Second Book of Verse Part 3

CRUMPETS AND TEA.

THERE are happenings in life that are destined to rise Like dear, hallowed visions before a man's eyes; And the pa.s.sage of years shall not dim in the least The glory and joy of our Sabbath-day feast,-- The Sabbath-day luncheon that's spread for us three,-- My worthy companions, Teresa and Leigh, And me, all so hungry for crumpets and tea.

There are cynics who say with invidious zest That a crumpet's a thing that will never digest; But I happen to _know_ that a crumpet is prime For digestion, if only you give it its time.

Or if, by a chance, it should _not_ quite agree, Why, who would begrudge a physician his fee For plying his trade upon crumpets and tea?

To toast crumpets quite _a la mode_, I require A proper long fork and a proper quick fire; And when they are browned, without further ado, I put on the b.u.t.ter, that soaks through and through.

And meantime Teresa, directed by Leigh, Compounds and pours out a rich brew for us three; And so we sit down to our crumpets--and tea.

A hand-organ grinds in the street a weird bit,-- Confound those Italians! I wish they would quit Interrupting our feast with their dolorous airs, Suggestive of climbing the heavenly stairs.

(It's thoughts of the future, as all will agree, That we fain would dismiss from our bosoms when we Sit down to discussion of crumpets and tea!)

The Sabbath-day luncheon whereof I now speak Quite answers its purpose the rest of the week; Yet with the next Sabbath I wait for the bell Announcing the man who has crumpets to sell; Then I scuttle downstairs in a frenzy of glee, And purchase for sixpence enough for us three, Who hunger and hanker for crumpets and tea.

But soon--ah! too soon--I must bid a farewell To joys that succeed to the sound of that bell, Must hie me away from the dank, foggy sh.o.r.e That's filled me with colic and--yearnings for more!

Then the cruel, the heartless, the conscienceless sea Shall bear me afar from Teresa and Leigh And the other twin friendships of crumpets and tea.

Yet often, ay, ever, before my wan eyes That Sabbath-day luncheon of old shall arise.

My stomach, perhaps, shall improve by the change, Since crumpets it seems to prefer at long range; But, oh, how my palate will hanker to be In London again with Teresa and Leigh, Enjoying the rapture of crumpets and tea!

AN IMITATION OF DR. WATTS.

THROUGH all my life the poor shall find In me a constant friend; And on the meek of every kind My mercy shall attend.

The dumb shall never call on me In vain for kindly aid; And in my hands the blind shall see A bounteous alms displayed.

In all their walks the lame shall know And feel my goodness near; And on the deaf will I bestow My gentlest words of cheer.

'Tis by such pious works as these, Which I delight to do, That men their fellow-creatures please, And please their Maker too.

INTRY-MINTRY.

WILLIE and Bess, Georgie and May,-- Once as these children were hard at play, An old man, h.o.a.ry and tottering, came And watched them playing their pretty game.

He seemed to wonder, while standing there, What the meaning thereof could be.

Aha, but the old man yearned to share Of the little children's innocent glee, As they circled around with laugh and shout, And told this rhyme at counting out: "Intry-mintry, cutrey-corn, Apple-seed and apple-thorn, Wire, brier, limber, lock, Twelve geese in a flock; Some flew east, some flew west, Some flew over the cuckoo's nest."

Willie and Bess, Georgie and May,-- Ah, the mirth of that summer day!

'Twas Father Time who had come to share The innocent joy of those children there.

He learned betimes the game they played, And into their sport with them went he,-- How _could_ the children have been afraid, Since little they recked who he might be?

They laughed to hear old Father Time Mumbling that curious nonsense rhyme Of intry-mintry, cutrey-corn, Apple-seed and apple-thorn, Wire, brier, limber, lock, Twelve geese in a flock; Some flew east, some flew west, Some flew over the cuckoo's nest.

Willie and Bess, Georgie and May, And joy of summer,--where are they?

The grim old man still standeth near, Crooning the song of a far-off year; And into the winter I come alone, Cheered by that mournful requiem, Soothed by the dolorous monotone That shall count me off as it counted them,-- The solemn voice of old Father Time, Chanting the homely nursery rhyme He learned of the children a summer morn, When, with "apple-seed and apple-thorn,"

Life was full of the dulcet cheer That bringeth the grace of heaven anear: The sound of the little ones hard at play,-- Willie and Bess, Georgie and May.

MODJESKY AS CAMEEL.

AFORE we went to Denver we had heerd the Tabor Grand, Allowed by critics ez the finest opry in the land; And, roundin' up at Denver in the fall of '81, Well heeled in p'int uv looker 'nd a-pinin' for some fun, We told Bill Bush that we wuz fixed quite comf'table for wealth, And hadn't struck that alt.i.tood entirely for our health.

You see we knew Bill Bush at Central City years ago; (An' a whiter man than that same Bill you could not wish to know!) Bill run the Grand for Tabor, 'nd he gin us two a deal Ez how we really otter see Modjesky ez Cameel.

Three-Fingered Hoover stated that he'd great deal ruther go To call on Charley Sampson than frequent a opry show.

"The queen uv tradegy," sez he, "is wot I've never seen, And I reckon there is more for _me_ in some other kind uv queen."

"Git out!" sez Bill, disgusted-like, "and can't you never find A pleasure in the things uv life wich ellervates the mind?

You've set around in Casey's restawraw a year or more, An' heerd ol' Vere de Blaw perform shef doovers by the score, Only to come down here among us _tong_ an' say you feel You'd ruther take in faro than a opry like 'Cameel'!"

But it seems it wurn't no opry, but a sort uv foreign play, With a heap uv talk an' dressin' that wuz both de_kolly_tay.

A young chap sparks a gal, who's caught a dook that's old an'

wealthy,-- She has a cold 'nd faintin' fits, and is gin'rally onhealthy.

She says she has a record; but the young chap doesn't mind, And it looks ez if the feller wuz a proper likely kind Until his old man sneaks around 'nd makes a dirty break, And the young one plays the sucker 'nd gives the girl the shake.

"Armo! Armo!" she hollers; but he flings her on the floor, And says he ainter goin' to have no truck with her no more.

At that Three-Fingered Hoover says, "I'll chip into this game, And see if Red Hoss Mountain cannot reconstruct the same.

I won't set by an' see the feelin's uv a lady hurt,-- Gol durn a critter, anyhow, that does a woman dirt!"

He riz up like a giant in that little painted pen, And stepped upon the platform with the women-folks 'nd men; Across the trough of gaslights he bounded like a deer, An' grabbed Armo an' hove him through the landscape in the rear; And then we seen him shed his hat an' reverently kneel, An' put his strong arms tenderly around the gal Cameel.

A-standin' in his stockin' feet, his height wuz six foot three, And a huskier man than Hoover wuz you could not hope to see.

He downed Lafe Dawson wra.s.slin'; and one night I seen him lick Three Cornish miners that come into camp from Roarin' Crick To clean out Casey's restawraw an' do the town, they said.

He could whip his weight in wildcats, an' paint whole townships red, But good to helpless folks and weak,--a brave and manly heart A cyclone couldn't phase, but any child could rend apart; Jest like the mountain pine, wich dares the storm that howls along, But rocks the winds uv summer-time, an' sings a soothin' song.

"Cameel," sez he, "your record is ag'in you, I'll allow, But, bein' you're a woman, you'll git justice anyhow; So, if you say you're sorry, and intend to travel straight,-- Why, never mind that other chap with which you meant to mate,-- I'll marry you myself, and take you back to-morrow night To the camp on Red Hoss Mountain, where the boys'll treat you white, Where Casey runs a tabble dote, and folks are brave 'nd true, Where there ain't no ancient history to bother me or you, Where there ain't no law but honesty, no evidence but facts, Where between the verd.i.c.k and the rope there ain't no _onter acts_."

I wuz mighty proud of Hoover; but the folks began to shout That the feller was intrudin', and would some one put him out.

"Well, no; I reckon not," says I, or words to that effect, Ez I perduced a argument I thought they might respect,-- A long an' harnsome weepon I'd pre-empted when I come Out West (its cartridges wuz big an' juicy ez a plum), Wich, when persented properly, wuz very apt to sway The popular opinion in a most persuasive way.

"Well, no; I reckon not," says I; but I didn't say no more, Observin' that there wuz a ginral movement towards the door.

First Dr. Lemen he allowed that he had got to go And see a patient he jest heerd wuz lyin' very low; An' Charlie Toll riz up an' said he guessed he'd jine the Dock, An' go to see a client wich wuz waitin' round the block; John Arkins reckollected he had interviews to write, And previous engagements hurried Cooper from our sight; Cal Cole went out to buy a hoss, Fred Skiff and Belford too; And Stapleton remembered he had heaps uv work to do.

Somehow or other every one wuz full of business then; Leastwise, they all vamoosed, and didn't bother us again.

I reckollect that Willard Morse an' Bush come runnin' in, A-hollerin', "Oh, wot two idiots you durned fools have been!"

I reckollect that they allowed we'd made a big mistake,-- They otter knowed us tenderfoots wuz sure to make a break!

An', while Modjesky stated we wuz somewhat off our base, I half opined she liked it, by the look upon her face.

I reckollect that Hoover regretted he done wrong In throwin' that there actor through a vista ten miles long.

I reckollect we all shuck hands, and ordered vin frappay,-- And I never shall forget the head I had on me next day!

I haven't seen Modjesky since; I'm hopin' to again.

She's goin' to show in Denver soon; I'll go to see her then.