The Book of Humorous Verse Part 58

And straightway in his palace-hall, where commonly is set Some coat-of-arms, some portraiture ancestral, lo, we met His mean estate's reminder in his fisher-father's net!

Which step conciliates all and some, stops cavil in a trice: "The humble holy heart that holds of new-born pride no spice!

He's just the saint to choose for Pope!" Each adds, "'Tis my advice."

So Pope he was: and when we flocked--its sacred slipper on-- To kiss his foot, we lifted eyes, alack, the thing was gone-- That guarantee of lowlihead,--eclipsed that star which shone!

Each eyed his fellow, one and all kept silence. I cried "Pis.h.!.+

I'll make me spokesman for the rest, express the common wish.

Why, Father, is the net removed?" "Son, it hath caught the fish."

_Robert Browning._

AN ACTOR

A shabby fellow chanced one day to meet The British Roscius in the street, Garrick, of whom our nation justly brags; The fellow hugged him with a kind embrace;-- "Good sir, I do not recollect your face,"

Quoth Garrick. "No?" replied the man of rags; "The boards of Drury you and I have trod Full many a time together, I am sure."

"When?" with an oath, cried Garrick, "for, by G--d, I never saw that face of yours before!

What characters, I pray, Did you and I together play?"

"Lord!" quoth the fellow, "think not that I mock-- When you played Hamlet, sir, I played the c.o.c.k!"

_John Wolcot._

THE LOST SPECTACLES

A country curate, visiting his flock, At old Rebecca's cottage gave a knock.

"Good morrow, dame, I mean not any libel, But in your dwelling have you got a Bible?"

"A Bible, sir?" exclaimed she in a rage, "D'ye think I've turned a Pagan in my age?

Here, Judith, and run upstairs, my dear, 'Tis in the drawer, be quick and bring it here."

The girl return'd with Bible in a minute, Not dreaming for a moment what was in it; When lo! on opening it at parlor door, Down fell her spectacles upon the floor.

Amaz'd she stared, was for a moment dumb, But quick exclaim'd, "Dear sir, I'm glad you're come.

'Tis six years since these gla.s.ses first were lost, And I have miss'd 'em to my poor eyes' cost!"

Then as the gla.s.ses to her nose she raised, She closed the Bible--saying, "G.o.d be praised!"

_Unknown._

THAT TEXAN CATTLE MAN

We rode the tawny Texan hills, A bearded cattle man and I; Below us laughed the blossomed rills, Above the dappled clouds blew by.

We talked. The topic? Guess. Why, sir, Three-fourths of man's whole time he keeps To talk, to think, to _be_ of |HER|; The other fourth he sleeps.

To learn what he might know of love, I laughed all constancy to scorn.

"Behold yon happy, changeful dove!

Behold this day, all storm at morn, Yet now 't is changed to cloud and sun.

Yea, all things change--the heart, the head, Behold on earth there is not one That changeth not," I said.

He drew a gla.s.s as if to scan The plain for steers; raised it and sighed.

He craned his neck, this cattle man, Then drove the cork home and replied: "For twenty years (forgive these tears)-- For twenty years no word of strife-- I have not known for twenty years One folly from my wife."

I looked that Texan in the face-- That dark-browed, bearded cattle man, He pulled his beard, then dropped in place A broad right hand, all scarred and tan, And toyed with something s.h.i.+ning there From out his holster, keen and small.

I was convinced. I did not care To argue it at all.

But rest I could not. Know I must The story of my Texan guide; His dauntless love, enduring trust; His blessed, immortal bride.

I wondered, marvelled, marvelled much.

Was she of Texan growth? Was she Of Saxon blood, that boasted such Eternal constancy?

I could not rest until I knew-- "Now twenty years, my man," said I, "Is a long time." He turned and drew A pistol forth, also a sigh.

"'Tis twenty years or more," said he, "Nay, nay, my honest man, I vow I do not doubt that this may be; But tell, oh! tell me how.

"'Twould make a poem true and grand; All time should note it near and far; And thy fair, virgin Texan land Should stand out like a Winter star.

America should heed. And then The doubtful French beyond the sea-- 'T would make them truer, n.o.bler men.

To know how this may be."

"It's twenty years or more," urged he, "Nay, that I know, good guide of mine; But lead me where this wife may be, And I a pilgrim at a shrine.

And kneeling, as a pilgrim true"-- He, scowling, shouted in my ear; "I cannot show my wife to you; She's dead this twenty year."

_Joaquin Miller._

FABLE

The mountain and the squirrel Had a quarrel, And the former called the latter "Little Prig"; Bun replied, "You are doubtless very big; But all sorts of things and weather Must be taken in together, To make up a year And a sphere, And I think it no disgrace To occupy my place.

If I'm not so large as you, You are not so small as I, And not half so spry.

I'll not deny you make A very pretty squirrel track; Talents differ; all is well and wisely put; If I cannot carry forests on my back, Neither can you crack a nut."

_Ralph Waldo Emerson._

HOCH! DER KAISER

Der Kaiser of dis Faterland Und Gott on high all dings command, Ve two--ach! Don't you understand?