ABOUT PEOPLE I HAVE MET
Reading edition
J. M. BARRIE
A Round Robin from His Humble and Devoted Servants the Alphabet
The Lord forgive if we transgress Thus to familiarly address One of our betters. But, Jamie, do you no recall The slate whereon you learned to scrawl Your Humble Letters? Well we remember how you drew Our shapely features all askew, Unflattering really. You made A lame and B too fat. And C too curly—what of that! We loved you dearly. From that first day we owned your spell. And just because you used us well We served you blindly. Why, even when you put us through A fearsome Scottish reel, we knew You meant it kindly. Jamie, ’tis said Grand Tales there be Still biding in the A B C— If this be true, Quick, Jamie! Cast your golden net. Maybe we have the grandest yet In store for you.
THE HORSE
The Horse, I don’t mind telling you,
Is not an easy thing to do.
With Cats and Lions, I confess,
I’ve had a measure of success;
Likewise with Camels, Mice and Snails
And Frogs and Butterflies and Whales.
Eels and Rhinoc’ruses and Ants
And Porcupines and Elephants
And Bees and Yaks and Owls. But when
I try to draw a Horse, my pen
Sputters and scares the high-strung steed,
Who gallops off at such a speed
You have to take the beast on trust—
You can not see him for the dust.
THE TOWN CAT
The melancholy days are come, The saddest of the year; Of houses closed and doorbells dumb And windows dark and drear.
Now Dives to his country seat Has hied himself away, And Tabby turned into the street Must shift as best she may. No more the cushion soft as silk, The catnip ball no more; No more the saucer full of milk Behind the pantry door. Nor shall she in the temple prey Upon the lean church mouse; The good Lord, too, has gone away And closed his city house.
When Dives hies him back once more To his town house, oh, shame! Tabby will greet him at the door, But not—no, not the same.
TOWSER
My hair hangs down on either side Like a Niagara small. Why is it this, my greatest pride, Should bring about my fall?
Why is it that my well brushed hair, That now so smoothly lies, As soon as I descend the stair Always gets in my eyes? No wonder, thus deprived of sight, I step on empty air And to the bottom of the flight Rebound from stair to stair. I’m not the sort of dog that cares To make a fuss when hit; But falling down a flight of stairs Is not the worst of it.
As there I lie completely out Of breath and very flat, Why is it always some one stout That takes me for a mat?
THE OYSTER
In Autumn, when the leaves are dead, They take us from our Oyster-bed, And all the winter long they keep Us up, without a wink of sleep—
And doesn’t it seem hard to you When Spring is here, and skies are blue, And we should like so much to stay, We have to be in bed by May?
THE MOUSE
A Study in Egotisms
Scene: A drawing-room. Persons: Clarissa, the Mouse, Purrline.
Clarissa: Help! Help! A Mouse!
Mouse: Don’t be alarmed! I’m here! I hurried when I heard you scream—
Clarissa: Oh, dear! If it jumps up at me I shall expire!
Mouse: If I may be permitted to enquire, Why are you standing there in such a fright, Upon a chair, clutching your frock so tight About your—
Clarissa: Help! Oh dear! I wonder what That girl’s about! Good heavens! I forgot It’s Jane’s day out. There’s no one in the house But me—
Mouse: Fair lady! I am but a Mouse, A simple Mouse, but underneath this fur There beats a heart whose motto is Sans Purr. To see a lovely female in distress Rouses in me the spirit of Noblesse. To her protection instantly I fly. No common Mus Domesticus am I! You may have heard—
Clarissa: If only Jane were here! What shall I do?
Mouse: Dear lady, have no fear! As I was saying, doubtless you’ve heard tell How once a Mountain bore a Mouse-child. Well, I was that Child! Or rather, to be more Strictly veracious, ’twas my Ancestor; And sometimes when I dream of deeds Titanic I think that Mountain must have been Volcanic! So have no fear! If any one should dare Molest you, I am here beneath your chair, Ready to spring—
Clarissa: Mercy! I wonder why It squeaks like that! It’s crazy! I shall die If it—
Mouse: Sweet lady! Though I cannot guess From your queer speech the cause of your distress, Your voice, quite meaningless to my Mouse ear, Is strangely sweet and musical and clear; And, though they violate our beauty-laws, I never saw such shapely hinder paws As yours, so smooth and beautiful to see, So silky white, like sticks of celery. Upon each side a tender sprig of gold— Gold as pure Cheese, and toothsome to behold— Climbs up and up! ’Tis called, so I am told By Mice more versed in lady-lore, a Clock. Once, it is said, a Mouse named Dickery Dock Ran up the—
Clarissa: Ouch!!!
Mouse: I wonder if I dare! Only the brave deserve—
Clarissa: O Lord! This chair Is giving way! If it should break!—What’s that? It’s Purrline’s mew! Here, Puss! Puss!—
Mouse: What? The Cat! I’d love to meet him! But it’s getting late. My wife’s expecting me. I musn’t wait!
(Exit)
Purrline: Me-ouw!
Clarissa: And is that all you’ve got to say? Did you expect the Mouse to wait all day? For all you care, I might have died of fright! My! But I’m glad it got away all right!
CURTAIN
PEOPLE I HAVE NOT MET