Ink for the forger we provide, And strychnine for the suicide.
Each member"s name is known to fame, As "green-goods man" or quack-physician; We welcome here the pseudo-peer, Or bogus politician.
Within the shelter of our fold King Peter greets King Leopold.
Our doors are barred to Scotland Yard; And no precautions are neglected.
Come, then, with me, and you shall be Immediately elected, To what with confidence I dub An "absolutely perfect" club!
XVI
THE REVIEWER
Pray observe the stern Reviewer!
See with what a piercing look He impales, as with a skewer, This unlucky little book!
Note his gestures of impatience, As he contemplates, perplex"d, The amazing ill.u.s.trations Which adorn the text!
Hear him mutter, as his swivel- Eye converges on the verse, "Any man who writes such drivel Must be capable of worse.
Let it be my painful mission, As a literary man, To suppress the whole edition, If a critic can.
[Ill.u.s.tration: The Reviewer]
"More than tedious ev"ry pome is; Ev"ry drawing less than true; Such a trite and trivial tome is Quite unworthy of review.
On this balderdash no vocal Praises can my tongue bestow; To the dust-bin of some local Pulp-mill let it go!
"There its paper, disinfected By some cunning artifice, Shall be presently directed To diviner ends than this.
There its pages, expurgated By some alchemy abstruse, Shall at length be dedicated To a n.o.bler use!"
Grim, implacable Reviewer, Do not spurn it with a groan, Tho" your labours may be fewer If you leave my books alone!
"Tis the chief of all your duties-- Duties which you strive to shirk-- To discover hidden beauties In an author"s work.
Jewels, though perchance elusive, Crowd this casket of a book; "Tis your privilege exclusive For these hidden gems to look.
When you have adroitly caught them, Their delights you can explain To a public which has sought them For so long in vain.
Tho" you whelm me with your strictures, Snubs which one might justly call (Like the artist"s cruel pictures) The "unkindest _cuts_ of Hall"!
Tho" your sneers be fierce and many, Honest censure I respect, And will meekly swallow any- Thing except neglect.
Tho" your mouth be far from mealy, Tho" your pen be dipped in gall, Criticise me frankly, freely,-- Better thus than not at all!
Up the ladder I have crept un- Til I reached a middle rung, Do not let me die "unwept, un- Honoured and unhung."
L"ENVOI
Go, little book, and coyly creep Beneath the pillows of the blest, Whence those who seek in vain for sleep Shall drag thee from thy nest; That so thy sedative aroma May lull them to a state of coma.
The infant child who lies awake, Within its tiny trundle-bed, No soothing potion needs to take, If thou art duly read; And hosts of hara.s.sed monthly nurses Shall bless thy soporific verses.
The invalid who cannot rest Has but at thy contents to glance To hug thee to his fevered breast And fall into a trance; And sleepless patients without number Shall hail thee harbinger of slumber.
Go then, fond offspring of the Muse, Perform thy deadly work by night, Thou rich man"s boon, thou widow"s cruse, Thou orphan-child"s delight!
Appease the heirs from all the ages With balm from thine hypnotic pages!
So in the palace of the king, The mansion of the millionaire, Thy readers shall combine to sing Thy praises ev"rywhere, Till folks in less exalted places Scream loudly for _Familiar Faces_!
(When, if their cries are shrill and healthy, _I_ shall become extremely wealthy!)