Eyelids des a-droopin' li'l loweh all de w'ile, Undeh lip a-saggin' des a mite; Li'l baby toofies showin' so't o' lak a smile, Whiteh dan de snow, or des ez white. Swing 'im to'ds de No'flan', Swing 'im to'ds de Eas'-- Woolly cloud a-comin' fo' t' wrap 'im in 'is fleece! Angel ban' a-playin'-- Whut dat music sayin'? "Sleep, mah li'l pigeon, don' yo' heah yo' mammy coo?"
MY SWEETHEART
BY SAMUEL MINTURN PECK
Her height? Perhaps you'd deem her tall-- To be exact, just five feet seven. Her arching feet are not too small; Her gleaming eyes are bits of heaven. Slim are her hands, yet not too wee-- I could not fancy useless fingers, Her hands are all that hands should be, And own a touch whose memory lingers.
The hue that lights her oval cheeks Recalls the pink that tints a cherry; Upon her chin a dimple speaks, A disposition blithe and merry. Her laughter ripples like a brook; Its sound a heart of stone would soften. Though sweetness shines in every look, Her laugh is never loud, nor often.
Though golden locks have won renown With bards, I never heed their raving; The girl I love hath locks of brown, Not tightly curled, but gently waving. Her mouth?--Perhaps you'd term it large-- Is firmly molded, full and curving; Her quiet lips are Cupid's charge, But in the cause of truth unswerving.
Though little of her neck is seen, That little is both smooth and sightly; And fair as marble is its sheen Above her bodice gleaming whitely. Her nose is just the proper size, Without a trace of upward turning. Her shell-like ears are wee and wise, The tongue of scandal ever spurning.
In mirth and woe her voice is low, Her calm demeanor never fluttered; Her every accent seems to go Straight to one's heart as soon as uttered. She ne'er coquets as others do; Her tender heart would never let her. Where does she dwell? I would I knew; As yet, alas! I've never met her.
THE AUTO RUBAIYAT[5]
BY REGINALD WRIGHT KAUFFMAN
Move!--Or the Devil Red who puts to flight Whate'er's before him, to the Left or Right, Will toss you high as Heaven when he strikes Your poor clay carcass with his master-might!
As the Cock crows the "Fiends" who stand before The Starting-Point, amid the Stream's wild roar, Shake hands, make wills, and duly are confess'd, Lest, once departed, they return no more.
For whether towards Madrid or Washington, Whether by steam or gasoline they run, Pedestrians keep getting in their way, Chauffeurs are being slaughtered one by one.
A new Fool's every minute born, you say; Yes, but where speeds the Fool of Yesterday? Beneath the Road he sleeps, the Autos roar Close o'er his head, but can not thrill his clay.
Well, let him sleep! For what have ye to do With him, who this or Anything pursue So it take swiftness?--Let the Children scream, Or Constables shout after--heed not you.
Oh ye who anti-auto laws would make And still insist upon the silly brake, Get in, and try a spin, and then you'll see How many fines you will impose--and take!
Ah, my Beloved, fill the Tank that cheers, Nor heed the Law's rebuke, the Rabble's tears, Quick! For To-morrow you and I may be Ourselves with Yesterday's Sev'n Thousand Years.
A pair of Goggles and a Cap, I trow, A Stench, a Roar, and my Machine and Thou Beside me, going ninety miles an hour-- Oh, Turnpike-road were Paradise enow!
Ah, Love, could we successfully conspire Against this sorry World for our desire, Would we not shatter it to bits without So much of damage as a busted tire?
With Gasoline my fading Life provide, And wash my Body in it when I've died, And lay me, shrouded in my Cap and Cape, By some not Autoless new Speedway's side.
Yon "Devil" that goes pricking o'er the Plain, How oft hereafter will she go again! How oft hereafter will she seek her prey? But seek, alas, for one of us in vain!
And when, like her, O Love, you come to take Your morning spin for Appetite's sweet sake, And pass the spot where I lay buried, then, In memory of me, fling wide the Brake!
[Footnote 5: Lippincott's Magazine.]
THE TWO LADIES
BY CAROLYN WELLS
Once on a Time there were Two Ladies at a Shop where Gorgeous andExpensive Silks were temptingly displayed. "Only Six Dollars a Yard,Madam," said the Shopman to One of the Ladies, as he held up theLustrous Breadths in those Tempting Fan-shaped Folds peculiar toShopmen.
The Lady hesitated, and looked Dubiously at the Silk, for she knew itwas Beyond her Means.
The Shopman Continued: "Very Cheap at the Price, and I have Only thisOne Dress Pattern remaining. You will Take it? Yes? Certainly, I willSend it at Once."
The Lady went away filled with Deep Regret because she had squanderedher Money so Foolishly, and wished she had been Firm in her Refusal tobuy the Goods.
The Other Lady saw a similar Silk. She felt it Between her Fingers,Measured its Width with her Eye, and then said Impulsively, "Oh, That isjust What I Want. I will Take Twenty Yards."
No Sooner was the Silk cut off than the Lady felt Sharp Twinges ofRemorse, for she knew she must Pay for it with the Money she had SavedUp for a new Dining-Room Carpet.
MORALS:
This Fable teaches that the Woman Who Deliberates Is Lost, and That WeShould Think Twice Before We Speak Once.
THE DIAMOND WEDDING
BY EDMUND CLARENCE STEDMAN
O Love! Love! Love! What times were those, Long ere the age of belles and beaux, And Brussels lace and silken hose, When, in the green Arcadian close, You married Psyche under the rose, With only the grass for bedding! Heart to heart, and hand to hand, You followed Nature's sweet command, Roaming lovingly through the land, Nor sighed for a Diamond Wedding.
So have we read in classic Ovid, How Hero watched for her beloved, Impassioned youth, Leander. She was the fairest of the fair, And wrapt him round with her golden hair, Whenever he landed cold and bare, With nothing to eat and nothing to wear, And wetter than any gander; For Love was Love, and better than money; The slyer the theft, the sweeter the honey; And kissing was clover, all the world over, Wherever Cupid might wander.
So thousands of years have come and gone, And still the moon is shining on, Still Hymen's torch is lighted; And hitherto, in this land of the West, Most couples in love have thought it best To follow the ancient way of the rest, And quietly get united.
But now, True Love, you're growing old-- Bought and sold, with silver and gold, Like a house, or a horse and carriage! Midnight talks, Moonlight walks, The glance of the eye and sweetheart sigh, The shadowy haunts, with no one by, I do not wish to disparage; But every kiss Has a price for its bliss, In the modern code of marriage;
And the compact sweet Is not complete Till the high contracting parties meet Before the altar of Mammon; And the bride must be led to a silver bower, Where pearls and rubies fall in a shower That would frighten Jupiter Ammon!
I need not tell How it befell, (Since Jenkins has told the story Over and over and over again In a style I can not hope to attain, And covered himself with glory!) How it befell, one summer's day, The king of the Cubans strolled this way-- King January's his name, they say-- And fell in love with the Princess May, The reigning belle of Manhattan; Nor how he began to smirk and sue, And dress as lovers who come to woo, Or as Max Maretzek and Julien do, When they sit full-bloomed in the ladies' view, And flourish the wondrous baton.
He wasn't one of your Polish nobles, Whose presence their country somehow troubles, And so our cities receive them; Nor one of your make-believe Spanish grand
ees, Who ply our daughters with lies and candies Until the poor girls believe them. No, he was no such charlatan-- Count de Hoboken Flash-in-the-pan, Full of gasconade and bravado-- But a regular, rich Don Rataplan, Santa Claus de la Muscovado, Senor Grandissimo Bastinado. His was the rental of half Havana And all Matanzas; and Santa Anna, Rich as he was, could hardly hold A candle to light the mines of gold Our Cuban owned, choke-full of diggers; And broad plantations, that, in round figures, Were stocked with at least five thousand niggers! "Gather ye rosebuds while ye may!" The Senor swore to carry the day, To capture the beautiful Princess May, With his battery of treasure; Velvet and lace she should not lack; Tiffany, Haughwout, Ball & Black, Genin and Stewart his suit should back, And come and go at her pleasure; Jet and lava--silver and gold-- Garnets--emeralds rare to behold-- Diamonds--sapphires--wealth untold-- All were hers, to have and to hold: Enough to fill a peck measure!
He didn't bring all his forces on At once, but like a crafty old Don, Who many a heart had fought and won, Kept bidding a little higher; And every time he made his bid, And what she said, and all they did-- 'Twas written down, For the good of the town, By Jeems, of _The Daily Flyer_.
A coach and horses, you'd think, would buy For the Don an easy victory; But slowly our Princess yielded. A diamond necklace caught her eye, But a wreath of pearls first made her sigh. She knew the worth of each maiden glance, And, like young colts, that curvet and prance, She led the Don a deuce of a dance, In spite of the wealth he wielded. She stood such a fire of silks and laces, Jewels and gold dressing-cases, And ruby brooches, and jets and pearls, That every one of her dainty curls Brought the price of a hundred common girls; Folks thought the lass demented! But at last a wonderful diamond ring, An infant Kohinoor, did the thing, And, sighing with love, or something the same, (What's in a name?) The Princess May consented.
Ring! ring the bells, and bring The people to see the marrying! Let the gaunt and hungry and ragged poor Throng round the great cathedral door, To wonder what all the hubbub's for, And sometimes stupidly wonder At so much sunshine and brightness which Fall from the church upon the rich, While the poor get all the thunder.
Ring, ring! merry bells, ring! O fortunate few, With letters blue, Good for a seat and a nearer view! Fortunate few, whom I dare not name; Dilettanti! Creme de la Creme! We commoners stood by the street facade, And caught a glimpse of the cavalcade. We saw the bride In diamond pride, With jeweled maidens to guard her side-- Six lustrous maidens in tarletan. She led the van of the caravan; Close behind her, her mother (Dressed in gorgeous _moire antique_, That told as plainly as words could speak, She was more antique than the other) Leaned on the arm of Don Rataplan, Santa Claus de la Muscovado, Senor Grandissimo Bastinado. Happy mortal! fortunate man! And Marquis of El Dorado!
In they swept, all riches and grace, Silks and satins, jewels and lace; In they swept from the dazzled sun, And soon in the church the deed was done. Three prelates stood on the chancel high: A knot that gold and silver can buy, Gold and silver may yet untie, Unless it is tightly fastened; What's worth doing at all's worth doing well, And the sale of a young Manhattan belle Is not to be pushed or hastened; So two Very-Reverends graced the scene, And the tall Archbishop stood between, By prayer and fasting chastened; The Pope himself would have come from Rome, But Garibaldi kept him at home. Haply those robed prelates thought Their words were the power that tied the knot; But another power that love-knot tied, And I saw the chain round the neck of the bride-- A glistening, priceless, marvelous chain, Coiled with diamonds again and again, As befits a diamond wedding; Yet still 'twas a chain, and I thought she knew it, And half-way longed for the will to undo it, By the secret tears she was shedding.
But isn't it odd to think, whenever We all go through that terrible River-- Whose sluggish tide alone can sever (The Archbishop says) the Church decree, By floating one into Eternity And leaving the other alive as ever-- As each wades through that ghastly stream, The satins that rustle and gems that gleam, Will grow pale and heavy, and sink away To the noisome River's bottom-clay! Then the costly bride and her maidens six, Will shiver upon the banks of the Styx, Quite as helpless as they were born-- Naked souls, and very forlorn; The Princess, then, must shift for herself, And lay her royalty on the shelf; She, and the beautiful Empress, yonder, Whose robes are now the wide world's wonder, And even ourselves, and our dear little wives, Who calico wear each morn of their lives, And the sewing-girls, and _les chiffonniers_, In rags and hunger--a gaunt array-- And all the grooms of the caravan-- Ay, even the great Don Rataplan Santa Claus de la Muscavado Senor Grandissimo Bastinado-- That gold-encrusted, fortunate man-- All will land in naked equality: The lord of a ribboned principality Will mourn the loss of his _cordon_; Nothing to eat and nothing to wear Will certainly be the fashion there! Ten to one, and I'll go it alone; Those most used to a rag and a bone, Though here on earth they labor and groan, Will stand it best, as they wade abreast To the other side of Jordan.
AN ARKANSAS PLANTER
BY OPIE READ
Slowly and heavily the Major walked out upon the veranda. He stood uponthe steps leading down into the yard, and he saw Louise afar offstanding upon the river's yellow edge. She had thrown her hat upon thesand, and she stood with her hands clasped upon her brown head. A windblew down the stream, and the water lapped at her feet. The Major lookedback into the library, at the door wherein Pennington had stood, andsighed with relief upon finding that he was gone. He looked back towardthe river. The girl was walking along the shore, meditatively swingingher hat. He stepped to the corner of the house, and, gazing down theroad, saw Pennington on a horse, now sitting straight, now bending lowover the horn of the saddle. The old gentleman had a habit of making asideward motion with his hand as if he would put all unpleasant thoughtsbehind him, and now he made the motion not only once, but many times.And it seemed that his thoughts would not obey him, for he became moreimperative in his pantomimic demand.
At one corner of the large yard, where the smooth ground broke off intoa steep slope to the river, there stood a small office built of brick.It was the Major's executive chamber, and thither he directed his steps.Inside this place his laugh was never heard; at the door his smilealways faded. In this commercial sanctuary were enforced the exactionsthat made the plantation thrive. Outside, in the yard, in the "bighouse," elsewhere under the sky, a plea of distress might moisten hiseyes and soften his heart to his own financial disadvantage, but underthe moss-grown shingles of the office all was business, hard,uncompromising. It was told in the neighborhood that once, in thisinquisition of affairs, he demanded the last cent possessed by a widowedwoman, but that, while she was on her way home, he overtook her,graciously returned the money and magnanimously tore to pieces amortgage that he held against her small estate.
Just as he entered the office there came across the yard a loud andimpatient voice. "Here, Bill, confound you, come and take this horse.Don't you hear me, you idiot? You infernal niggers are getting to be sono-account that the last one of you ought to be driven off the place.Trot, confound you. Here, take this horse to the stable and feed him.Where is the Major? In the office? The devil he is."
Toward the office slowly strode old Gideon Batts, fanning himself withhis white slouch hat. He was short, fat, and bald; he was bow-leggedwith a comical squat; his eyes stuck out like the eyes of a swamp frog;his nose was enormous, shapeless, and red. To the Major's family hetraced the dimmest line of kinship. During twenty years he had operateda small plantation that belonged to the Major, and he was always atleast six ye
ars behind with his rent. He had married the widow Martin,and afterward swore that he had been disgracefully deceived by her, thathe had expected much but had found her moneyless; and after this he hadbut small faith in woman. His wife died and he went into contentedmourning, and out of gratitude to his satisfied melancholy, swore thathe would pay his rent, but failed. Upon the Major he held a strong hold,and this was a puzzle to his neighbors. Their characters stood atfantastic and whimsical variance; one never in debt, the other never outof debt; one clamped by honor, the other feeling not its restrainingpinch. But together they would ride abroad, laughing along the road. ToMrs. Cranceford old Gid was a pest. With the shrewd digs of a woman, theblood-letting side stabs of her sex, she had often shown her disapprovalof the strong favor in which the Major held him; she vowed that herhusband had gathered many an oath from Gid's swollen store of execration(when, in truth, Gid had been an apt pupil under the Major), and she hadhoped that the Major's attachment to the church would of necessity freehim from the humiliating association with the old sinner, but it didnot, for they continued to ride abroad, laughing along the road.
Like a skittish horse old Gid shied at the office door. Once he hadcrossed that threshold and it had cost him a crop of cotton.
"How are you, John?" was Gid's salutation as he edged off, still fanninghimself.
"How are you, sir?" was the Major's stiff recognition of the fact thatGid was on earth.
The Wit and Humor of America, Volume III. (of X.) Page 12