Class P S >? fT t 3 Copyrightl^" I'^lf COPYRIGHT DEPOSm GRIFFIN AND HIS TAME VINEGERONES THE DEAD RABBIT RIOT A.D. 1857 AND OTHER POEMS BY RICHARD GRIFFIN PUBLISHED BY THE AUTHOR 4f Copyright, 1915 BY RICHARD GRIFFIN DEC '30 1915 ©GU420099 THE DEAD RABBIT RIOT A.D. 1857 Canto I The organization of Dead Rabbits meet To-day at high noon at two-six Baxter Street. The members are mostly expert m^asons' clerks Who meet in the back room of Peter MacGuirk's, The Marquis of Mulberry Bend. The bunch of hod carriers, minus their hods, Are eating smoked herring and first class Cape Cods, Like so many bloaters without any bladders. The hods meanwhile rest in the shade of the ladders, 'Tis lunch time at Mulberry Bend. The lunch being munched and washed down by a chaser, The floor now belongs to the policy racer, Sylvester O' Grady, the bug, a great talker. This day he means business, you bet he's a corker, The Mayor of Mulberry Bend. Sylvester O'Grady, the bug, took a chew of The smoked hunk of herring; he took it in lieu of Tobacco, then made this announcement while munching. His audience howHng were ready for punching And beating up Mulberry Bend. " My men," said O'Grady, " it's time now to act and At once, for the Bowery Boys form a pact and They mane to march through the Five Points, yis indade, Through blood they will wade, sure they mane to invade The district of Mulberry Bend." 3 4 THE DEAD RABBIT RIOT The bunch of Dead Rabbits were all in commotion, Montgomery Flarity rose with a motion, He called on the crowd to collect all the brickbats, And then stand in wait for those Bowery Mick rats And drive them from Mulberry Bend. The crowd loudly cheered and declared they would do it; Most hazardous scheme, buggy bug house, they knew it, Nevertheless these full-fledged crazy hod carriers Blocked up the streets with impregnable clod barriers, Cheering for Mulberry Bend. Canto II The Bowery Boys have decided to march, sure, And give the Five Points one last settling souse cure. They hold a big meeting, there's all kinds of blather. The clans from the different wards quickly gather, The pick of the Bowery Boys. They meet in the corner saloon, stick the stake. Sing Lannigan's Ball, also Finnigan's Wake; The gin mill in question by name " Badden Badden," Is run by the famous Gustavus MacFadden The chief of the Bowery Boys. A voice said '^ Beware o' those dirty ' Dead Rabbits,' We all know too well are addicted to habits Outrageous ! They threatened, yes, this very morning. To get us the next time we tresspas. Take warning. Take warning, ye Bowery Boys." No hand in the wall inciting inditement, Could ever have brought the frightful excitement Now caused by these ugly prophetic plain words. MacFadden in fury exhorted his herds Of crazy mad Bowery Boys. THE DEAD RABBIT RIOT 5 They rush to the street, they gather in Hne (Triumphantly sour hke pickles in brine), The brightest red shirts, the tallest high hats, Well armed with stout clubs, this gang of wharf rats The pride of the Bowery Boys. They march to the tune of the " Dying Cow Jenny." The child of the regiment, little kid Benny, With bucket and dipper distributes the drink. They dance to the music of '' Stinkety Wink." Good luck to the Bowery Boys. Canto III In wild expectation the Dead Rabbits gather, Up alley way, sally way, wasting no blather, But grimly determined to fight, no retreat. The Bowery Boys now intrude on their beat, The region of Mulberry Bend. From fair Doyer lane comes the tread of invaders Resplendent with red shirts, implacable raiders. Who shout their defiance with impudence, braving The wrath of the " Rabbits." Oh, hear them curse, raving To thunder with Mulberry Bend! From up on a roof came a voice, '^ Quick, Mike, swat her! " The chimney is seen first to tremble, then totter. Great Heaven! that yell, Oh, that flash, hear the smash! The chimney is falling, great God, what a crash. Have mercy on Mulberry Bend! Rocks, splinters and brick all congested with plaster, Crash dashing, an avalanche bent on disaster. Such yelKng, such cursing, such struggling yeggs ! Such breaking of heads and such tearing of legs. All havoc in Mulberry Bend. 6 THE DEAD RABBIT RIOT The cops soon arrive (in the usual way) Just missing the scrimmage, too late for the fray. The bunch of '' Dead Rabbits," defunct in the lump, Mixed up with dead " Bowery Boys," form a clump — The flower of Mulberry Bend. The fame of the scuffle will never die out No creature can ever its brilliancy doubt. From that time to this we have mused on the diet We gobbled that day at the " Dead Rabbit " riot. The glory of Mulberry Bend. WILLIAM THE BUTCHER The rambling goblin twists his wrist And grabs the kindling kiddo grist. Forth from the earth there comes a mist Enveloping the throne. The HohenzoUern lifts his sword On high, and says, " I am your Lord, Your war Lord, forward, cHp the cord. And smash the British drone." The Kaiser boasts one running ear. His whole get-up is rather queer, Rotting away with shrivelled gear, This war Lord, son of Cain: Who raves, blasphemes and howls all wroth, Who bids his hirelings go forth To battle red with bloody froth, And murder on the brain. Let kultur revel deep in blood, The royal Kaiser chews his cud. Swallows all logic, spits out mud. The bloody mud takes shape. The Death Head legion in the lead Stabs at the victim, makes him bleed, Initiates the reign of greed Of arson, murder, rape. Louvain, the beautiful, all flame; Namur, the strong, has lost the game. Foul murder in the Kaiser's name Is now the kultured cult. Teutonic cruelty doth lurk. United with the mighty Turk. The bolts of Hell get in their work, Red death's black catapult. 7 WILLIAM THE BUTCHER The Lusitania plies the wave, Unmindful of the yawning grave, Unheedful of that low-bred knave, WilHam, the butcher King; Degenerate down to the core. Unprincipled, defies all law. Exhaling stench from every pore. Murder is on the wing. The black assassin lies in wait, Chanting the hellish hymn of hate. The submarine draws near. Dread fate Points with a sinister smirk. See the white ripple on the crest, See that bright sunbeam from the west, Guiding with demoniac zest The butcher King's sharp dirk. Women and children struggle for life, Mother and father, husband and wife. Death claims the victory. Anarchy, strife, Triumphant, cheer, curse and brag. Rushing waters and rattling guns. Women scream for their little ones. Grins and gibes from the kultured Huns, Piracy shakes out its flag. The Kaiser groans aloud "Oh, rot," The wen upon his head burns hot. He puts a nickel in the slot. Then waves his limber wattle. The drum within his running ear Beats loudly, see, he shakes with fear. The fortune-telHng slot fakes queer. Oh, what a mellow rattle! WILLIAM THE BUTCHER This is the fortune that he reads While perspiration, greasy beads Stand on his forehead. Now he weeds, Or tries to weed, the chaff. But all is rottenness within, At last he knows he cannot win William the butcher rubs his chin. Poor derelict giraffe ! The scales don't tip to please the King The cHnging vine says, " Nixie cling. You can no longer fling your sling, Go to the nearest dock. Say to the Devil, ' Friend, you win.' Give one deep sigh and then jump in. Your former chums both kith and kin Will never more say ' Hock.' But night and day forever, yea All men will sing, and fling Your name, poor clay, to black decay WilHam the butcher King." HASH Hash! hash! hash! There's a new kind of hash to-day. Curious kind of a dash Of spice that cannot allay The marvelous taste, three cheers for the cook The landlady smiles with a faraway look. The cat grabs something with its teeth, And quickly carries it beneath The fence, then rolls about pit pat, Purrs with delight — it is a rat. The Swedish housemaid spies the rat, Then nabs it, saying " Vas is dat?" She takes it to the cook who grins. And then at once adds to her sins. Hash! hash! hash! Deep, devilish — what is it? guess. Beautiful silvery clash! The pewter spoon mixes the mess Of mystery rare — she's a dandy old cook. The landlady smiles with a faraway look. Next day the spotted kitten died. Ere it was cold two sharp eyes spied The silent lump of fur. Once more The Swedish maid defies all law. Strange smells belch from the kitchen stove. The vicious boarders vainly strove To pierce th' impenetrable wall To find the meaning of it all. 10 HASH 11 Hash! hash! hash! The same old story runs. Boarders wanted. Cash. (The theme of many puns.) Regular old-fashioned family cook. Th' landlady smiles with a faraway look. And now we have the western breeze; The caterpillars fill the trees, From mountain top to grassy dale. Scrape off the pests, fill up the pail. Once more the kitchen door opes wide. Again the rubric, cut and dried. That smell, that smoke, that crackle pop Emitting from the chimney top. Hash! hash! hash! Wake up, quick, be keen. Lively! make a mash With the foxy kitchen queen. Just get on the side of that bird of a cook, While th' landlady smiles with a faraway look. The boarder has a dog, a mut — Its ears and tail ought to be cut. The doctor calls, he grabs the whelp, Doggie begins to fight and yelp. The ears and tail lie on the dish. The Swedish housemaid has her wish. One rapid movement, there now, look, The dish is carried to the cook. 12 HASH Hash! hash! hash! Fetch down the bowl, all hail! Hash! hash! hash! Chop up the ears and tail. Donate them at once to the rollicksome cook, While the landlady smiles with a faraway look. So fill up the mugs, And wash down the hash, Rats, kittens and bugs Mixed up with a dash Of little dogs' tails. And brown spotted snails. And worms packed with quails. Oh the hash, oh the hash! Oh the wonderful hash! MEMORY OF CHILDHOOD DAYS All things were dark and dismal, it was early in the winter. I had tended to the cattle in the shed, Had chopped the kindling wood and got a nasty little splinter In my left hand, pinky winky , how it bled ! I yanked the splinter out, and then Ran quickly to my cosy den. I sat before the fire, bowed my head, and took to thinking And bHnking, I was in a cosmic state. A bowl of Jersey lightning on the table kept me drinking, Until I felt a buzzing in my pate. Sweet visions of the past came back, When suddenly I felt a whack. My head was roughly bumped, my wit completely trumped by A dragon fly so sly, I tired ran. My weary gullet gulped ; great thunder, I was thumped by The mule that often kicked the hired man. When biff ! sights of my dear old home Throughout my vision seemed to roam. The hawthorn bush neglected, withers quite away uncared For; the water lily nestles in the lake; The handle of the pump is broken, ne'er to be repaired. And the peddler is honest — not a fake. He rubbed my sore head with a cake Of ointment, till it squelched the ache. 13 14 MEMORY OF CHILDHOOD DAYS I see my white-haired mother and her dear old bunch of keys ; She personally does the weekly wash. The honey suckles cluster, while the extra busy bees Attack the budding blossom on the squash. Inside the house the scene is just like when, So many years ago, I plucked the hen. There's one little treasure here I ever prize, oh my! Far more than all the wealth beneath the sea, That small leather riding whip dear mother swung on high While punishing my sister Ruth and me. The whip now hangs upon its peg Above the Jersey lightning keg. The little bunnies bubble with delight and nibble stubble. The ancient goat kicks at the pretty kid. The children sweetly smile and howl with glee. Mean- while The guinea-hen eats up the katy-did. All this by second sight I see. Oh rapture wonderful, he! he! The Irish stew is ready, it is time to draw the tea, The woodman takes the wedge to split the log; Out at the pig pen near the barn a tragedy I see; They use a clam shell when they scrape the hog. They cut its liver out, and poke It up upon a shelf to smoke. While dreaming, shrill I heard the piping of a bird. I then awoke; I yelled! Oh, what a bite! I felt a sudden shocking, 'twas something in my stocking, I took the stocking off; oh what a pHght! Oh see that big red patch, How I did claw and scratch. MEMORY OF CHILDHOOD DAYS 15 I'd been giving board and lodging To a bug who had been dodging And nipping, sipping, clipping, playing tag. I could not help but scream, I'd been bitten in my dream, The bug took mean advantage of my jag. DANGLING GUYS The hangman snorted, rubbered a twist With his neck as he sat on the porch, Then opened, clinched his knotted fist. By the light of the dismal torch — The dismal torch. His trade up the spout, yanked to pieces, The holiday season drew near. He thought of those bright little nieces. Sweet Meta and Lulu dear — So very dear. He wanted to give each a nice gift. But didn't know how to fix it. He got down his bitters and rice mift. And vigorously did mix it — Did mix it. He sighed as he thought with emotion — His craft both artistic and rare. Now spoiled by that new-fangled notion, The mighty electrical chair — Nasty chair. He sipped at the grog till it cheered him, Dispersing his arrows and sUngs. He drank more and more till it queered him, And now he sees very tart things — Such queer things. 16 DANGLING GUYS 17 Long ropes, nooses, cross-beams and traps, Mementos of sweet bye and byes Flit past. Pinioned arms and black caps. Great hooky, those dangling guys — Dangling guys. With elbows well in and tongues out. The phantoms flit gaily along, With voices deep, facing about. Intoning this swaggering song — Swaggering song. " My worthy friend, hanging is nice. Far better than black chicken pox. So neat, gentle, soothing, precise. Jack Ketch, with a rope in a box — Jack in a box. " Hold on to your gear, hangman dear. You've raked up the tin in your time. Don't look through your hat at your ear. You've filled up your purse mixing Hme — - Punishing crime." The hangman awoke with a whoop. Then smiled, and observed " I'll be rammed. My savings are not on the droop, My pocketbook fatly is crammed — Fatly is jammed. " Dear Lulu shall have a wax doll. Dressed up Kke a queen, robes of plush. Sweet Meta shall have a green poll In a platinum cage, fed on mush — Fed on mush. 18 DANGLING GUYS " Good luck to those dangling guys. They've changed all the pith of my life To sweetmeats and all kinds of pies, Instead of the blue devil strife — Blue devil strife. " Farewell to blue black and black blue, DangHng guys, sweetmeats, pies Are mine, never more dismal stew. Hurrah for the dangling guys — Dangling guys." REVERIE OF THE KAATSKILLS On sunset rock there perched a bird, A chattering magpie jay. One cadence brief alone was heard This day so gay in May. The wind was soft, my brain most clear, The owl cut out its hoot. Sweet dulcet chirps regaled my ear, The magpie said, " quack toot, Quack toot." The magpie said, " quack toot." Far down the clove I see a grove Close to the town of Sarket. The well-tanned rustic drives his drove Of nanny goats to market. I raise the trumpet to my lips; The blast shakes twig and root. The mountains echo from their tips. The magpie said, '' quack toot, Quack toot." The magpie said, " quack toot." 19 20 REVERIE OF THE KAATSKILLS Beyond the clove of Kaateskille The stars and stripes wave out Before the school of Palenville. Oh, hear the children shout. The teacher waves the switch around And says, '' Get out, skip, scoot. You brats, or else I'll spank you sound." The magpie said, " quack toot, Quack toot." The magpie said, " quack toot." Far up the hill behold a skunk; He seems to be all smell. My brain doth twist, I'm all kerflunk, I'm in the mud, Oh, Hell! What shall I do, I'm sinking fast, Look! look! I've lost one boot. I'm safe across the bog at last. The magpie said, '' quack toot, Quack toot." The magpie said, " quack toot." The old gray tower on the shelf Of rock presents its clock To view. I fear some sportive elf Has cast its spell to lock Remembrance of my long-lost boot. I find the boot; I hoot. An echo answers, " Ain't he cute." The magpie said, " quack toot. Quack toot." The magpie said, " quack toot." REVERIE OF THE KAATSKILLS 21 I started home with pensive gait Across the muddy bog. I felt just Hke some poor cheap skate Belated like a frog Forgetful of its tadpole, while I stopped to nibble fruit That would not rile my rising bile. The magpie said, " quack toot, Quack toot." The magpie said, " quack toot." 'Twas getting near my dinner time. I quickly made a dash Across the sHme, the mud, the grime, For fear I'd lose my hash. The fish horn sounded, hear it blend And mingle its salute, Yes, jingle with my feathered friend. The magpie said, ^' quack toot. Quack toot." The magpie said, " quack toot." Oh, see the flames, the burning chips Where playful laughing kiddies. With gleeful childish smiKng lips Singe headless chickabiddies. When hark ! that sound, it is the same, A cadence Uke a flute. As through the flame a murmur came. The magpie said, " quack toot, Quack toot." The magpie said, '' quack toot." 22 REVERIE OF THE KAATSKILLS That night, while half asleep, I heard A toot that sounded like My little friend the pretty bird. I thought I still did hike Across the meadow by the lake. When pipe ! sweet as a lute I heard the voice I love (no fake). The magpie said, '' quack toot, Quack toot." The magpie said, " quack toot." A PASTORAL ADAPTED FOR LYCEUM PERFORMANCES, SUNDAY SCHOOLS, ETC. Scene I Hillside in Palestine. Bell tower on left. Pilgrim and Stranger enter C. Stranger " Holy Pilgrim, tell me, pray. Do you ever brush your hair? Oh, how shaggy, just Hke hay, Ragged, quite unkempt, beware. Change your habit, take a scrub. Go and tumble in the tub." Pilgrim " Gentle Stranger, patience have. See my whiskers, ain't they thick? Don't you see I am a Slav? It is not my place to kick. Must I grumble with my lot? Soap and water know me not." Stranger " Holy Pilgrim, what are those Lumps within your whiskers, say? Wait until I get the hose, Soon we'll have a lovely spray Cleansing out the dust; don't grin, Turn the spigot, we'll begin." 23 24 A PASTORAL Pilgrim " Gentle Stranger, smoothe thy brow. I must really say thee nay. I have made a solemn vow Always to remain a jay. I decline to wash my face. Fare thee well, sweet child of grace." Stranger " Holy Pilgrim, I declare Now I see those horrid lumps, Heavens! mushrooms in your hair? First I thought you had the mumps." {A bell tolls.) ^' Hark! I hear the convent bell. Holy Pilgrim, fare thee well." [Both exit. Scene II Exterior of Bishop's palace at R. Tavern at left. Enter Pilgrim and Stranger. Stranger " Holy Pilgrim, I'll be switched, You are curried like a horse. What strange power hath bewitched, What hath made the change, what source? All the mushrooms you so cherished In your whiskers vanished, perished." A PASTORAL 25 Pilgrim '* Gentle Stranger, it is simple; Just as plain as plain can be. Do you see this little pimple On my nose? It troubles me. Goodness mercy how it stings ! If 'twould only take to wings." Stranger " Holy Pilgrim, you emerged From the Bishop's cellar door. You are clean, have you been purged? You have washed your lower jaw. In that purse I hear a chink. Won't you give your friend a drink?" Pilgrim " Gentle Stranger, cork your guzzle, Mushrooms bring ten cents a quart. Clinch the brake upon your muzzle. I confess I have been caught. Sold the mushrooms for a dollar, Had to wash and buy a collar." Stranger " Holy Pilgrim, gentle toiler Hear that crackle, what a smell! Mushrooms cooking on a broiler. Holy Pilgrim, you've done well. Dainties for the Bishop. Cluck! Now I'll blow you off, my duck." [Both exit into tavern. 26 A PASTORAL Scene III A Barroom. Clergyman and Wife at table drinking beer. Pilgrim and Stranger enter. Barkeeper "Holy Pilgrim, nice and clean, Gentle Stranger, somewhat soiled. Mushrooms, grated lima bean First parboiled and then well broiled. Never let your zeal abate. Serve it on the Bishop's plate. '^ The Clergyman " Children, I must raise my voice. I am pastor of your church. Happy people, all rejoice, I'll not leave you in the lurch. Sunday I'll take off my coat If you people get my goat. Holy Moses, mighty Caesar! Here I'll raise my Ebenezer." Wife of Clergyman " Sisters, brothers, pray don't fight, Everyone should love the Lord. I adore the free lunch bite. Smash the purse, let loose the hoard. Chauffeurs waiting, hear the honks. One Manhattan, then a Bronx/' A PASTORAL 27 Barroom Loafer " Won't you pity one poor bum, Have you got a heart to melt? Drop a tear, for this humdrum Johnnie hit the road a welt. In my throat I feel a tickle Shovel out one greasy nickel." Chorus of Everybody " Let us all be happy. See How the great unwashed doth glow, Like some dandy dapper he. Let us all sing ' Old Black Joe.' While the Bishop over there At his dinner table sits, Upright in his gilded chair. Gobbles quick and never quits. See the Bishop bluster, puff, Eat mushrooms a la dandruff." Benediction (Given by Clergyman.) " Kneel, my friends, my blessing take. Presently the calf will fatten. Always shun the fiery lake. Sure! We'll drink one more Manhattan. Each soul clinging to his rock, Blessings on my little flock." (Embraces Wife.) " Dear speckled hen, Amen, amen. 28 A PASTORAL Angel of light sails in on a broomstick. Angel " Little children, really I Pin no faith in foxy skates. They're not smart, just merely sly. When they die they're packed in crates Filled with burning red-hot coals. Lord have mercy on your souls. May you never boil or bake; May you sing the song of praise ; May you feed on angel cake; Mend all errors of your ways; Scrape the spiritual scruff Off your hide. Don't be a muff. Do your duty. Make a hit. Chuck the devil in the pit. Do not be a silly kite, Thus I sprinkle you pure white." The angel dips brush in bucket and sprinkles the whole bunch. Everybody is overcome by emotion. All weep. Moon shines through window. Invisible chorus of Monks chant '' Te Deum.'^ Curtain descends. The piece to be costumed as follows: Clergyman. Black cassock. White surplice richly em- broidered with lace. Carries gold-headed cane. Pilgrim. Pajama jacket without the pants. Legs un- covered. Broad-brimmed straw hat. Carries long staff ornamented with gilded eagle at top. Red Turkish slippers curled up at ends. Stranger. Modern full-dress evening suit. No hat. Carries large umbrella. A PASTORAL 29 Barkeeper. White flannel suit. White shoes. Head tied up with wet towel. Loafer. Dressed as a tramp. Unwashed. Carries bundle done up in colored hankerchief in one hand and a hymn book in the other. Wife of Clergyi^ian. Short green jersey sweater. No skirt at all. Pink tights. Jewelled order of the garter clasped below right knee. Satin slippers. Very large shaker bonnet. Carries prayer book. Is followed by white poodle dog. Angel of Light. Red beard. Blue wings. Cavalry boots. Long white robe. Carries bucket in one hand and white-wash brush in the other. THE HORSE THIEF MacGregor Jay MacDougel Had a pimple on his bugle And a ringworm up his cauliflower ear. MacGregor was a horse thief. -^ Bold, daring, yes, a fierce chief And they hanged him on an apple tree last year. They made him bite a double slice, Great Scott Oh yes, he paid the proper price. Why not? He long had been a terror To th' neighborhood. An error Seemed to magnify his qualities. The key At last unlocked the socket Of th' problem, bumped the locket. So they hanged him on a sour apple tree. They hanged him Hke some nasty bird, Foul goose; The ringworm in his ear demurred, Got loose. On the outskirts of Rome City, Indiana, a committee Decided that the village must be free. They got the horse thief's goat slick. Placed a noose about his throat quick, And hanged him on a sour apple tree. 30 THE HORSE THIEF 31 The pimple faded, vanished, yea, Vamoosed. He kicked (just once) then passed away, Unloosed. MacGregor faced the halter. His courage did not falter. MacGregor was a game guy, you can see. His medicine he gulped down. His gall was roughly pulped brown. They hanged him on a sour apple tree. MacGregor chokes, he gets his due Yes, heaps. His cauliflower ear turns blue For keeps. They buried him with taps. He's in Heaven now. (Perhaps?) A shaft of marble rears its mighty head. The bones beneath the ground Await the trumpet sound, " Arise, and come to judgment, oh ye dead." Meanwhile the pimple and the ear. How queer. Both vanish; now don't waste a tear. My dear. If MacGregor is in bHss He is finished quite with this World, always will be happy, no veneer. His pimple will have vanished, His evil genius banished. As also will his cauhflower ear. 32 THE HORSE THIEF But if he died beneath the ban, All muck, Eternity's great frying pan, Worse luck, Grabs tight his soul within its trap. Black sty, And crowns him with a brimstone cap. Good bye. Epitaph Impartiality sieves sin, And if the scale shows scanty weight, The village where Old Scratch lives in Is sure to claim its precious freight. THE PANAMA CANAL I'll sing you a song of the Culebra cut, The place that resembles a mad goat all butt. The treacherous landslide is ready to slump And squelch the canal with a squash and a dump. In the midst of the stream see that small raking scow. It is filled up with dynamite like a mad cow All ready to burst at the touch of a match, So keep on your shirt, please, and don't pull the catch. The Rip Snorter sits on one side of the stream. He sups at the bowl of pomegranate and cream. The fire is low, the Hver undone, The fried monkey withers away in the sun. On the opposite side of the sluggish canal. The Rip Snorter's friend, that jolly old pal, The Hum Dinger, perched on the rocking stone drones Love songs to his flock of tame vinegerones. The Hum Dinger dozed on the rocking stone tippy. The Rip Snorter snorted, demoralized dippy. The moonbeams beamed down on the sign on the scow, see, Read, '^ Thompson's torpedoes, be careful, allow me." 33 34 THE PANAMA CANAL The vinegerones flirt around the Hum Dinger. The Rip Snorter scribbles, he is an ink sHnger. Oh ignorance bHssful, serenely doltHke. Cimmerian clouds creep along, thunderbolt Uke. The green lizard, beautiful gleams iridescent, The crawling tarantula sniffs ever present, The sleek German Indian hides under cover, The moonbeams reflect from the green lizards' mother. The tropical sun is a big proposition. It centers its aim on the scow's ammunition. The heat is tremendous, the lyddite explodes, click! 'Tis Thompson's torpedoes just having their picnic. The crackling thunderbolt bumps the bump slick. The rickety earth sHdes the slumpety, quick. The spider, the Hum Dinger, bugs and Rip Snorter Sink down out of sight in the black muddy water. Just keep up your courage and don't give a rap, don't. Because if you worry, why, nobody else won't. Of course they don't mind, don't care nothing what- ever. So please follow suit, you'll be deucedly clever. The daily occurrence of landsUdes are useful. It stirs up the insects, it feeds the wild goose full — I mean his fat stomach and crop were extended — His tummie felt comfie as homeward he wended. The Wang Doodle grins with delight, a forerunner Of rapturous times, he's a '' son of a gunner." More vinegerones and Rip Snorters assemble. They gurgle with glee and with frightened awe tremble. THE PANAMA CANAL 35 The Culebra cut, one gigantic success is. Unites the two seas after many a mess fiz. The spiders and vinegerones have their fling. Rejoice! all is gladness. Triumphantly sing! MUTINY OF THE '' SOMERS." December, 1842 (Founded on fact.) Captain Mack, Cracker Jack, "Here's to you, here's to me." That's the toast On that dandy clipper rig. The " Somers," a neat brig. We are off for the African coast. Sing he ! ho ! Off we go ! The little middy Phil And secretary Bill Clung to the cross-tree span Well up out of hearing. Philip whispered leering. Mate, dare you kill a man If it pays enough?" " Come, I call the bluff." « The middy continued The black cat of sin mewed. It perched on the capstan and purred. Its tail and its back up, Deep murmurings crack up The plot. The Scribe Billy demurred, Showed his surprise. Pussy blinked, wise. 36 MUTINY OF THE " SOMERS " 37 The brig tossed its head. The very old Ned Through each plank and beam in the hulks Plays havoc and tag And nothing can gag The Spectre. Dark mutiny skulks, The very old Nick Delivers his kick. The Midshipman Phil, His hands on the frill Of his neck cloth, looked ugly and black. He hissed through his teeth, " Hush! th' Captain's beneath, Avast! douse it, all clear the track Mum's the word." The cat purred. The brig plowed its way, Bright, Hvely and gay. The Midshipman slobbers his deck broth; He clutches his digits And nervously fidgets. The fringe of his black satin neck cloth, Mysterious tie. Anon, bye and bye. The topman, Pete Small, Poor weakling, he'll fall. Slack baked, somewhat foxy, but giddy. Cromwell, the mate, Worthless ingrate. Soon bowed to the wiles of the middy. Treason is cronic. Wicked, sardonic. 38 MUTINY OF THE " SOMERS " The cook stole an axe From off the port racks And thrust it down deep in his togging. One young sailor laddie Concealed in a caddy The marlin spike. Next came a flogging. The crew liked the show. The cat howled, " Woe! woe! " The middy won through, Corrupted the crew, Concocted the scheme, got his hunch. Of honor bereft. He played his cards deft, And soon undermined the whole bunch, That crooked vile bunch. The black cat said, " Crunch.'^ The Captain felt pesky. He sat at his desk. He Suddenly starts as the bin creaks. Down through the hatchway, Like the bright patch gay. Smirking, his private scribe in sneaks. Mysterious mien As ever was seen. The scribe said, " Tot rot. Unearthed ! a hot plot Concocted by Philip the middy. Who says with one clip He'll gobble this ship." The Captain howled out, '^ Really, did he? Did he not reck? All hands up on deck." MUTINY OF THE " SOMERS " 39 The bosun's pipe squeals, The forecastle reels, The crew soon collect, tension tightened. They eye one another, Suspecting each brother, All guiltily trembling, frightened. Anxious, perplexed. What will come next? The Captain spurts out: '' My men, a great doubt Presents itself flat, quite a riddle Which Philip can solve. I fear 'twill involve And fry many more on the griddle, Wasting good rope per. Out v/ith the dope, sir. The neck cloth untied. With scrutiny eyed. The case is as plain as your face. The Captain yelled out *' Step lively about. The rope! make a noose, fetch a brace. Foxy lout. Spit it out." Inside the tie wound This paper was found (Oh, wretched man! short sighted, vain), The name of each plotter. No flexible blotter Can ever erase the foul stain. Oh, poor wretched sinners, Confinned gibbet winners. 40 MUTINY OF THE '' SOMERS " How very entrancing Three forms dangle dancing The fox trot on nothing but air. Such heaving of lungs Protruding of tongues, How charming, esthetic, so rare! The black cat now shook His head. Get the hook. The mutiny over. All hands safe in clover, Three canvas bags lay on one plank, The Captain said, '' Go it, Quick, hurry up, stow it." There ! splash, out of sight all three sank. One handful of bubbles Have ended all troubles. All ready, boys, hip! Stand steady, cheer ship. With freedom we now ply the wave. Next week we will sight Dear Sandy Hook light The land of the free and the brave. All cheer Captain Mack The brave Cracker Jack. POOR LITTLE CLYTIE I WANDERED through the orchard near the brook. That's how I came to write about the hook, The hook-worm, very fancy in its work, Shooting ahead with many a foxy quirk. I Hngered near the brook, I stopped to rest, Albeit I knew it not a winsome pest Lurked very near awaiting but the time To procreate, a sneaky, slimy crime. Plump in the middle of the babbling brook One small flat blackish rock protrudes, just look! That yellow streak upon the rock so gay, It is a hook-worm waiting for its prey. I shook my cane and said, " My squirming friend, Keep off my private pasture, do not rend My heart by creeping deeply into me." The hook-worm smiled and told this tale with glee. The hook-worm said, " I'm on to you, Alphonse, You are too fly for me; yes for the nonce I'm beaten like a liquidated whale. Just rest a bit and listen to my tale. ''I killed a girl last week, she was a peach! Look, see that rocky hill this side the breach That cuts in twain the precipice beyond. That's where I kiUed the girl, a pretty blond. 41 42 POOR LITTLE CLYTIE ''Perhaps you marvel at my heartless drawl, You see a hook-worm has no heart at all. I only kill because I have to eat, Before I eat I nibble into feet. "The girl, my latest victim, came this way Last week; she tripped along so happy, gay. She rested underneath that willow tree That grows aslant the brook, my mystic key. **The brooklet is my mystic key, because Its cooling water often gently draws Attention to the fact how nice it is To wade knee deep. The brooklet helps my biz. '*The gentle Clytie, pretty little girl. Took off her shoes and stockings in a whirl Of pleasure, wading in the stream knee deep. Laughing aloud — but let the angels weep. * 'The small bare foot has got one pink bare sole, The hook-worm's harbinger, my flowing bowl, The place I enter when I ply my trade. Wiggle with glee and sing my serenade. ''Close to the bank I stealthily did crawl, Ready my pretty victim to forestall. Ready to make my fascinating bite. Dive in the bleeding tunnel out of sight. "The gentle Clytie splashes in the stream. Then slashes out to rest, oh, happy dream! Beneath the spreading branches of the larch, I crawl beneath the foot, I bite the arch. POOR LITTLE CLYTIE 43 "I hear a splash, and still another splash, The gentle Ciytie says, ' Dear me, how rash. Where are my shoes? I left them on the ledge.' And then she rushes to the water's edge. ''The footwear floats away at rapid rate. She utters one despairing crepitate, * My mother's shoes and stockings, heaven spare 'em, Oh dear, oh dear, she told me not to wear 'em! ' ''The naughty Ciytie wrings her hands and weeps. She don't know what to do, she has the creeps. Far down the stream the shoes and stockings whirl, Poor little Cly, poor little barefoot girl. " She homeward limps along without delay. Of course I get a joy ride all the way Inside the tender, bleeding, throbbing sole. The whole affair to me is rather droll. "The mother, standing in the door, says, ' Douse That crying, Ciytie, and come in the house.' They enter and the door is closed at once. The mother says, ' Now for the spanking dunce.' "Mother brings water in a cedar tub, Bathes the small feet, then tenderly doth rub The muddy soles, when presto! biff, bang, wink! The little naked feet are nice and pink. " Ciytie knelt down, one fervent prayer said. Her mother helped her to prepare for bed. The child began to cry, 'Oh, mother, pray Don't whip me, mother, spare me, please, to-day.' 44 POOR LITTLE CLYTIE **The mother said, ' You are so careless, dear. I have to whip you, have to be severe. Now lie across my knee, poor wilful Clytie, I fear I must roll up your little nightie/ ^*I hung my head and started off to go. Even the hook-worm has some shame, you know. I left my nest, one jump, I did alight Upon a shelf from which I saw this sight. "Clytie across her mother's knee did lay. Face downward, in the prehistoric way. The mother swings the shingle with a whirl Spanking pink blisters on the little girl. "Poor Clytie to her mother's knee is clinging, Screaming with pain under the cruel stinging. The angry parent slapping with the shingle. Spanking the naughty girlie. Oh, the tingle! "At length the whipping ceased. A sweet voice said ' There, that will do, my child, now go to bed. It hurts me much to lash my pretty pet; Now kiss your mother, dear, but don't forget.' "The child is left to cry and die alone. Alone she meets the struggle. Hear that moan! Her life is sobbing out. One little quiver — Another tiny soul has crossed the river. "I leave my hiding place. Though but a worm, Unfit for anything but sting and squirm, I feel a throbbing in my links, a rush Of something to my head, I almost blush. POOR LITTLE CLYTIE 45 *'Upon a cot the gentle Clytie lay; Only her night robe covers the poor clay. Oh, dignity of death, that marble brow ! The little naked feet are quiet now. "One purple spot upon the pink bare sole Tells its own story more than bell can toll. I bow my head; I shudder, creep away. I've done enough at least for this one day. "The white enameled hearse moves down the road Nearing the graveyard with its precious load. Poor gentle Clytie, innocent sweet child, Whipped by her mother, by a bug defiled. "I'm built without a conscience, like a spider; Am now on sentry duty, no backslider, My shadow of a heart all withered soot. I'm looking for another httle foot. "I'm king of all the hook-worms in the bog. Forever writing entries in my log, To-day I wrote about the pollywog I bled to death. Her father was a frog. "The latest entry in my book is cranked, • Relating to poor Clytie who was spanked. I set it down, that all who wish may know The truth about that tale of long ago. "Oh what a doleful flight of weary years. The mother's words are ringing in my ears, ' Dear Clytie, you have lost my Sunday shoes; 'Tis time for shingle drill, come pay your dues.' 46 POOR LITTLE CLYTIE **If I had been a man and not a bug, In Clytie's sole I never would have dug. I cannot drive her from my mind, oh no ! Her presence follows me where e'er I go." PRAYER AND PETITION OF A WORM Just see that little graveyard on the hill. Forgive me, Clytie dear, for I am nil, Naught but a worm, and is it all my fault? Forgive and send a message from the vault. Pity me, Clytie, nature made me queer; Pity me, Clytie, spare me just one tear. The Grecian seer is right. Some future time May see me rise out of this hell, this grime. Poor httle Clytie, girhe dear, forgive. The poor misguided sinner yet may live. THE APE CHASE Oh, shall I e'er forget? Not much. No, risk no bet When the ape Broke through his iron cage. Put the keepers in a rage. Made escape. The people gurgled, ran Away, and then began The mad pace. My! 'twas great fun indeed To see the monkey lead Such a chase. The large bird in the zoo. The famous ostrich flew. How it jars The nervous people when It claws, Uke some mad hen, At the bars. The ape got in the street. And then away it beat. Thump it, sock it. It's hiding in a thicket. Just grab it, hustle, kick it. Snap a rocket. 47 48 THE APE CHASE One keeper, Yang a lang, The swiftest of the gang, Made a clinch, Got the monkey by the nap Of his neck, oh what a snap. What a cinch ! The table soon was turned. Jehovah! I'll be durned, Poor, poor Rube! The monkey bit quite through His thumb; he got his due, Simple boob ! The ape was also hurt. His jugular red did spurt. Let us weep. The monkey died that night, His grave the pigs' delight — The ash heap. Oh, can we e'er forget The fuzzy little pet, Ugly, quaint? You may laugh and you may shrug, And may think I have a bug. But I ain't.