by W. W. Jacobs
GELETT BURGESS
THE BOHEMIANS OF BOSTON
The "Orchids" were as tough a crowd As Boston anywhere allowed; It was a club of wicked men-- The oldest, twelve, the youngest, ten; They drank their soda colored green, They talked of "Art," and "Philistine," They wore buff "wescoats," and their hair It used to make the waiters stare! They were so shockingly behaved And Boston thought them _so_ depraved, Policemen, stationed at the door, Would raid them every hour or more! They used to smoke (!) and laugh out loud (!) They were a very devilish crowd! They formed a Cult, far subtler, brainier, Than ordinary Anglomania, For all as Jacobites were reckoned, And gaily toasted Charles the Second! (What would the Bonnie Charlie say, If he could see that crowd to-day?) Fitz-Willieboy McFlubadub Was Regent of the Orchids' Club; A wild Bohemian was he, And spent his money fast and free. He thought no more of spending dimes On some debauch of pickled limes, Than you would think of spending nickels To buy a pint of German pickles! The Boston maiden passed him by With sidelong glances of her eye, She dared not speak (he _was_ so wild), Yet worshiped this Lotharian child. Fitz-Willieboy was so _blase_, He burned a _Transcript_ up one day! The Orchids fashioned all their style On Flubadub's infernal guile. That awful Boston oath was his-- _He_ used to 'jaculate, "Gee Whiz!" He showed them that immoral haunt. The dirty Chinese Restaurant, And there they'd find him, even when It got to be as late as ten! He ate chopped _suey_ (with a fork), You should have heard the villain talk Of one _reporter_ that he knew (!) An artist, and an actor, too!!! The Orchids went from bad to worse, Made epigrams--attempted verse! Boston was horrified and shocked To hear the way those Orchids mocked; For they made fun of Boston ways, And called good men Provincial Jays! The end must come to such a story, Gone is the wicked Orchids' glory, The room was raided by police, One night, for breaches of the Peace (There had been laughter, long and loud, In Boston this is not allowed), And there, the sergeant of the squad Found awful evidence--my God!-- Fitz-Willieboy McFlubadub, The Regent of the Orchids' Club, Had written on the window-sill, This shocking outrage--"Beacon H--ll!"
In "The Burgess Nonsense Book"
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Of the countless good stories attributed to Artemus Ward, the best one,perhaps, is one which tells of the advice which he gave to a Southernrailroad conductor soon after the war. The road was in a wretchedcondition, and the trains were consequently run at a phenomenally lowrate of speed. When the conductor was punching his ticket, Artemusremarked:
"Does this railroad company allow passengers to give it advice, if theydo so in a respectful manner?"
The conductor replied in gruff tones that he guessed so.
"Well," Artemus went on, "it occurred to me that it would be well todetach the cowcatcher from the front of the engine and hitch it to therear of the train, for you see we are not liable to overtake a cow,but what's to prevent a cow from strolling into this car and biting apassenger?"