The Wit and Humor of America, Volume V. | Page 7

or Kings, Zenobia's word was law.
Above her troop of Amazons her helmet plume would toss, And every one, with loud accord, proclaimed Zenobia's boss. The reason of her power (though the part she didn't look), Was simply that Zenobia had once lived out as cook.
Xantippe was a Grecian Dame--they say she was the wife?Of Socrates, and history shows she led him a life!?They say she was a virago, a vixen and a shrew,?Who scolded poor old Socrates until the air was blue.
She never stopped from morn till night the clacking of her tongue, But this is thus accounted for: You see, when she was young-- (And 'tis an explanation that explains, as you must own), Xantippe was the Central of the Grecian telephone.
[Footnote 1: By permission of Life Publishing Company.]
OLD GRIMES
BY ALBERT GORTON GREENE
Old Grimes is dead, that good old man?We never shall see more:?He used to wear a long black coat?All button'd down before.
His heart was open as the day,?His feelings all were true;?His hair was some inclined to gray--?He wore it in a queue.
Whene'er he heard the voice of pain,?His breast with pity burn'd;?The large, round head upon his cane?From ivory was turn'd.
Kind words he ever had for all;?He knew no base design:?His eyes were dark and rather small,?His nose was aquiline.
He lived at peace with all mankind,?In friendship he was true;?His coat had pocket-holes behind,?His pantaloons were blue.
Unharm'd, the sin which earth pollutes?He pass'd securely o'er,?And never wore a pair of boots?For thirty years or more.
But good old Grimes is now at rest,?Nor fears misfortune's frown:?He wore a double-breasted vest--?The stripes ran up and down.
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 circumstances.
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--?Passes for a connoisseur;?On free days at the Institute?You'll always notice her.?She qualifies approval?Of a Titian 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 cocktail 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 prone to borrow?From the darkness of the tomb;?And he laughed across the ocean?Of a happy life, and passed,?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