Second Book of Verse Part 17

McCambridge organized a troupe, including many a name Unknown alike to guileless me, to riches, and to fame.

A pompous man whose name was Rae was Nestor of this troupe,-- Amphibious, he was quite at home outside or in the soup!

The way McCambridge billed him! Why, such dreams in red and green Had ne'er before upon the boards of Yankeedom been seen; And my proud name was heralded,--oh that I'd gone incog.

When we took that play to Providence to try it on a dog!

Shall I forget the awful day we struck that wretched town?

Yet in what melting irony the treacherous sun beamed down!

The sale of seats had not been large; but then McCambridge said The factory people seldom bought their seats so far ahead, And Rae indorsed McCambridge. So they partly set at rest The natural misgivings that perturbed my youthful breast; For I wondered and lamented that the town was not agog When I took my play to Providence to try it on a dog.

They never came at all,--aha! I knew it all the time,-- They never came to see and hear my tragedy sublime.

Oh, fateful moment when the curtain rose on act the first!

Oh, moment fateful to the soul for wealth and fame athirst!

But lucky factory girls and boys to stay away that night, When the author's fervid soul was touched by disappointment's blight,-- When desolation settled down on me like some dense fog For having tempted Providence, and tried it on a dog!

Those actors didn't know their parts; they maundered to and fro, e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.n.g. plat.i.tudes that were quite _mal a propos_; And when I sought to reprimand the graceless scamps, the lot Turned fiercely on me, and denounced my charming play as rot.

I might have stood their bitter taunts without a pa.s.sing grunt, If I'd had a word of solace from the people out in front; But that chilly corporal's guard sat round like b.u.mps upon a log When I played that play at Providence with designs upon the dog.

We went with lots of baggage, but we didn't bring it back,-- For who would be so hampered as he walks a railway track?

"Oh, ruthless muse of tragedy! what prodigies of shame, What marvels of injustice are committed in thy name!"

Thus groaned I in the spirit, as I strode what stretch of ties 'Twixt Providence, Rhode Island, and my native Gotham lies; But Rae, McCambridge, and the rest kept up a steady jog,-- 'Twas not the first time they had plied their arts upon the dog.

So much for my first battle with the fickle G.o.ddess, Fame,-- And I hear that some folks nowadays are faring just the same.

Oh, hapless he that on the graceless Yankee dog relies!

The dog fares stout and hearty, and the play it is that dies.

So ye with tragedies to try, I beg of you, beware!

Put not your trust in Providence, that most delusive snare; Cast, if you will, your pearls of thought before the Western hog, But never go to Providence to try it on a dog.

GETTIN' ON.

WHEN I wuz somewhat younger, I wuz reckoned purty gay; I had my fling at everything In a rollickin', coltish way.

But times have strangely altered Since sixty years ago-- This age of steam an' things don't seem Like the age I used to know.

Your modern innovations Don't suit me, I confess, As did the ways of the good ol' days,-- But I'm gettin' on, I guess.

I set on the piazza, An' hitch round with the sun; Sometimes, mayhap, I take a nap, Waitin' till school is done.

An' then I tell the children The things I done in youth,-- An' near as I can, as a vener'ble man, I stick to the honest truth,-- But the looks of them 'at listen Seem sometimes to express The remote idee that I'm gone--you see?-- An' I _am_ gettin' on, I guess.

I get up in the mornin', An', nothin' else to do, Before the rest are up an' dressed, I read the papers through.

I hang round with the women All day an' hear 'em talk; An' while they sew or knit I show The baby how to walk.

An', somehow, I feel sorry When they put away his dress An' cut his curls ('cause they're like a girl's!)-- I'm gettin' on, I guess.

Sometimes, with twilight round me, I see, or seem to see, A distant sh.o.r.e where friends of yore Linger an' watch for me.

Sometimes I've heered 'em callin'

So tender-like 'nd low That it almost seemed like a dream I dreamed, Or an echo of long ago; An' sometimes on my forehead There falls a soft caress, Or the touch of a hand,--you understand,-- I'm gettin' on, I guess.

THE SCHNELLEST ZUG.

FROM Hanover to Leipzig is but a little way, Yet the journey by the so-called schnellest zug consumes a day; You start at half-past ten or so, and not till nearly night Do the double towers of Magdeburg loom up before your sight; From thence to Leipzig 's quick enough,--of that I'll not complain,-- But from Hanover to Magdeburg--confound that schnellest train!

The Germans say that "schnell" means fast, and "schnellest" faster yet,-- In all my life no grimmer bit of humor have I met!

Why, thirteen miles an hour 's the greatest speed they ever go, While on the engine piston-rods do moss and lichens grow; And yet the average Teuton will presumptuously maintain That one _can't_ know what swiftness is till he's tried das schnellest train!

Fool that I was! I should have walked,--I had no time to waste; The little journey I had planned I had to do in haste,-- The quaint old town of Leipzig with its literary mart, And Dresden with its crockery-shops and wondrous wealth of art, The Saxon Alps, the Carlsbad cure for all dyspeptic pain,-- These were the ends I had in view when I took that schnellest train.

The natives dozed around me, yet none too deep to hear The guard's sporadic shout of "funf minuten" (meaning beer); I counted forty times at least that voice announce the stops Required of those fat natives to glut their greed for hops, Whilst _I_ crouched in a corner, a monument to woe, And thought unholy, awful things, and felt my whiskers grow!

And then, the wretched sights one sees while travelling by that train,-- The women doing men-folks' work at harvesting the grain, Or sometimes grubbing in the soil, or hitched to heavy carts Beside the family cow or dog, doing their slavish parts!

The husbands strut in soldier garb,--indeed _they_ were too vain To let creation see _them_ work from that creeping schnellest train!

I found the German language all too feeble to convey The sentiments that surged through my dyspeptic hulk that day; I had recourse to English, and exploded without stint Such virile Anglo-Saxon as would never do in print, But which a.s.suaged my rising gorge and cooled my seething brain While snailing on to Magdeburg upon that schnellest train.

The typical New England freight that maunders to and fro, The upper Mississippi boats, the b.u.mptious B. & O., The creeping Southern railroads with their other creeping things, The Philadelphy cable that is run out West for rings, The Piccadilly 'buses with their constant roll and shake,-- All have I tried, and yet I'd give the "schnellest zug" the cake!

My countrymen, if ever you should seek the German clime, Put not your trust in Baedeker if you are pressed for time; From Hanover to Magdeburg is many a weary mile By "schnellest zug," but done afoot it seems a tiny while; Walk, swim, or skate, and then the task will not appear in vain, But you'll break the third commandment if you take the schnellest train!

BETHLEHEM-TOWN.

AS I was going to Bethlehem-town, Upon the earth I cast me down All underneath a little tree That whispered in this wise to me: "Oh, I shall stand on Calvary And bear what burthen saveth thee!"

As up I fared to Bethlehem-town, I met a shepherd coming down, And thus he quoth: "A wondrous sight Hath spread before mine eyes this night,-- An angel host most fair to see, That sung full sweetly of a tree That shall uplift on Calvary What burthen saveth you and me!"

And as I gat to Bethlehem-town, Lo! wise men came that bore a crown.

"Is there," cried I, "in Bethlehem A King shall wear this diadem?"

"Good sooth," they quoth, "and it is He That shall be lifted on the tree And freely shed on Calvary What blood redeemeth us and thee!"

Unto a Child in Bethlehem-town The wise men came and brought the crown; And while the infant smiling slept, Upon their knees they fell and wept; But, with her babe upon her knee, Naught recked that Mother of the tree, That should uplift on Calvary What burthen saveth all and me.

Again I walk in Bethlehem-town And think on Him that wears the crown.

I may not kiss His feet again, Nor worship Him as did I then; My King hath died upon the tree, And hath outpoured on Calvary What blood redeemeth you and me!

THE PEACE OF CHRISTMAS-TIME.

DEAREST, how hard it is to say That all is for the best, Since, sometimes, in a grievous way G.o.d's will is manifest.

See with what hearty, noisy glee Our little ones to-night Dance round and round our Christmas-tree With pretty toys bedight.

Dearest, one voice they may not hear, One face they may not see,-- Ah, what of all this Christmas cheer Cometh to you and me?