A man (who might be you or me)
Hurls another into the sea.
Poor soul, his unreflecting act
His future joys will much contract,
And he will spoil his evening toddy
By dwelling on that mangled body.
Works recently issued by
SAMUEL OSBOURNE & CO.
DAVOS.
NOT I and other poems, by Robert Louis Stevenson.
A volume of enchanting poetry.
BLACK CANYON or wild adventures in the Far West, by S. Osbourne.
A beautiful gift-book.
To be obtained from the Publishers and all respectable BOOK-SELLERS.
Stevenson’s Moral Emblems.
Edition de Luxe: 5 full-page Illustrations.
Price 9 PENCE.
The above speciman cut, illustrates a new departure in the business of OSBOURNE & Co.
Wood engraving, designed and executed by Mr. & Mrs. Stevenson and printed under the PERSONAL supervision of Mr. Osbourne, now form a branch of their business.
Today is published by S. L. Osbourne & Co.
A
Second Collection Of
MORAL
EMBLEMS.
By
ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON.
Edition de Luxe, tall paper, (extra fine) first impression. Price 10 pence.
Popular Edition, for the Million, small paper, cuts slightly worn, a great bargain, 8 pence.
NOTICE!!!
A literary curiosity: Part of the M. S. of ‘Black Canyon.’ Price 1s. 6d.
Apply to
SAMUEL OSBOURNE & Co
Buol Chalet (Villa Stein,) Davos.
MORAL
EMBLEMS
A Second
Collection of Cuts and Verses.
By
ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON.
Author of
Latter-day Arabian Nights, Travels
with a Donkey, Not I, &c.
Printers:
S. L. OSBOURNE & COMPANY.
Davos-Platz.
With storms a-weather, rocks a-lee,
The dancing skiff puts forth to sea.
The lone dissenter in the blast
Recoils before the sight aghast.
But she, although the heavens be black,
Holds on upon the starboard tack.
For why? although today she sink
Still safe she sails in printers’ ink,
And though today the seamen drown,
My cut shall hand their memory down.
The careful angler chose his nook
At morning by the lilied brook,
And all the noon his rod he plied
By that romantic riverside.
Soon as the evening hours decline
Tranquilly he’ll return to dine,
And breathing forth a pious wish,
Will cram his belly full of fish.
The Abbot for a walk went out
A wealthy cleric, very stout,
And Robin has that Abbot stuck
As the red hunter spears the buck.
The djavel or the javelin
Has, you observe, gone bravely in,
And you may hear that weapon whack
Bang through the middle of his back.
Hence we may learn that abbots should
Never go walking in a wood.
The frozen peaks he once explored,
But now he’s dead and by the board.
How better far at home to have stayed
Attended by the parlour maid,
And warmed his knees before the fire
Until the hour when folks retire!
So, if you would be spared to friends.
Do nothing but for business ends.
Industrious pirate! see him sweep
The lonely bosom of the deep,
And daily the horizon scan
From Hatteras or Matapan.
Be sure, before that pirate’s old,
He will have made a pot of gold,
And will retire from all his labours
And be respected by his neighbors.
You also scan your life’s horizon
For all that you can clap your eyes on.
Works recently issued by
SAMUEL OSBOURNE & Co.
DAVOS.
NOT I and other poems, by Robert Louis Stevenson.
A volume of enchanting poetry.
BLACK CANYON or wild adventures in the Far West, by S. L. Osbourne.
A beautiful gift-book.
MORAL EMBLEMS, (first Series.) by Robert Louis Stevenson.
Has only to be seen to be admired.
To be obtained from the Publishers and all respectable Book-sellers.
A MARTIAL ELEGY FOR SOME LEAD SOLDIERS.
For certain soldiers lately dead
Our-reverent dirge shall here be said.
Them, when their martial leader called,
No dread preparative appalled;
But leaden hearted, leaden heeled,
I marked them steadfast in the field
Death grimly sided with the foe,
And smote each leaden hero low.
Proudly they perished one by one:
The dread Pea-cannon’s work was done
O not for them the tears we shed,
Consigned to their congenial lead;
But while unmoved their sleep they take,
We mourn for their dear Captain’s sake,
For their dear Captain, who shall smart
Both in his pocket and his heart,
Who saw his heros shed their gore
And lacked a shilling to buy more!
Price 1 penny. (1st Edition.)
Today is published by SAMUEL OSBOURNE & Co.
THE
GRAVER and the PEN
OR
Scenes from Nature with Ap-
propriate Verses
by ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON author of the ‘EMBLEMS.’
‘The Graver and the Pen’ is a most strikingly illustrated little work and the poetry so pleasing that when it is taken up to be read is finished before it is set down.
It contains 5 full-page illustrations (all of the first class) and 11 pages of poetry finely printed on superb paper (especially obtained from C. G. Squintani & Co. London) with the title on the cover in red letters.
Small 8vo. Granite paper cover with coloured title
Price Ninepence per Copy.
Splendid chance for an energetic publisher!!!
For Sale — Copyright of ‘Black Canyon’ price 1 / 3/4
Autograph of Mr. R. L. Stevenson price -/3, ditto of Mr. S. L. Osbourne price 1/- each.
If copies of the ‘Graver,’ ‘Emblems,’ or ‘Black Canyon’ are wanted apply to the publisher, 17 Harlot Row Edinburgh.
THE GRAVER & THE PEN.
THE
GRAVER & THE PEN,
or
Scenes from Nature with
Appropriate Verses
BY
ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON
author of
‘The New Arabian Nights,’ ‘Moral Emblems,’ ‘Not I,’ ‘Treasure Island,’ etc.
Illustrated.
Edinburgh
S. L. Osbourne & Company
No. 17 Heriot Row.
[It was only by the kindness of Mr. Crerar of Kingussie that we are able to issue this little work — having allowed us to print with his own press when ours was broken.]
Proem.
Unlike the common run of men,
I wield a double power to please,
And use the Graver and the Pen
With equal aptitude and ease.
I move with that illustrious crew,
The ambidextrous Kings of Art;
And every mortal thing I do
Brings ringing money in the mart.
Hence, to the morning hour, the mead,
The forest and the stream perceive
Me wandering as the muses lead
——
Or back returning in the eve.
Two muses like two maiden aunts,
The engraving and the singing muse,
Follow, through all my favorite haunts,
My devious traces in the dews.
To guide and cheer me, each attends;
Each speeds my rapid task along;
One to my cuts her ardour lends,
One breathes her magic in my song.
The Precarious Mill.
Alone above the stream it stands,
Above the iron hill,
The topsy-turvy, tumble-down,
Yet habitable mill.
Still as the ringing saws advance
To slice the humming deal,
All day the pallid miller hears
The thunder of the wheel.
He hears the river plunge and roar
As roars the angry mob;
He feels the solid building quake,
The trusty timbers throb.
All night beside the fire he cowers:
He hears the rafters jar:
O why is he not in a proper house
As decent people are!
The floors are all aslant, he sees,
The doors are all a-jam;
And from the hook above his head
All crooked swings the ham.
“Alas,” he cries and shakes his head,
“I see by every sign,
There soon will be the deuce to pay,
With this estate of mine.”
The Disputatious Pines.
The first pine to the second said:
“My leaves are black, my branches red;
I stand upon this moor of mine,
A hoar, unconquerable pine.”
The second sniffed and answered: “Pooh,
I am as good a pine as you.”
“Discourteous tree” the first replied,
“The tempest in my boughs had cried,
The hunter slumbered in my shade,
A hundred years ere you were made.”
The second smiled as he returned:
“I shall be here when you are burned.”
So far dissension ruled the pair,
Each turned on each a frowning air,
When flickering from the bank anigh,
A flight of martens met their eye.
Sometime their course they watched; and then
They nodded off to sleep again.
The Tramps.
Now long enough has day endured,
Or King Apollo Palinured,
Seaward be steers his panting team,
And casts on earth his latest gleam.
But see! the Tramps with jaded eye
Their destined provinces espy.
Long through the hills their way they took,
Long camped beside the mountain brook;
’Tis over; now with rising hope
They pause upon the downward slope,
And as their aching bones they rest,
Their anxious captain scans the west.
So paused Alaric on the Alps
And ciphered up the Roman scalps.
The Foolhardy Geographer.
The howling desert miles around,
The tinkling brook the only sound —
Wearied with all his toils and feats,
The traveller dines on potted meats;
On potted meats and princely wines,
Not wisely but too well he dines.
The brindled Tiger loud may roar,
High may the hovering Vulture soar,
Alas! regardless of them all,
Soon shall the empurpled glutton sprawl —
Soon, in the desert’s hushed repose,
Shall trumpet tidings through his nose!
Alack, unwise! that nasal song
Shall be the Ounce’s dinner-gong!
A blemish in the cut appears;
Alas! it cost both blood and tears.
The glancing graver swerved aside,
Fast flowed the artist’s vital tide!
And now the apolegetic bard
Demands indulgence for his pard!
The Angler & the Clown.
The echoing bridge you here may see,
The pouring lynn, the waving tree,
The eager angler fresh from town —
Above, the contumelious clown.
‘The angler plies his line and rod,
The clodpole stands with many a nod, —
With many a nod and many a grin,
He sees him cast his engine in.
“What have you caught?” the peasant cries.
“Nothing as yet,” the Fool replies.
MORAL TALES
Rob and Ben
or
The PIRATE and the APOTHECARY.
Scene the First.
Rob and Ben
or
The PIRATE and the APOTHECARY.
Scene the Second.
Rob and Ben
or
The PIRATE and the APOTHECARY.
Scene the Third.
ROBIN AND BEN: OR, THE PIRATE AND THE APOTHECARY
Come lend me an attentive ear
A startling moral tale to hear,
Of Pirate Rob and Chemist Ben,
And different destinies of men.
Deep in the greenest of the vales
That nestle near the coast of Wales,
The heaving main but just in view,
Robin and Ben together grew,
Together worked and played the fool,
Together shunned the Sunday school,
And pulled each other’s youthful noses
Around the cots, among the roses.
Together but unlike they grew;
Robin was rough, and through and through
Bold, inconsiderate, and manly,
Like some historic Bruce or Stanley.
Ben had a mean and servile soul,
He robbed not, though he often stole.
He sang on Sunday in the choir,
And tamely capped the passing Squire.
At length, intolerant of trammels —
Wild as the wild Bithynian camels,
Wild as the wild sea-eagles — Bob
His widowed dam contrives to rob,
And thus with great originality
Effectuates his personality.
Thenceforth his terror-haunted flight
He follows through the starry night;
And with the early morning breeze,
Behold him on the azure seas.
The master of a trading dandy
Hires Robin for a go of brandy;
And all the happy hills of home
Vanish beyond the fields of foam.
Ben, meanwhile, like a tin reflector,
Attended on the worthy rector;
Opened his eyes and held his breath,
And flattered to the point of death;
And was at last, by that good fairy,
Apprenticed to the Apothecary.
So Ben, while Robin chose to ro
A rising chemist was at home,
Tended his shop with learnéd air,
Watered his drugs and oiled his hair,
And gave advice to the unwary,
Like any sleek apothecary.
Meanwhile upon the deep afar
Robin the brave was waging war,
With other tarry desperadoes
About the latitude of Barbadoes.
He knew no touch of craven fear;
His voice was thunder in the cheer;
First, from the main-to’-gallan’ high,
The skulking merchantman to spy —
The first to bound upon the deck,
The last to leave the sinking wreck.
His hand was steel, his word was law,
His mates regarded him with awe.
No pirate in the whole profession
Held a more honourable position.
At length
, from years of anxious toil,
Bold Robin seeks his native soil;
Wisely arranges his affairs,
And to his native dale repairs.
The Bristol Swallow sets him down
Beside the well-remembered town.
He sighs, he spits, he marks the scene,
Proudly he treads the village green;
And free from pettiness and rancour,
Takes lodgings at the ‘Crown and Anchor.’
Strange when a man so great and good,
Once more in his home-country stood,
Strange that the sordid clowns should show
A dull desire to have him go.
His clinging breeks, his tarry hat,
The way he swore, the way he spat,
A certain quality of manner,
Alarming like the pirate’s banner —
Something that did not seem to suit all —
Something, O call it bluff, not brutal —
Something at least, howe’er it’s called,
Made Robin generally black-balled.
His soul was wounded; proud and glum,
Alone he sat and swigged his rum,
And took a great distaste to men
Till he encountered Chemist Ben.
Bright was the hour and bright the day,
That threw them in each other’s way;
Glad were their mutual salutations,
Long their respective revelations.
Before the inn in sultry weather
They talked of this and that together;
Ben told the tale of his indentures,
And Rob narrated his adventures.
Last, as the point of greatest weight,
The pair contrasted their estate,
And Robin, like a boastful sailor,
Despised the other for a tailor.
‘See,’ he remarked, ‘with envy, see
A man with such a fist as me!
Bearded and ringed, and big, and brown,
I sit and toss the stingo down.
Hear the gold jingle in my bag —
All won beneath the Jolly Flag!’
Ben moralised and shook his head:
‘You wanderers earn and eat your bread.
Complete Works of Robert Louis Stevenson Page 732
