My children, you should imitate
  The harmless, necessary cat,
Who eats whatever's on his plate,
  And doesn't even leave the fat;
Who never stays in bed too late,
  Or does immoral things like that;
Instead of saying "Shan't! or "Bosh!"
  He'll sit and wash, and wash, and wash!

When shadows fall and lights grow dim
  He sits beneath the kitchen stair;
Regardless as to life and limb,
  A simple couch he chooses there;
And if you tumble over him,
  He simply loves to hear you swear.
And, while bad language you prefer,
  He'll sit and purr, and purr, and purr!

My children, never, never steal!
  To know their offspring is a thief
Will often make a father feel
  Annoyed and cause a mother grief;
So never steal, but, when you do,
  Be sure there's no one watching you.

Perhaps you have a turn for what
  Is known as "misappropriation,"
Attractions this has doubtless got
  For persons of a certain station,
But prevalent 'twill never be
  Among the aristocracy.

Of course, suppose you want a thing
  (The owner's absent), and you borrow
A ruby ring; you mean to bring
  Your friend his trinket back to-morrow.
Meanwhile you have the stones reset,
  Lest he forget! Lest he forget!

and if some rude detective's hand
  Should find beneath your cloak a roll
Of muslin, or a cruet-stand
  That's labelled "Hotel Metropole,"
With kindly smile you hand them back,
A harmless Kleptomaniac!

      *      *      *      *      *      *

Don't tell a lie! Some men I've known
  Commit the most appalling acts,
Because they happen to be prone
  To an economy of facts;
And if to lie is bad, no doubt
'T is even worse to get found out!

Don't take the life of any one,
  However horrid he may be;
That sort of thing is never done,
  Not in the best society,
Where even parricide is thought
A most unfilial kind of sport.

Among the "Upper Ten" to-day,
  It is considered want of tact
To slay one's kith and kin, and may
  Be classed as an "unfriendly act."
Oh, yes, of course I know that this
Is merely public prejudice.

But ever since the world began,
  Howe'er well meant his motives are,
The man who slays his fellow man
  Is never really popular,
Whether he sins from love of crime,
Or merely just to pass the time.

Graham, Harry (as "Col. D. Streamer"). Ruthless Rhymes for Heartless Homes. New York: R. H. Russell 1901

People accord me little praise,
  Yet I am not the least alarming;
I can recall, in bygone days,
  A maid once said she thought me charming.
She was my friend, -- mo more I vow, --
And -- she's in an asylum now.

Girls used to clamour for my hand,
  Girls I refused in simple dozens;
I said I'd be their brother, and
  They promised they would be my cousins.
(One, I accepted, -- more or less --
But I've forgotten her address.)

They worried me like anything
  By their proposals ev'ry day,
Until at last I had to ring
  The bell, and have them cleared away;
(I often pondered on the cost
Of getting them completely lost.)

To share my somewhat lofty rank
  Was what they panted for, like mad;
You see my balance at the bank
  Was not so small, and, I may add,
A Castle, Gothic and immense,
Is my Official residence.

It overlooks a many a mile
  Of park, of gardens and domains;
I'm staying now in lodgings, while
  They're doing up the -- well -- the drains, --
For they began to give offence
At my Official Residence.

And, when I entertain at home,
  I hardly ever fail to please,
The "upper tens" alone may come
  to join in my "recherche" teas;
I am a King in ev'ry sense
At my Official Residence.

My dances, on a parquet floor,
  My royal dinners, which consist
Of fifteen courses, sometimes more,
  Are things that are not lightly missed;
In fact I do not spare expense
At my Official Residence.

My hospitality to those
  Whom I invite to come and stay
Is famed; my wine like water flows,
  Exactly like, some people say,
But this is mere impertinence
at my Official Residence.

When through the streets I walk about
  My subjects stand and kiss their hands,
And raise a fine metallic shout,
  Wave flags and warble tunes on bands,
While bunting hangs on ev'ry front, --
With my commands to let it bunt.

When I come home again, of course,
  retainers are employed to cheer,
My paid domestics get quite hoarse
  Acclaiming me, and you can hear
the welkin ringing to the sky, --
Aye, aye, and let it welk, say I!

And yet, in spite of this, there are
  Some persons who, at diff'rent times,
--(Because I am so popular)--
  accuse me of most awful crimes;
A girl once said I was a flirt!
Oh my! how the expression hurt!

I never flirted in the least,
  Never for very long, I mean, --
Ask any lady (now deceased)
  Who partner of my life has been;--
Oh well, of course, sometimes, perhaps,
I meet a girl, like other chaps.

And, if I like her very much,
  and if she cares for me a bit,
Where is the harm of look or touch
  If neither of us mentions it?
It isn't right, I don't suppose,
But no one's hurt if no one knows!

And, if I placed my hand below
  Her chin and raised her face an inch,
and then proceeded -- well, you know,--
  (Excuse the vulgarism) -- to clinch;
It would be wrong without a doubt,
That is, if anyone found out.

But the, remember, Life is short
  And Woman's Arts are very long,
And sometimes when one didn't ought
  One knowingly commits a wrong;
Well -- speaking for myself, of course,
I almost always feel remorse.

One should not break one's self too fast
  Of little habits of this sort,
Which may be definitely classed
  With gambling or a taste for port;
they should be slowlydropped, until
The Heart is subject to the Will.

I knew a man on Seventh Street
  Who, at a very slight expense,
By persevering, was complete-
  Ly cured of total abstinence;
An altered life he has begun
And takes a horn with anyone.

I knew another man whose wife
  Was an invet'rate suicide,
She daily strove to take her life
  And (naturally) nearly died;
But some such system she essayed,
And now she's eighty in the shade.

Ah, the new leaves I try to turn,
  But, like so many men in town,
I seem, as with regret I learn,
  Merely to turn the corner down;
A habit which I fear, alack!
Makes it more easy to turn back.

I have been criticised a lot;
  I venture to enquire what for;
Because, forsooth, I have not got
  The instincts of a bachelor!
Just hear my story, you will find
How grossly I have been maligned.

I was unlucky with my wives,
  So are most of married men;
Undoubtedly they lost their lives,--
  Of course, but even so, what then?
I loved them dearly, understand,
And I can love, to beat the band.

My first was little Emmeline,
  More beautiful than day was she;
Her proud, aristocratic mien
  Was what at once attracted me.
I naturally did not know
That I should soon dislike her so.

But there it was! And you'll infer
  I had not very long to wait
Before my red-hot love for her
  Turned to unutterable hate.
So, when this state of things I found,
I naturally had her drowned.

My next was Sarah, sweet but shy,
  And quite inordinately meek;
Yes, even now I wonder why
  I had her hanged within the week.
Perhaps I felt a bit upset,
Or else she bored me, I forget.

Then came Evangeline, my third,
  And, when I chanced to be away,
She, so subsequently heard,
  Was wont (I deeply grieve to say)
With my small retinue to flirt.
I strangled her. I hope it hurt.

Isabel was, I think, my next,--
  That is, if I remember right)--
And I was really very vexed
  To find her hair come off at night;
To falsehood I could not connive,
And so I had her boiled alive.

Then came Sophia, I believe,
  Her coiffure was at least her own,
Alas! she fancied to deceive
  Her friends by altering its tone.
She dyed her locks a flaming red!
I suffocated her in bed.

Susannah Maud was number six;
  But she did not survive a day;
Poor Sue, she had no parlour tricks
  And hardly anything to say.
A little strychnine in her tea
Finished her off, and I was free.

Yet I did not despair, and soon!
  In spite of failures, started off
Upon my seventh honeymoon
  With Jane; but could not stand her cough.
'Twas chronic. Kindness was in vain.
I pushed her underneath the train.

Well, after her, I married Kate.
  A most unpleasant woman. Oh!
I caught her at the garden gate
  Kissing a man I didn't know;
And, as that didn't suit me quite,
I blew her up with dynamite.

Most married men, so sorely tried
  As this, would have been rather bored.
Not I, but choose another bride
  And married Ruth. Alas! she snored!
I served her just the same as Kate,
And so she joined the other eight.

My last was Grace; I am not clear,
  I think she didn't like me much;
She used to scream when I came near,
  And shuddered at my lightest touch.
She seemed to wish to keep aloof,
And so I threw her off the roof.

This is the point I wish to make;--
  from all the wives for whom I grieve,
Whose lives I had perforce to take,
  Not one complaint did I receive;
And no expense was spared to please
My spouses at their obsequies.

My habits, I would have you know,
  Are perfect as they've always been;
You ask if I am good, and go
  To church, and keep my fingers clean?
I do, I mean to sau I am,
I have the morals of a lamb.

In my domains there is no sin,
  Virtue is rampant all the time,
Since I so thoughtfully brought in
  A bill which legalizes crime;
Committing things that are not wrong
Must pall before so very long.

And if what you imagine vice
  Is not considered so at all,
Crime doesn't seem the least bit nice,
  There's no temptation then to fall;
for half the charm of things we do
Is knowing that we oughtn't to.

Believe me, then, I am not bad,
  Though in my youth I had to trek
Because I happened to have had
  Some difficulties with a cheque.
What forgery in some might be
Is absentmindedness in me!

I know that I was much abused,
  No doubt when I was young and rash,
But I should not have been accused
  Of misappropriating cash.
I may have sneaked a silver dish;--
Well, you may search me if you wish!

So, now you see me, more or less,
  As I would figure in your thoughts;
A trifle given to excess
  And prone perhaps to vice of sorts;
When tempted, rather apt to fall,
But still-- a good chap after all!

Graham, Harry (as "Col. D. Streamer"). Ruthless Rhymes for Heartless Homes. New York: R. H. Russell 1901

Graham, Harry (as "Col. D. Streamer"). Ruthless Rhymes for Heartless Homes. New York: R. H. Russell 1901

Graham, Harry (as "Col. D. Streamer"). Ruthless Rhymes for Heartless Homes. New York: R. H. Russell 1901

Graham, Harry (as "Col. D. Streamer"). Ruthless Rhymes for Heartless Homes. New York: R. H. Russell 1901

Graham, Harry (as "Col. D. Streamer"). Ruthless Rhymes for Heartless Homes. New York: R. H. Russell 1901

Graham, Harry (as "Col. D. Streamer"). Ruthless Rhymes for Heartless Homes. New York: R. H. Russell 1901

The frenzied mother who observes
  this volume in her offspring's hand,
And trembles for the darling's nerves.
  Must please to clearly understand,
If baby suffers bye-and-bye
The Artist is to blame, not I!

But should the little brat survive,
  And fatten on the Ruthless Rhyme,
To raise a Heartless Home and thrive
  Through a successful life of crime,
The Artist hopes that you will see
That I am to be thanked, not he!

And if You chance to ask me why,
It is sufficient, I reply,
That You are You, and I am I, --
  To put the matter briefly.
That I should dedicate to You
Can only interest us two;
The fact remains, then, that I do,
  Because I want to -- chiefly.

And if these verses can beguile
From those grey eyes of yours a smile,
You will have made it well worth while
  To seek your approbation;
      No further meed
      Of praise they need,
      But must succeed,
      And do indeed,
      If they but lead
      You on to read
  Beyond the Dedication.

              F.G.

Graham, Harry (as "Col. D. Streamer"). Ruthless Rhymes for Heartless Homes. New York: R. H. Russell 1901

Graham, Harry (as "Col. D. Streamer"). Ruthless Rhymes for Heartless Homes. New York: R. H. Russell 1901

Graham, Harry (as "Col. D. Streamer"). Ruthless Rhymes for Heartless Homes. New York: R. H. Russell 1901

Such is their generosity,
  That, when the roof began to fall,
They would not share the risk with me,
  But said, "No, father, take it all!"
Yet I should love them more, I know,
If I did not dislike them so.

Graham, Harry (as "Col. D. Streamer"). Ruthless Rhymes for Heartless Homes. New York: R. H. Russell 1901

I need no Comments of the Press,
No critic's cursory caress,
No paragraphs my book to bless
  With praise, or ban with curses,
So long as You, for whom I write,
Whose single notice I invite,
Are still sufficiently polite
  To smile upon my verses.

If You should seek for Ruthless Rhymes
(In memory of Western climes),
And, for the sake of olden times,
  Obtain this new edition,
You must not be surprised a bit,
Nor even deem the act unfit,
That I have dedicated it
  To You, without permission.

              P.T.O.

  *  *  *  *  *

Fond parent, you whose children are
  Of tender age (from two to eight),
Pray keep this little volume far
  From reach of such, and relegate
My verses to an upper shelf, --
Where you may study them yourself.

              P.T.O.

Graham, Harry (as "Col. D. Streamer"). Ruthless Rhymes for Heartless Homes. New York: R. H. Russell 1901

Graham, Harry (as "Col. D. Streamer"). Ruthless Rhymes for Heartless Homes. New York: R. H. Russell 1901

Graham, Harry (as "Col. D. Streamer"). Ruthless Rhymes for Heartless Homes. New York: R. H. Russell 1901

John (I blame his childhood's teachers)
  Thought to treat this as a lark,
Ignorant of how these creatures
  Do delight to bite a barque.

Said "This animal's a bore!" and,
  With a scornful sort of grin,
Handled an adjacent oar and
  Chucked it underneath the chin.

At this unexpected juncture on
  Which he had not reckoned on,
Mr. Shark he made a puncture
  In the barque -- and then in John.

Sad am I, and sore at thinking
  John had on some clothes of mine;
I can almost see them shrinking,
  Washed repeatedly in brine.

I shall never cease regretting
  That I lent my hat to him,
For I fear a thorough wetting
  Cannot well improve the brim.

Oh! to know a shark is browsing,
  Boldly, blandly, on my boots!
Coldly, cruelly carousing
  One of the choicest of my suits!

Creatures I regard with loathing
  Who can calmly take their fill
Of one's Jaeger underclothing : --
  Down, my aching heart, be still!

Graham, Harry (as "Col. D. Streamer"). Ruthless Rhymes for Heartless Homes. New York: R. H. Russell 1901