John Smith, U.S.A. | Page 7

partook?Of sweeter draughts than fabled nectar?
Oh, happy days, when youth's wild ways?Knew every phase of harmless folly!?Oh, blissful nights whose fierce delights?Defied gaunt-featured Melancholy!?Gone are they all beyond recall,?And I, a shade--a mere reflection--?Am forced to feed my spirits' greed?Upon the husks of retrospection.
And lo! to-night the phantom light?That as a sprite flits on the fender?Reveals a face whose girlish grace?Brings back the feeling, warm and tender;?And all the while the old time smile?Plays on my visage, grim and wrinkled,?As though, soubrette, your footfalls yet?Upon my rusty heart-strings tinkled.
THE MONSTROUS PLEASANT BALLAD OF THE TAYLOR PUP.
Now lithe and listen, gentles all,?Now lithe ye all and hark?Unto a ballad I shall sing?About Buena Park.
Of all the wonders happening there?The strangest hap befell?Upon a famous April morn,?As you I now shall tell.
It is about the Taylor pup?And of his mistress eke,?And of the pranking time they had?That I would fain to speak.
FITTE THE FIRST.
The pup was of a noble mein?As e'er you gazed upon;?They called his mother Lady?And his father was a Don.
And both his mother and his sire?Were of the race Bernard--?The family famed in histories?And hymned of every bard.
His form was of exuberant mold,?Long, slim and loose of joints;?There never was a pointer-dog?So full as he of points.
His hair was like a yellow fleece,?His eyes were black and kind,?And like a nodding, gilded plume?His tail stuck up behind.
His bark was very, very fierce?And fierce his appetite,?Yet was it only things to eat?That he was prone to bite.
But in that one particular?He was so passing true?That never did he quit a meal?Until he had got through.
Potatoes, biscuits, mush or hash,?Joint, chop, or chicken limb--?So long as it was edible,?'Twas all the same to him!
And frequently when Hunger's pangs?Assailed that callow pup,?He masticated boots and gloves?Or chewed a door-mat up.
So was he much beholden of?The folk that him did keep;?They loved him when he was awake?And better still asleep.
FITTE THE SECOND.
Now once his master lingering o'er?His breakfast coffee-cup,?Observed unto his doting spouse:?"You ought to wash the pup!"
"That shall I do this very day,"?His doting spouse replied;?"You will not know the pretty thing?When he is washed and dried.
"But tell me, dear, before you go?Unto your daily work,?Shall I use Ivory soap on him,?Or Colgate, Pears' or Kirk?"
"Odzooks, it matters not a whit--?They all are good to use!?Take Pearline, if it pleases you--?Sapolio, if you choose!
"Take any soap, but take the pup?And also water take,?And mix the three discreetly up?Till they a lather make.
"Then mixing these constituent parts,?Let nature take her way,"?With such advice that sapient sir?Had nothing more to say.
Then fared he to his daily toil?All in the Board of Trade,?While Mistress Taylor for that bath?Due preparations made.
FITTE THE THIRD.
She whistled gayly to the pup?And called him by his name,?And presently the guileless thing?All unsuspecting came.
But when she shut the bath-room door?And caught him as catch-can,?And dove him in that odious tub,?His sorrows then began.
How did that callow, yellow thing?Regret that April morn--?Alas! how bitterly he rued?The day that he was born!
Twice and again, but all in vain?He lifted up his wail;?His voice was all the pup could lift,?For thereby hangs this tale.
'Twas by that tail she held him down?And presently she spread?The creamery lather on his back,?His stomach and his head.
His ears hung down in sorry wise,?His eyes were, oh! so sad--?He looked as though he just had lost?The only friend he had.
And higher yet the water rose,?The lather still increased,?And sadder still the countenance?Of that poor martyred beast!
Yet all this time his mistress spoke?Such artful words of cheer?As "Oh, how nice!" and "Oh, how clean!"?And "There's a patient dear!"
At last the trial had an end,?At last the pup was free;?She threw awide the bath-room door--?"Now get you gone!" quoth she.
FITTE THE FOURTH.
Then from that tub and from that room?He gat with vast ado;?At every hop he gave a shake?And--how the water flew!
He paddled down the winding stairs?And to the parlor hied,?Dispensing pools of foamy suds?And slop on every side.
Upon the carpet then he rolled?And brushed against the wall,?And, horror! whisked his lathery sides?On overcoat and shawl.
Attracted by the dreadful din,?His mistress came below--?Who, who can speak her wonderment--?Who, who can paint her woe!
Great smears of soap were here and there--?Her startled vision met?With blots of lather everywhere,?And everything was wet!
Then Mrs. Taylor gave a shriek?Like one about to die;?"Get out--get out, and don't you dare?Come in till you are dry!"
With that she opened wide the door?And waved the critter through;?Out in the circumambient air?With grateful yelp he flew.
FITTE THE FIFTH.
He whisked into the dusty street?And to the Waller lot?Where bonny Annie Evans played?With charming Sissy Knott.
And with these pretty little dears?He mixed himself all up--?Oh, fie upon such boisterous play--?Fie, fie, you naughty pup!
Woe, woe on Annie's India mull,?And Sissy's blue percale!?One got the pup's belathered flanks,?And one his soapy tail!
Forth