P. T. O.[1]

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.

1901. H. G.

Author's Preface

WITH guilty, conscience-stricken tears I offer up these rhymes of mine To children of maturer years (From Seventeen to Ninety-nine). A special solace may they be In days of second infancy.

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 by-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!