The Wit and Humor of America Volume V Part 2

He modest merit sought to find, And pay it its desert: He had no malice in his mind, No ruffles on his shirt.

His neighbors he did not abuse-- Was sociable and gay: He wore large buckles on his shoes, And changed them every day.

His knowledge hid from public gaze, He did not bring to view, Nor made a noise town-meeting days, As many people do.

His worldly goods he never threw In trust to fortune's chances, But lived (as all his brothers do) In easy circ.u.mstances.

Thus undisturb'd by anxious cares, His peaceful moments ran; And everybody said he was A fine old gentleman.

MISS LEGION

BY BERT LESTON TAYLOR

She is hotfoot after Cultyure; She pursues it with a club.

She breathes a heavy atmosphere Of literary flub.

No literary shrine so far But she is there to kneel; And-- Her favorite bunch of reading Is O. Meredith's "Lucile."

Of course she's up on pictures-- Pa.s.ses for a connoisseur; On free days at the Inst.i.tute You'll always notice her.

She qualifies approval Of a t.i.tian or Corot, But-- She throws a fit of rapture When she comes to Bouguereau.

And when you talk of music, Why, she's Music's devotee.

She will tell you that Beethoven Always makes her wish to pray, And "dear old Bach!" his very name, She says, her ear enchants; But-- Her favorite piece is Weber's "Invitation to the Dance."

HAVE YOU SEEN THE LADY?

BY JOHN PHILIP SOUSA

"Have I told you the name of a lady?

Have I told you the name of a dear?

'Twas known long ago, And ends with an O; You don't hear it often round here.

Have I talked of the eyes of a lady?

Have I talked of the eyes that are bright?

Their color, you see, Is B-L-U-E; They're the gin in the c.o.c.ktail of light.

Have I sung of the hair of a lady?

Have I sung of the hair of a dove?

What shade do you say?

B-L-A-C-K; It's the fizz in the champagne of love.

Can you guess it--the name of the lady?

She is sweet, she is fair, she is coy.

Your guessing forego, It's J-U-N-O; She's the mint in the julep of joy."

THE FUNNY LITTLE FELLOW

BY JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY

'Twas a Funny Little Fellow Of the very purest type, For he had a heart as mellow As an apple over-ripe; And the brightest little twinkle When a funny thing occurred, And the lightest little tinkle Of a laugh you ever heard!

His smile was like the glitter Of the sun in tropic lands, And his talk a sweeter twitter Than the swallow understands; Hear him sing--and tell a story-- Snap a joke--ignite a pun,-- 'Twas a capture--rapture--glory, And explosion--all in one!

Though he hadn't any money-- That condiment which tends To make a fellow "honey"

For the palate of his friends; Sweet simples he compounded-- Sovereign antidotes for sin Or taint,--a faith unbounded That his friends were genuine.

He wasn't honored, may be-- For his songs of praise were slim,-- Yet I never knew a baby That wouldn't crow for him; I never knew a mother But urged a kindly claim Upon him as a brother, At the mention of his name.

The sick have ceased their sighing, And have even found the grace Of a smile when they were dying As they looked upon his face; And I've seen his eyes of laughter Melt in tears that only ran As though, swift dancing after, Came the Funny Little Man.

He laughed away the sorrow, And he laughed away the gloom We are all so p.r.o.ne to borrow From the darkness of the tomb; And he laughed across the ocean Of a happy life, and pa.s.sed, With a laugh of glad emotion, Into Paradise at last.

And I think the Angels knew him, And had gathered to await His coming, and run to him Through the widely-opened Gate-- With their faces gleaming sunny For his laughter-loving sake, And thinking, "What a funny Little Angel he will make!"

MUSICAL REVIEW EXTRAORDINARY

BY JOHN PHOENIX

SAN DIEGO, July 10th, 1854.

As your valuable work is not supposed to be so entirely identified with San Franciscan interests as to be careless what takes place in other portions of this great _kentry_, and as it is received and read in San Diego with great interest (I have loaned my copy to over four different literary gentlemen, most of whom have read some of it), I have thought it not improbable that a few critical notices of the musical performances and the drama of this place might be acceptable to you, and interest your readers. I have been, moreover, encouraged to this task by the perusal of your interesting musical and theatrical critiques on San Francisco performers and performances; as I feel convinced that if you devote so much s.p.a.ce to them you will not allow any little feeling of rivalry between the two great cities to prevent your noticing ours, which, without the slightest feeling of prejudice, I must consider as infinitely superior. I propose this month to call your attention to the two great events in our theatrical and musical world--the appearance of the talented Miss PELICAN, and the production of Tarbox's celebrated "Ode Symphonie" of "The Plains."

The critiques on the former are from the columns of the Vallecetos Sentinel, to which they were originally contributed by me, appearing on the respective dates of June 1st and June 31st.

_From the Vallecetos Sentinel, June 1st_

MISS PELICAN.--Never during our dramatic experience has a more exciting event occurred than the sudden bursting upon our theatrical firmament, full, blazing, unparalleled, of the bright, resplendent and particular star whose honored name shines refulgent at the head of this article. Coming among us unheralded, almost unknown, without claptrap, in a wagon drawn by oxen across the plains, with no agent to get up a counterfeit enthusiasm in her favor, she appeared before us for the first time at the San Diego Lyceum last evening, in the trying and difficult character of Ingomar, or the Tame Savage. We are at a loss to describe our sensations, our admiration, at her magnificent, her super-human efforts. We do not hesitate to say that she is by far the superior to any living actress; and, as we believe that to be the perfection of acting, we cannot be wrong in the belief that no one hereafter will ever be found to approach her. Her conception of the character of Ingomar was perfection itself; her playful and ingenuous manner, her light girlish laughter, in the scene with Sir Peter, showed an appreciation of the savage character which nothing but the most arduous study, the most elaborate training could produce; while her awful change to the stern, unyielding, uncompromising father in the tragic scene of Duncan's murder, was indeed nature itself. Miss Pelican is about seventeen years of age, of miraculous beauty, and most thrilling voice. It is needless to say she dresses admirably, as in fact we have said all we can say when we called her, most truthfully, perfection. Mr. John Boots took the part of Parthenia very creditably, etc., etc.

_From the Vallecetos Sentinel, June 31st_

MISS PELICAN.--As this lady is about to leave us to commence an engagement on the San Francisco stage, we should regret exceedingly if anything we have said about her should send with her a _prestige_ which might be found undeserved on trial. The fact is, Miss Pelican is a very ordinary actress; indeed, one of the most indifferent ones we have ever happened to see. She came here from the Museum at Fort Laramie, and we praised her so injudiciously that she became completely spoiled. She has performed a round of characters during the last week, very miserably, though we are bound to confess that her performance of King Lear last evening was superior to anything of the kind we ever saw. Miss Pelican is about forty-three years of age, singularly plain in her personal appearance, awkward and embarra.s.sed, with a cracked and squeaking voice, and really dresses quite outrageously. _She has much to learn--poor thing!_