THE BATH UNREST.
My bath awaits me! It contains to-night,
Besides the customary water—stay:
Before I name ingredients, let me say
Exactly who and what I am who write.
(My bath awaits me!) I am known to fame,
First, as a rising music-hall artiste;
But, secondly and chiefly, I'm the beast
Who Puts Things in his Bath. You've met my name.
(My bath awaits me!) People come, you see,
With sample packets of the Lord knows what,
And want me to "endorse" the silly rot.
Well, I "endorse"; receiving £. s. d.
(My bath awaits me!) But I specialise
In baths. I will not "like it in my soup,"
Nor "take five drops before I loop the loop";
Nor will I "find it helps to keep off flies."
(My bath awaits me!) Am I over-nice?
I cannot "thank you for the lovely sox,"
Nor shall "my children quarrel for the box."
I Put It In My Bath. Let that suffice.
(My bath awaits me!) Now, to take the list:
Mustard, by thirteen makers; salt, by six;
Saponica; Shampoona; Sozothrix;
Eau-de-Cologne (nine samples); Bathex; Vrist.
(My bath awaits me!) These and more than these
(I drop the catalogue) in pungent strife,
Stench hard at grips with stench for loathly life,
Yon seething cauldron holds. Excuse a sneeze.
(My bath awaits me!) Why the cauldron? Why
Not desecrate the dustbin? Here's the rub:
All the endorsements specify my tub;
The dustbin is not mentioned. Can I lie?
(My bath awaits me!) So I made a vow,
Soon as the groaning shelf could bear no more,
In one doomed bath to mix 'em. What I swore
I've done. The night of reckoning is now.
My bath awaits me! True. But then I said
Not "use" but "put." Why have my beastly bath?
Bed, too, awaits me; be the bedward path
My choice. I do not Put Things in my Bed.
"The following are good dishes for a small luncheon, not a complete menu, but suggestions for filling one out with those light and tempting dishes which the jaded modern palate so greatly prefers to the solid English cookery of our forefathers."—Truth.
That is all very well, but if one really wants filling out these little kickshaws are no good; roast beef and Yorkshire pudding is the thing.
"Folds of net and thick white face lighten the effect of the corsage."—Westminster Gazette.
The writer seems keen, but we are not.
