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From _Punch_
By permission of the Author, and special permission of the Proprietors of London _Punch_
THE BATH
Hang garlands on the bathroom door; Let all the pa.s.sages be spruce; For, lo, the victim comes once more, And, ah, he struggles like the deuce!
Bring soaps of many scented sorts; Let girls in pinafores attend, With John, their brother, in his shorts, To wash their dusky little friend,
Their little friend, the dusky dog, Short-legged and very obstinate, Faced like a much-offended frog, And fighting hard against his fate.
No Briton he! From palace-born Chinese patricians he descends; He keeps their high ancestral scorn; His spirit breaks, but never bends.
Our water-ways he fain would 'scape; He hates the customary bath That thins his tail and spoils his shape, And turns him to a fur-clad lath;
And, seeing that the Pekinese Have l.u.s.trous eyes that bulge like buds, He fain would save such eyes as these, Their owner's pride, from British suds.
Vain are his protests--in he goes.
His young barbarians crowd around; They soap his paws, they soap his nose; They soap wherever fur is found.
And soon, still laughing, they extract His limpness from the darkling tide; They make the towel's roughness act On back and head and dripping side.
They shout and rub and rub and shout-- He deprecates their odious glee-- Until at last they turn him out, A damp gigantic b.u.mble-bee.
Released, he barks and rolls, and speeds From lawn to lawn, from path to path, And in one glorious minute needs More soapsuds and another bath.
SIX FEET
From a friend
"SIX FEET"
"My little rough dog and I Live a life that is rather rare.
We have so many good walks to take And so few hard things to bear; So much that gladdens and recreates, So little of wear and tear."
"Sometimes it blows and rains, But still the six feet ply No care at all to the following four If the leading two know why.
'Tis a pleasure to have six feet, we think, My little rough dog and I."
"And we travel all one way; 'Tis a thing we should never do, To reckon the two without the four, Or the four without the two.
It would not be right if anyone tried, Because it would not be true."
"And who shall look up and say That it ought not so to be, Tho' the earth is Heaven enough for him, Is it less than that to me?
For a little rough dog can make A joy that enters eternity!"
WILHELM
BY PATRICK R. CHALMERS
From _Punch_
By permission of the Author, and special permission of the Proprietors of London _Punch_
WILHELM
"No good thing comes from out of Kaiserland,"
Says Phyllis; but beside the fire I note One Wilhelm, sleek in tawny gold of coat, Most satin-smooth to the caresser's hand.
A velvet mien; an eye of amber, full Of that which keeps the faith with us for life; Lover of meal times; hater of yard-dog strife; Lordly, with silken ears most strokeable.
Familiar on the hearth, refuting her, He sits, the antic-pawed, the proven friend, The whimsical, the grave and reverend-- Wilhelm the Dachs from out of Hanover.
AN OLD DOG
BY CELIA DUFFIN
From _The Spectator_
By permission of the Author, _The London Spectator_, and MAUNSEL AND COMPANY, Ltd. Dublin
AN OLD DOG
Now that no shrill hunting horn Can arouse me at the morn, Deaf I lie the long day through, Dreaming firelight dreams of you; Waiting, patient through it all, Till the greater Huntsman call.
