Harry Graham, RIP - RIP but tee-hee-hee

There is an American publisher, Dover, which has for years been doing the world a service by putting back into print gems (literary and musical) which might otherwise in the pre-Web days have been lost for ever. I don't know whether Dover ever reprinted Don Marquis's classic poetic exchanges between Archy (a cockroach) and Mehitabel (an alley-cat), but if they have - I lent my copy to somebody years ago, chaps, and I miss it. You don't have one you don't need any more, do you?

Sirius has very kindly sent me (as he promised in that rambling conversation a couple of nights ago which will have boosted BT's profits no end) a copy of Dover's reprint of Harry Graham's masterpiece of Victorian doggerel, Ruthless Rhymes for Heartless Homes, and not only that, but, within the same covers, the sequel, More Ruthless Rhymes, with illustrations that, according to the blurb, "perfectly capture the irreverent, curmudgeonly mood of the verse...these rare and hard-to-find examples of 19th-century black humour will delight readers with their inventive rhymes, macabre wit, and candid appeal to the heartless streak in human nature."

Most of the engagingly sadistic (and Hilariously Belloquesque) rhymes really need the accompanying illustrations, but a couple stand up (as they say) without the need for graphics, and I think I can get away with quoting them without breaching Dover's copyright, or Edward Arnold, the original publisher,'s, for that matter (and isn't punctilious punctuation catching when employed in the service of the muse of doggerel?)

TENDER-HEARTEDNESS

Billy, in one of his nice new sashes,

Fell in the fire and was burnt to ashes.

Now, although the room grows chilly,

I haven't the heart to poke poor Billy.

ECONOMY

My eldest son (his name is Jim)

Came up to London and got lost;

I've had to advertise for him -

You've no idea how much it cost.

And now, as it does not appear

That I shall see my boy again,

I'm sad to think I've wasted near-

Ly £20, and all in vain!

and - oh, go on, then, just one more:

PATIENCE

When ski-ing in the Engadine

My hat blew off down a ravine.

My son, who went to fetch it back,

Slipped through an icy glacier's crack

And then got permanently stuck.

It really was infernal luck:

My hat was practically new -

I loved my little Henry too -

And I may have to wait for years

Till either of them reappears.

(and thanks, Eric)