Wayside Weeds

To meet His Gracious Majesty!”
When they alighted from the train
They met the Lord High Chamberlain
Who scanned each name with anxious care
Lest some who ought not should be there.
“Here’s Stinkemout from Buda Pesth,
And Sneezetoff, and all the rest,
Ezra P. Binks from Idaho,
But here’s a name I do not know
‘Dr. Macgregor from Toronto,’
That’s something that I’ve not got onto!”
Sir William cried “The College where
My friend Macgregor holds a chair
Is in Toronto, Canada.”
“Ah!” said the Chamberlain, “Ahah!
I’ve heard of Canada, of course,
But that’s another coloured horse.
Your friend, to say it gives me pain,
Will have to toddle back again!
The King, the invitation states,
Receives the Foreign Delegates.
Remove this person from the list
He’s nothing but a Colonist.”
A prophet, says the Holy Book,
Must not at home for honour look,
The greater here includes the lesser,
For “Prophet” therefore read “Professor.”

    1912.

The Lyric League[5 - “Seventy lyric poets in Germany have formed a trade’s union, and agreed not to sell their verses for less than half a mark a line.” —Daily paper.]

We be seventy Lyric Poets,
All in the Fatherland,
Our verse is delightful, although its
Not easy to understand.

We’re the flower and crown of the nation,
The crown and flower of the earth,
But we find our remuneration
Inadequate to our worth.

We sing of “Sehnsucht” and “Trauer,”
“Die Liebe,” “Das Herz” and “Die Welt,”
But leider, we haven’t the power,
To sing from the public “Das Geld.”

The plumbers have their Union,
Fast joined the joiners keep,
And sweep hold dark communion,
With sooty brother sweep.

The motormen and switchmen,
The very firemen band,
Alone against the richmen,
The Poets helpless stand.

A fig for the Philistine slander,
Let’s cut from all precedent loose,
What’s sauce for the bus-driving gander,
Is sauce for the quill-driving goose.

We’ll found (because empty our purse is)
A Lyrische Dichterverein;
And we won’t write any more verses,
Under 50 pfennig a line.[6 - The author encloses his name and address, not for publication, but in order that the editor may know where to send the three dollars and thirty-six cents – twenty-eight lines at twelve cents.]

Psychology

Dr. Jaeger has propounded the theory that the Soul is an emanation emitted by animals, and is the cause of the odour characteristic of each species. Cf. in Lives of the Saints, “the odour of sanctity”; also supra, page 17.

What’s the Soul? throughout the ages
Mystery never yet unveiled
Prophets, poets, saints and sages
All have tried and all have failed.

But at last we’ve got an answer
No vague dream or fancy vaguer
From a scientific man – Sir
Herr Professor Dr. Jaeger.

Printed in his lucid pages
This is what he has to tell
Listen poets; listen sages;
That’s the Soul that makes the smell.

Whoso takes his meat to season
Onions chopped or garlic whole
Shall enjoy a feast of reason
Followed by a flow of soul.

The Bal Poudré[7 - While rector of St. James’s, Toronto, the late Canon Dumoulin protested against the holding of a bal poudré in aid of a local charity.]

The Reverend Canon Dumoulin
Although he don’t object
To dancing in a room along
With company select
Can’t tolerate the Bal Poudré
I am not surprised at all
For when there’s powder, cannons play