Hawthorn and Lavender Part 7

Thus _CAMDEN_ showed, and _BARNES_, and _STILLING-FLEET_, And _RICHARDSON_, that bade our _LOVELACE_ be; The little _ELIA_ thus in _NEWGATE STREET_; Thus to his _GENEVIEVE_ young _S. T. C._ With thousands else that, wandering up and down, Quaint, privileged, liked and reputed well, Made the great School a part of _LONDON TOWN_ Patent as _PAUL'S_ and vital as _BOW BELL_: The old School nearing exile, day by day, To certain clay-lands somewhere _HORSHAM_ way.

IX. MOUNTED POLICE

Army Reserve; a wors.h.i.+pper of _BOBS_, With whom he stripped the smock from _CANDAHAR_; Neat as his mount, that neatest among cobs; Whenever pageants pa.s.s, or meetings are, He moves conspicuous, vigilant, severe, With his Light Cavalry hand and seat and look, A living type of Order, in whose sphere Is room for neither _Hooligan_ nor _Hook_.

For in his shadow, wheresoe'er he ride, Paces, all eye and hardihood and grip, The dreaded _Crusher_, might in his every stride And right materialized girt at his hip; And they, that shake to see these twain go by, Feel that the _Tec_, that plain-clothes Terror, is nigh.

X. NEWS-BOY

Take any station, pavement, circus, corner, Where men their styles of print may call or choose, And there--ten times more _on it_ than _JACK HORNER_-- There shall you find him swathed in sheets of news.

Nothing can stay the placing of his wares-- Not bus, nor cab, nor dray! The very _Slop_, That imp of power, is powerless! Ever he dares, And, daring, lands his public neck and crop.

Even the many-tortured London ear, The much-enduring, loathes his _Speeshul_ yell, His shriek of _Winnur_! But his dart and leer And poise are irresistible. _PALL MALL_ Joys in him, and _MILE END_; for his vocation Is to purvey the stuff of conversation.

XI. DRUM-MAJOR

Who says _Drum-Major_ says a man of mould, Shaking the meek earth with tremendous tread, And pacing still, a triumph to behold, Of his own spine at least two yards ahead!

Attorney, grocer, surgeon, broker, duke-- His calling may be anything, who comes Into a room, his presence a rebuke To the dejected, as the pipes and drums Inspired his port!--who mounts his office stairs As though he led great armies to the fight!

His bulk itself's pure genius, and he wears His avoirdupois with so much fire and spright That, though the creature stands but five feet five, You take him for the tallest He alive.

XII. FLOWER-GIRL

There's never a delicate nurseling of the year But our huge _LONDON_ hails it, and delights To wear it on her breast or at her ear, Her days to colour and make sweet her nights.

Crocus and daffodil and violet, Pink, primrose, valley-lily, clove-carnation, Red rose and white rose, wall-flower, mignonette, The daisies all--these be her recreation, Her gaudies these! And forth from _DRURY LANE_, Trapesing in any of her whirl of weathers, Her flower-girls foot it, honest and hoa.r.s.e and vain, All boot and little shawl and wilted feathers: Of populous corners right advantage taking, And, where they squat, endlessly posy-making.

XIII. BARMAID

Though, if you ask her name, she says _ELISE_, Being plain _ELIZABETH_, e'en let it pa.s.s, And own that, if her aspirates take their ease, She ever makes a point, in was.h.i.+ng gla.s.s, Handling the engine, turning taps for _tots_, And countering change, and scorning what men say, Of posing as a dove among the pots, Nor often gives her dignity away.

Her head's a work of art, and, if her eyes Be tired and ignorant, she has a waist; Cheaply the Mode she shadows; and she tries From penny novels to amend her taste; And, having mopped the zinc for certain years, And faced the gas, she fades and disappears.

_The Artist muses at his ease_, _Contented that his work is done_, _And smiling_--_smiling_!--_as he sees_ _His crowd collecting_, _one by one_.

_Alas_! _his travail's but begun_!

_None_, _none can keep the years in line_, _And what to Ninety-Eight is fun_ _May raise the gorge of Ninety-Nine_!

MUSWELL HILL, 1898.

III. THREE PROLOGUES

I. BEAU AUSTIN

_By W. E. Henley and R. L. Stevenson_, _Haymarket Theatre_, _November_ 3, 1890.

Spoken by Mr. TREE in the character of Beau Austin.

'To all and singular,' as _DRYDEN_ says, We bring a fancy of those Georgian days, Whose style still breathed a faint and fine perfume Of old-world courtliness and old-world bloom: When speech was elegant and talk was fit, For slang had not been canonised as wit; When manners reigned, when breeding had the wall, And Women--yes!--were ladies first of all; When Grace was conscious of its gracefulness, And man--though Man!--was not ashamed to dress.

A brave formality, a measured ease Were his--and hers--whose effort was to please.

And to excel in pleasing was to reign, And, if you sighed, never to sigh in vain.

But then, as now--it may be, something more-- Woman and man were human to the core.

The hearts that throbbed behind that brave attire Burned with a plenitude of essential fire.

They too could risk, they also could rebel: They could love wisely--they could love too well.

In that great duel of s.e.x, that ancient strife Which is the very central fact of life, They could--and did--engage it breath for breath, They could--and did--get wounded unto death.

As at all times since time for us began Woman was truly woman, man was man, And joy and sorrow were as much at home In trifling _TUNBRIDGE_ as in mighty _ROME_.

Dead--dead and done with! Swift from s.h.i.+ne to shade The roaring generations flit and fade.

To this one, fading, flitting, like the rest, We come to proffer--be it worst or best-- A sketch, a shadow, of one brave old time; A hint of what it might have held sublime; A dream, an idyll, call it what you will, Of man still Man, and woman--Woman still!

II. RICHARD SAVAGE

_By J. M. Barrie and H. B. Marriott Watson_, _Criterion Theatre_, _April_ 16, 1891.

To other boards for pun and song and dance!

Our purpose is an essay in romance: An old-world story where such old-world facts As hate and love and death, through four swift acts-- Not without gleams and glances, hints and cues, From the dear bright eyes of the Comic Muse!-- So s.h.i.+ne and sound that, as we fondly deem, They may persuade you to accept our dream: Our own invention, mainly--though we take, Somewhat for art but most for interest's sake One for our hero who goes wandering still In the long shadow of _PARNa.s.sUS HILL_; Scarce within eyeshot; but his tragic shade Compels that recognition due be made, When he comes knocking at the student's door, Something as poet, if as blackguard more.

Poet and blackguard. Of the first--how much?

As to the second, in quite perfect touch With folly and sorrow, even shame and crime, He lived the grief and wonder of his time!

Marked for reproaches from his life's beginning; Extremely sinned against as well as sinning; Hack, spendthrift, starveling, duellist in turn; Too cross to cherish yet too fierce to spurn; Begrimed with ink or brave with wine and blood; Spirit of fire and manikin of mud; Now s.h.i.+ning clear, now fain to starve and skulk; Star of the cellar, pensioner of the bulk; At once the child of pa.s.sion and the slave; Brawling his way to an unhonoured grave-- That was _d.i.c.k SAVAGE_! Yet, ere his ghost we raise For these more decent and less desperate days, It may be well and seemly to reflect That, howbeit of so prodigal a sect, Since it was his to call until the end Our greatest, wisest Englishman his friend, 'Twere all-too fatuous if we cursed and scorned The strange, wild creature _JOHNSON_ loved and mourned.

Nature is but the oyster--Art's the pearl: Our _d.i.c.k_ is neither sycophant nor churl.

Not as he was but as he might have been Had the Unkind G.o.ds been poets of the scene, Fired with our fancy, shaped and tricked anew To touch your hearts with love, your eyes with rue, He stands or falls, ere he these boards depart, Not as dead Nature but as living Art.

III. ADMIRAL GUINEA

_By W. E. Henley and R. L. Stevenson_, _Avenue Theatre_, _Monday_, _November_ 29, 1897.

Spoken by Miss ELIZABETH ROBINS.