Chimneysmoke Part 18

Then look with reverence on wine That kindles human brains uncouth-- There must be something part divine In aught that brings us nearer Truth!

So--continently skull your fumes (Here let our little sermon end) And bless this X-ray that illumes The secret bosom of your friend!

A SYMPOSIUM

There was a Russian novelist Whose name was Solugubrious, The reading circles took him up, (They'd heard he was salubrious.)

The women's club of Cripple Creek Soon held a kind of seminar To learn just what his message was-- You know what bookworms women are.

The tea went round. After five cups (You should have seen them bury tea) Dear Mrs. Brown said what she liked Was the great man's _sincerity_.

Sweet Mrs. Jones (how free she was From all besetting vanity) Declared that she loved even more His broad and deep _humanity_.

Good Mrs. Smith, though she disclaimed All thought of being critical, Protested that she found his work A wee bit _a.n.a.lytical_.

But Mrs. Black, the President, Of wisdom found the pinnacle: She said, "Dear me, I always think Those Russians are so _cynical_."

Well, poor old Solugubrious, It's true that they had heard of him; But neither Brown, Jones, Smith, nor Black Had ever read a word of him!

[Ill.u.s.tration: _Solugubrious_]

TO A TELEPHONE OPERATOR WHO HAS A BAD COLD

How hoa.r.s.e and husky in my ear Your usually cheerful chirrup: You have an awful cold, my dear-- Try aspirin or bronchial syrup.

When I put in a call to-day Compa.s.sion stirred my humane blood red To hear you faintly, sadly, say The number: _Burray Hill dide hudred!_

I felt (I say) quick sympathy To hear you croak in the receiver-- Will you be sorry too for me A month hence, when I have hay fever?

NURSERY RHYMES FOR THE TENDER-HEARTED

(Dedicated to Don Marquis.)

I

Scuttle, scuttle, little roach-- How you run when I approach: Up above the pantry shelf.

Hastening to secrete yourself.

Most adventurous of vermin, How I wish I could determine How you spend your hours of ease, Perhaps reclining on the cheese.

Cook has gone, and all is dark-- Then the kitchen is your park: In the garbage heap that she leaves Do you browse among the tea leaves?

How delightful to suspect All the places you have trekked: Does your long antenna whisk its Gentle tip across the biscuits?

Do you linger, little soul, Drowsing in our sugar bowl?

Or, abandonment most utter, Shake a shimmy on the b.u.t.ter?

Do you chant your simple tunes Swimming in the baby's prunes?

Then, when dawn comes, do you slink Homeward to the kitchen sink?

Timid roach, why be so shy?

We are brothers, thou and I.

In the midnight, like yourself, I explore the pantry shelf!

[Ill.u.s.tration:

_In the midnight, like yourself,_ _I explore the pantry shelf!_]

NURSERY RHYMES FOR THE TENDER-HEARTED

II

Rockabye, insect, lie low in thy den, Father's a c.o.c.kroach, mother's a hen.

And Betty, the maid, doesn't clean up the sink, So you shall have plenty to eat and to drink.

Hushabye, insect, behind the mince pies: If the cook sees you her anger will rise; She'll scatter poison, as bitter as gall, Death to poor c.o.c.kroach, hen, baby and all.

NURSERY RHYMES FOR THE TENDER-HEARTED

III

There was a gay henroach, and what do you think, She lived in a cranny behind the old sink-- Eggsh.e.l.ls and grease were the chief of her diet; She went for a stroll when the kitchen was quiet.