(“Why is it,” asks the dramatic critic of a contemporary, “that villains are always called Ralph?”)

If a baby is invariably scowling,
He’s Ralph.
If he fills in leisure afternoons by howling,
He’s Ralph.
If he spills food on his bib,
Kicks his nursey in the rib,
When she takes him to his crib,
He’s Ralph.

If at school a boy keeps getting into trouble,
It’s Ralph.
If he’s given lines, and—later—gets them double,
It’s Ralph.
If an end of term report
Is the disagreeable sort
That makes parents’ tempers short,
It’s Ralph.

If a man delights in burglary or arson,
He’s Ralph.
If his goings-on disturb the local parson,
He’s Ralph.
If he likes to be arrayed
In a tie of crimson shade
Which is plainly ready-made,
He’s Ralph.

If he’s full of sins, and doesn’t care to cloak ’em,
He’s Ralph.
Do you see that shady person picking oakum?
That’s Ralph.
For he jumped upon his wife,
Stabbed a neighbour with a knife,
So they “put him in” for life.
(Exit Ralph.)

P. G. W.