know, Just like a Henry Irving play; While, all around you, glare the eyes Of secret officers and spies!
The Russian prisons have no drains, No windows or such things as that; You have no playthings there but chains, And no companion but a rat; When once behind the dungeon door, Your friends don't see you any more.
I further could enlarge, 'tis true, But fear my trembling pen confines; I have no wish to travel to Siberia and work the mines. (In Russia you must write with care, Or the police will take you there.)
_MORAL_
If you hold morbid views about A monarch's premature decease, You only need a--Hi! Look out! Here comes an agent of police! . . . . . (In future my address will be 'Siberia, Cell 63.')
XVI
SPAIN
'Tis here the Spanish onion grows, And they eat garlic all the day, So, if you have a tender nose, 'Tis best to go the other way, Or else you may discern, at length, The fact that 'Onion is strength.'
The chestnuts flourish in this land, Quite good to eat, as you will find, For they are not, you understand, The ancient after-dinner kind That Yankees are accustomed to From Mr. Chauncey M. Depew.
The Spanish lady, by the bye, Is an alluring person who Has got a bright and flashing eye, And knows just how to use it too; It's quite a treat to see her meet The proud hidalgo on the street.
He wears a sort of soft felt hat, A dagger, and a cloak, you know, Just like the wicked villains that We met in plays of long ago, Who sneaked about with aspect glum, Remarking, 'Ha! A time will come!'
His blood, of blue cerulean hue, Runs in his veins like liquid fire, And he can be most rude if you Should rob him of his heart's desire; 'Caramba!' he exclaims, and whack! His dagger perforates your back!
If you should care to patronise A bull-fight, as you will no doubt, You'll see a horse with blinded eyes Be very badly mauled about; By such a scene a weak inside Is sometimes rather sorely tried.
And, if the bull is full of fun, The horse is generally gored, So then they fetch another one, Or else the first one is encored; The humour of the sport, of course, Is not so patent to the horse.
_MORAL_
Be kind to ev'ry bull you meet, Remember how the creature feels; Don't wink at ladies in the street; And don't make speeches after meals; And lastly, I need not explain, If you're a horse, don't go to Spain.
XVII
SWITZERLAND
This atmosphere is pure ozone! To climb the hills you promptly start; Unless you happen to be prone To palpitations of the heart; In which case swarming up the Alps Brings on a bad attack of palps.
The nicest method is to stay Quite comfortably down below, And, from the steps of your chalet, Watch other people upwards go. Then you can buy an alpenstock, And scratch your name upon a rock.
_MORAL_
Don't do fatiguing things which you Can pay another man to do. Let friends assume (they may be wrong), That you each year ascend Mong Blong. Some things you can _pretend_ you've done, And climbing up the Alps is one.
XVIII
TURKEY
The Sultan of the Purple East Is quite a cynic, in his way, And really doesn't mind the least His nickname of 'Abdul the ----' (Nay! I might perhaps come in for blame If I divulged this monarch's name.)
The Turk is such a kindly man, But his ideas of sport are crude; He to the poor Armenian Is not intentionally rude, But still it is his heartless habit To treat him as _we_ treat the rabbit.
If he wants bracing up a bit, His pleasing little custom is To take a hatchet and commit A series of atrocities. I should not fancy, after dark, To meet him, say, in Regent's Park.
A deeply married man is he, 'Early and often' is his rule; He practises polygamy Directly after leaving school, And so arranges that his wives Live happy but secluded lives.
If they attend a public place, They have to do so in disguise, And so conceal one-half their face That nothing but a pair of eyes Suggests the hidden charm that lurks Beneath the veils of lady Turks.
Then too in Turkey all the men Smoke water-pipes and cross their legs; They watch their harem as a hen That guards her first attempt at eggs. (If you don't know what harems are, Just run and ask your dear papa.)
_MORAL_
Wives of great men oft remind us We should make our wives sublime, But the years advancing find us Vainly working over-time. We could minimise our work By the methods of the Turk.
XIX
DREAMLAND
Here you will see strange happenings With absolutely placid eyes; If all your uncles sprouted wings You would not feel the least surprise; The oddest things that you can do Don't seem a bit absurd to you.
You go (in Dreamland) to a ball, And suddenly are shocked to find That you have nothing on at all,-- But somehow no one seems to mind; And, naturally, _you_ don't care, If they can bear what you can bare!
Then, in a moment, you're pursued By engines on a railway track! Your legs are tied, your feet are glued, The train comes snorting down your back! One last attempt at flight you make And so (in bed) perspiring wake.
You feel so free from weight of cares That, if the staircase you should climb, You gaily mount, not single stairs, But whole battalions at a time; (My metaphor is mixed, may be, I quote from Shakespeare, as you see).
If you should eat too much, you pay (In dreams) the penalty for this; A nightmare carries you away And drops you down a precipice! Down! down! until, with sudden smack, You strike the mattress with your back.
_MORAL_
At meals decline to be a beast; 'Too much is better than a feast.'
XX
STAGELAND
The customs of this land have all Been published in a bulky tome. The author is a man they call Jer_ome_ K. J_er_ome _K_. Jer_ome_. So, lest on his preserves I poach, This subject I refuse to broach.
_MORAL_
The moral here is plain to see. If true the hackneyed witticism Which stamps Originality As 'undetected plagiarism,' What a vocation I have miss'd As undetected plagiarist!
XXI
LOVERLAND
This is the land where minor bards And other lunatics repair, To live in houses made of cards, Or build their castles in the air; To feed on hope, and idly dream That things are really what they seem.
The natives are a motley lot, Of ev'ry age and creed and race, But each inhabitant has got The same expression on his face; They look, when this their features fills, Like angels with internal chills.
The lover sits, the livelong day, Quite inarticulate of speech; He simply brims with things to say; Alas! the words he cannot reach, And, silent, lets occasion pass, Feeling a fulminating ass.
It is the lady lover's wont To blush, and look demure or coy, To say, 'You mustn't!' and, 'Oh! don't!' Or, 'Please leave off, you naughty boy!' (But this, of course, is just her way, She wouldn't wish you to obey.)
The lover, in a trembling voice, Demands the hand of his lovee, And begs the lady of his choice To share some cottage-by-the-sea; With _her_ a prison would be nice, A coal-cellar a Paradise!
'Love in a cottage' sounds so well; But oh, my too impatient bride, No drainage and a constant smell Of something being over-fried Is not the sort of atmosphere That makes for wedded bliss, my dear.
And when the bills are rather high, And when the money's rather low, See poor Virginia sit and sigh, And ask why Paul _must_ grumble so! He slams the door and strides about, And, through the window, Love creeps out.
'Tis said that Cupid blinds our sight With fire of passion from above, Nor ever bids us see aright The many faults in those we love; Ah no! I deem it otherwise, For lovers have the clearest eyes.
They see the faults, the failures, and The great temptations, and they know, Although they cannot understand, That they would have the loved one so. Believe me, Love is never blind, His smiling eyes are wise and kind.
Tho' lovers quarrel, yet, I ween, 'Tis but to make it up again; The sunshine seems the more serene That follows after April rain; And love should lead, if love be true, To perfect understanding too.
If in our hearts this love beats strong, We shall not ever seek to earn Forgiveness for some fancied wrong, Nor need to pardon in return; But learn this lesson as we live, 'To understand is to forgive.'
And all you little girls and boys Will find this out yourselves, some day, When you have done with childish toys And put your infant books away. Ah! then I pray that hand-in-hand You tread the paths of Loverland.
_MORAL_
Don't fall in love, but, when you do, Take care that he (or she) does too; And, lastly, to misquote the bard, If you _must_ love, don't love too hard.
XXII
HOMELAND
The tour is over! We must part! Our mutual journey at an end. O bid farewell, with aching heart, To guide, philosopher, and friend; And note, as you remark 'Good-bye!' The kindly tear that dims his eye.
The tour is ended! Sad but true! No more together may we roam! We turn our lonely footsteps to The spot that's known as Home, Sweet Home. Nor time nor temper can afford A more protracted trip abroad.
O Home! where we must always be So hopelessly misunderstood; Where waits a tactless family, To tell us things 'for our own good'; Where relatives, with searchlight eyes, Can penetrate our choicest lies.
Where all our kith and kin combine To prove that we are worse than rude, If we should criticise the wine Or make complaints about the food. Thank goodness, then, to quote the pome, Thank goodness there's 'no place like Home!'