T^ PS 355/ RmbTh // ^ .e.***$jf^-^ L^^V PRESTON '"'^*'» ^ Glass _IP^_3^3 I BookJ54ji^Jr') Copyright N?. 5J4 CQEXEIGHT DEPOSITS TYPES OF PAN ► M i — M l — iiii TYPES OF PAN By KEITH PRESTON BOSTON AND NEW YORK HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY MCMXIX I I I 1 1 1 " ' COPYRIGHT, I919, BY KEITH PRESTON ALL RIGHTS RESERVED y.-^^' MH 22 !9!9 CI.A51560 6 TO MY WIFE :/- NOTE Acknowledgments are due to the Chicago Tribune, the Chicago Daily News, and the New York Tribune for permission to re- print verses which originally appeared in " The Line o' Type," ** The Periscope," and " The Conning Tower "; also to Reedy'' s Mirror for permission to reprint "Noah, 1919." keith preston CONTENTS Shopping on Parnassus 3 The Ballad of Uptodateness 4 Alice in Lyric Land 5 Standardization 6 Our Defy 7 Ex Cathedra 7 After the War 8 Good Cheer 8 Variations on Horace 9 Ad Postumum 10 Foul is Fair 12 The Eternal Conflict 13 On Seeing Things at Sea 14 Songs of the Underworid 14 To Cynthia 15 Bill Run 16 To Alcimus 17 A Tangleword Tale 18 Swallows 19 Hydrophobia 20 To Heliodora 20 Ups and Downs 21 Hercules and Omphale 22 Recessional 22 Pervigilium Monachi ..23 The Value of Greek 24 Onomatomancy 25 Spider and Spinner 26 The Periscope The Poet Grouches 27 Holeproof Hank 28 What do we Care? 30 Live Interviews with Live Authors 30 Heroes of Fiction : Tarzan 33 CONTENTS Jack and Jill 33 The Children's Encyclopedia 35 Timely Topics 36 The Bath Poets 36 The Shower of Cold 37 My Cabinet 38 Observation 38 Sorrows of a Prof 39 The Exact Attitude 39 The Estivation of Bores 40 In Flapper Time 40 To Peace 41 Johnny Comes Marching Home 41 Lacrimae Rerum 41 The Hunting of the Turtle 43 The Murman Coast 44 The Two Brooms 45 On the Spree 45 An Ace 46 The Sensitive Superman 46 The Navy Way 47 The Hyphenated Muse 47 Woodrow, Spare that Treaty 48 The German Way . 49 Foster Children 49 Where shall we Lean? 50 Retrospect 50 A German Noah's Ark 51 The Social Hour 52 Mirage 53 The Prune and the Prism 54 Chin Que Song 54 Hook and Line 55 My Visitant 50 Divers Conceits 56 CONTENTS XI Lines to a Roast Water Fowl 57 Wonders of the West 58 Ballade d'Autrefois 59 On the Dry Seas , 60 To Central 61 The Lost Art 62 Reroute 'Em 62 Sol Invictus 63 Love o' Trees 64 July, 1918, at Bell, Michigan 65 Back to Nature 65 Spinning our Span 66 Our Cloven Spoofs 66 A Snapshot 67 The Bachelor Clam 67 Half-Told Tales 68 Pierre I'Hermite 68 That Ambiguous Bird 69 Sheba 70 Chanson de Pung 71 Noah, 1919 72 TYPES OF PAN What shall I call my tiny wit ? A pebble dropped in an endless pit, Striking those dark, unyielding walls But tinkling, tinkling! as it falls. TYPES OF PAN Shopping on Parnassus I WENT to the Smart Shop Where words are retailed and retailored For vers litre poets. And they showed me a tray of nouns. Let me see, There were aloes and sandal and musk, Sea poppies and slit conch shells. Anemones and algae, Spume and spray ; There were heights and depths, throes and thrills, rouge And drabs. And they showed me a tray of adjectives, drooping- Shouldered, half-virginal, wind-scattered, draped, Undraped, ruffle-skirted, wan-green, ochre, yes. And drab. And I passed up the verbs and asked To see the thoughts. But, So they told me, they were all out; There was no demand; I might find what I wanted In the notions. 4 TYPES OF PAN The Ballad of Uptodateness Where are the nuts of a bygone day That showed old Horace the modern way, That pulled for Art with a capital A? Where, oh, where are they? They left not so much as a busted lyre, But maybe they sing In the heavenly choir. Where are the hazels of long ago That called Bill Shakespeare effete and low, That did big things that were sure to grow? Where, oh, where are they? Nobody knows of a single one, But maybe they write for the Zion Sun. Where are the filberts of yesteryear. That were far too good for the public here? Maybe they bow while the angels cheer. And maybe they don't. Maybe they do and maybe they don't. But we know some now that we're blame sure won't. ALICE IN LYRIC LAND Alice in Lyric Land In lyric fields when Alice roams, The brooklets croon, the gloaming gloams. There's sheen o' star and shine o' moon, Spun gossamer and velvet June, When Alice dons her silver shoon. And opes the mystic door to me That answers to her mystic key. When Alice strolls in lyric land One hears the full cicada band. And sweet, above their strident blare, So sad, so shy upon the air. Half virginal and wholly fair — When Alice nears the lyric wood That hermit thrush is going good. When Alice walks in lyric lane. The faery folk all five again. She hears their elfin music faint, She sees them trying to be quaint. Sometimes they are, sometimes they ain't: But anyhow, they do their best. And Httle Alice does the rest. 6 TYPES OF PAN Standardization I WENT to the Book Yards — The Pot-Boiler Works Some call it — Where next year's best sellers Are in the stocks. And there I saw four and twenty Book Wrights assembling Standardized parts. They showed me piles of green timber, Western stuff, Of course, some sticks already cut and dried for Heroes and heroines, perfect thirty-sixes; All they have to do is Match 'em and splice 'em. And they showed me the plates, Interchangeable to fit Any situation. And I thought of the high cost Of torpedoes: "What's one periscope," thought I, "Among so many?" but anyhow, I swore To do my damnedest. EX CATHEDRA Our Defy Horace, Satires, I, 4» i37 sq. Uhi quid daiur oli inludo chariis Some ride, some golf, some bridge, some bibble: When I have time to burn I scribble. In lightest vein and, maybe, poorly — This is a fatal foible sm-ely. It pains you, friend? You hate it? Yes? I'll sound the poet's S.O.S. For we are thick 'round here as leaves Upon the upas tree or thieves. We do not ask you to admire: Respect our numbers or retire. Ex Cathedra Horace, Odes, I, 29 Icci, beatis nunc Arabum invides Well, Doctor, who'd have thought you were the one To grudge his swag to the uncanny Hun, To grab a bomb and hike amid the vulgar Against the bloody Turk, the Boche, the Bulgar? What round-eyed Gretchen sadly soon will see Her schatz dissected by a Ph.D.? What Prussian Lieut reluctantly will lug out For you the looted tipple from his dug-out? 8 TYPES OF PAN Who can deny that U-boats may contain Life-saving crews and bless the harmless main? Or on the senate service flag appear A star for La Follette, their volunteer? — When Elzevirs and Aldines, too, you sell, Those books you bought so dear and loved so well, Your hood and gown, scholastic panoplies, To pay for khaki and to buy puttees? After the War Horace, Odes, III, i4 Run, boy, some cigarettes, cork tips; and say! A bottle, too, laid down before The Day, That 'i3 vintage, boy, if there be one — An embusque that dodged the thirsty Hun. Good Cheer Horace, Epod. i, 53 sq. Non Afra avis descendat in ventrem meum No Guinea fowl (don't dare to ask it) Shall nestle down in my bread basket. Till now eupeptic; No turkey taste shall gobble me To atrabilious penury, A sad old skeptic. VARIATIONS ON HORACE 9 I find that hominy and rice Or peas and pulse are very nice, And cheap besides ; I need no doc my pulse to test, My pangs appease, for all is rest In my insides. So — one more thing for me to rime on — At simple hfe I 'm Simple Simon; The feed man stops by every day And so I munch dull care away; And so may all of you that see This homily on hominy. Variations on Horace Here 's a slap for fickle Pyrrha And the thorns her roses wear, Pity for the lad that 's tangled In the meshes of her hair. Doting fool, his hopes will founder As the winds awake that sleep, Now the catspaw that caresses. Then the black and angry deep. 10 TYPES OF PAN Happy thou, to sit in safety High and dry upon the shore, Fling thy dripping weeds to Neptune, Chase the golden girl no more. Yet, I fear me, should she sparkle, Should she smile again for thee. Thou wouldst trim thy shattered pinnace And put out again to sea. Ad Postumum Horace, Odes, II, 1 4 Eheufugaces, Postume, Postume Ah, me, how fleet they go, O Postumus, my Postumus, The ghding years; no piety Stays wrinkled age for you and me, Nor death indomitable. Not if each passing day You slay three hecatombs of bulls To tearless Pluto that still holds Sad Tityos in thrall and folds Thrice ample Geryon AD POSTUMUM 11 Within that dolorous tide Not wide, that each and all must sail, Yea, whosoever eats earth's fare The rich lord of a county there, Or needy tenantry. In vain we shun red war. The roar of Adriatic waves ; In vain through autumn days we fear That death that haunts the dying year. The pestilent Sirocco. Visit we must the black. The slack meandering stream, The cursed spawn of Danaus, With y^olus* son Sisyphus To lingering labor damned. Leave them you must, the soil. The toil, the home, the wife you love, And of a-many trees you tend But the dark cypress at the end Shall shade its short-lived master. An heir shall drain the lees That keys an hundred ward to-day, 12 TYPES OF PAN And stain your pavements with the drip Of wines still prouder than men sip At pontificial banquets. Foul is Fair Horace, Odes, 2, 8 Ulla si iuris iibi peierati If broken vows would make, my Flossie, Your teeth less white, your nails less glossy, I might believe this stuff about How all our sins will find us out. You give your promise, "hope to die," And grow more lovely as you lie; And when you walk the avenue The whole durn town runs after you. You pledge the plot where mother lies, The stilly night, the stars, the skies. The blessed gods that live alway ; You lie and lie and make it pay. Yes, Venus chuckles in her sleeve. The Graces laugh as you deceive, Fierce Cupid whets his darts and smiles. (He makes munitions for your wiles !) THE ETERNAL CONFLICT 13 Then, too, the cradle feeds your hopper; The yearlings flock to come a cropper. Your graduates can't bear to quit, Though they have often threatened it. You scare the pater and the mater, For fear their lamb will see you later. And brides keep hubby tied, they say, For fear you'll whistle him away. The Eternal Conflict Horace, Odes, II, i, 29-Ao Quis non Latino sanguine pinguior What field is not more fat with Latin blood, Scarred with new graves where warring legions thrust? The Orient listens breathless for a thud, Europe that topples in the western dust. What lake unchoked, what river running free, Now that the carnage spreads beyond the land? Our blood incarnadines the furthest sea, Blood of our sons is spilled upon the sand. But stay, my Muse, light, laughter-loving jade, Touch not the Cean dirge; be gay, be witty. Dally a while with me beneath the shade, Pick me a prancing pizzicato ditty. 14 TYPES OF PAN On Seeing Things at Sea Horace, Odes, I, 3 Qui siccis oculis monsira naiantia " What form of death feared he That first beheld dry-eyed Sea monsters swimming?" Such Flaccus' question. Well, I should say that we Would call that guy pie-eyed From bumpers brimming, Or indigestion. Songs of the Underworld Horace, Odes, 2, i3, 21 sq. Quam psenefurvae regna Proserpinae Where burning Sappho sings her song In Hades, no one listens long; Their Hfe, no doubt, is hot enough Without that calorific stuff. The shades all push and crowd 't is said To hear Alcseus wake the dead With martial cadences as catchy And twice as ancient as Pagliacci. So Horace sang, but now, we fancy. He's wiser in his necromancy. TO CYNTHIA 15 Suppose that snappy stuff like Al's Goes bigger here than Dick Le Gal's; On that side Styx all heads are clear, There is no bone from ear to ear. Those necropolitan elite, The Plutocrats of Pluto street, Have learned a thing or two we know From all the clever folk below. They know Falernian and Massic, How Pegasus annexed the Classic, And Hercules caused quite a fuss By tying cans to Cerberus. Ah, yes, friend Horace, I dare swear. Your Sapphics get a hand down there. To Cynthia Propertius, I, 2 Quid iuvat ornaio procedere, vita, capillo Tell me, why those Pickford curls, And that sheer Georgette? They might make another girl, But, dear, don't forget. Nature turned you out a star Frills can only dim; 16 TYPES OF PAN Cupid's costumes simple are, Take a tip from him. See how colors light the field, Ivy twines unsought, Lonely grots arbutus yield, Brooklets run untaught. Nature strews the tinted pebbles, Gems on every beach, Gives the birds that artless treble None could ever teach. I would not, to spoil your fun, Spring the green-eyed stuff; But a girl that pleases one Is dolled up enough. Bill Run Martial, I, 79 Bill used to run for president, he was a poor excuse; Bill ran the state department till Bill ran out of juice. Then William was a pacifist and running like a rab- bit. He ran himself into the ground and broke that run- ning habit. TO ALCIMUS 17 To Alcimus Martial, I, 88 Alcime, quern rapium domino cresceniihus annis Alcimus, lost to thy master at the dawn of thy young day, Now the sod lies light upon you where you rest beside the way. Take from me no gift of marble, stone of Paros, builded high, Idle tribute to thy ashes, doomed to topple by and by, But the pliant box, the shadows of the close protect- ing vine. And the green, green grass above you, stiU bedewed with tears of mine. Take, dear lad, this simple record of thy loving mas- ter's pain ; With each rising generation Alcimus shall Hve again. When the grim relentless spinner shall have spun my final thread, Even so may I be gathered to my place among the dead. 18 TYPES OF PAN A Tangleword Tale Ovid, Met. V, 385 sq. Pluto, in his big buzz wagon, Long and low, without a tag on, With no license to be there. Met Persephone the fair, Picking flowers in childish play By the primrose paths in May, On the flowery ways of Henna — Recking little of Gehenna. So he stopped and begged a posy. Took her in and made her cozy — Gave 'er gas and hit on six To the seamy side of Styx, Where that car, as bubbles will. Gave the trusting maid a spill. So she queans it now in Hades, 'Mid those other shady ladies; And she 's picking flowers of sulphur Where the netherlands engulf her. Nothing seems to matter much — Gasoline put her in Dutch. SWALLOWS 19 You may ask why poor Demeter When no Persy ran to meet her, Did not go to the poHce (For they had a force in Greece). WeU, she found that Pluto's pull Was too much for any bull; Pluto's word was law, they tell us, In the underworld of Hellas. Swallows From the Greek of Agathius Scholasticus All the night I toss and fret. With the dawn I half forget. But those swallows, everlasting, Twitter roundabout me casting Tear drops in my waking eye. Pushing sweetest slumber by; And I weep upon the rack For Rodanthe that I lack. Cease, ye jealous babblers, ceasel Let me lose myself in peace. 'T was not I, you know it well, Tore the tongue from Philomel; Scold that wicked hoopoe sitting 'Mid the lonely hills or flitting 20 TYPES OF PAN Through the wilderness lament Itylus, with my consent. Let me sleep, to dream, maybe, That Rodanthe clings to me. Hydrophobia From the Greek of Paulas Sileniiarius Sober men by mad dogs bitten With that water fear are smitten, See in cup or pool, 't is said. Horrid shapes and faces dread. So, my dear, when first you met me Cupid tripped me and upset me. Wicked little nipper, he, Sank a poisoned tooth in me. Made me hydrophobiac — Aqua pura brings you back. To Heliodora From the Greek of Meleager Pour! and again and again, yet again, cry "Helio- dora!" Pledge, with the wine that we sip, blending her name on the lip: Deck me with myrrh-moist roses, a chaplet from yes- terday's revels. UPS AND DOWNS 21 Lingering blossoms that stir wistful remembrance of her. Look, how the bright drops mantle the roses, famil- iars of lovers. Tears for the waste of her charms, vanished away from my arms. Ups and Downs From the Palatine Anthology Your paunch is round and near the ground. Your neck is long and slender, The notes that gurgle from your throat Are musical and tender. I thirst for your companionship, My jolly old decanter. So full of quips and quaint conceits And pleasantries and banter. But tell me, gossip, why when I Am dry, you full of sherry, Your spirits sink the more I drink, And ebb as I grow merry. 22 TYPES OF PAN Hercules and Omphale Oriental charmer, she, vulgarly, a vamp; Virile and red-blooded, he, we should say, a champ. Poets tell us how she fished, wily Omphale! Caught and used him as she wished, in her knittery; How he humbly held the wool, at the lady's knees, Tried the helmet on for her, Doting Hercules I Recessional Maids of Athens trod thy presses With the vine leaves in their tresses, Flushing hot to thy caresses, Dionysus. Thou wert prompter on the stages Of the old heroic ages; Witness Alexander's rages Back in Susa. Maenads danced to thee dishevelled, Lavish Cleopatra revelled, Nero fiddled and bedevilled Burning Rome. PERVIGILIUM MONACHI 23 While thy rhabdomancy held, Rockbound springs of fancy welled, Lyrics flowered and poets swelled, Dithyrambic. We have loved thee for thy lotus. Thy Sargasso seas that float us, Honeyed philtres that devote us To fond phrensy. Now we know the dulcet uses Of the unfermented juices, We have fathomed all thy ruses, Barleycorn. Yes, to close this salmagundi In the age of BiUy Sundae, Mr. Bryan, Mrs. Grundy, — Thou art done. Pervigilium Monachi Cras amet qui numquam amavit, quique amavit eras amet Hymn of Cypris, Aphrodite, golden litany of love, Haunting challenge of the wanton, of the serpent to the dove; 24 TYPES OF PAN Did that old grey monk who traced it, handing on the lilting line, See the myrtle and the dancers, feel the swirl of love and wine? Did it warm a lonely vigil in his cold grey cell of ^'1 stone, Lifting him above his Credo and the masses he would drone? Cras amet qui numquam amavit quique amavit eras amet — If our monk had known the Latin, would the song be living yet? Was his labor penitential, in a chain of daily screeds, Did he do it for Religion, telling out the lines as beads? Yes, I often idly wonder, often think of him as odd. Handing down the torch of Venus to the glory of his God. The Value of Greek Now Huxley once wrote to an artist, "To aid my researches, dear friend, — I ask in the interests of science, — How far down do blushes extend?" ONOMATOMANCY 25 Had Huxley been wise to his Homer, The earhest bird of the Greeks, He need not have begged for this info That held up his studies for weeks. For Homer got up with the chickens, And, watching Miss Dawn as she rose, Has left as a matter of record The singular pink of her toes. Onomatomancy The urge of the midge to the flame. Is naught to the lure of a handle; The mind is a fluttering moth And a name is the perilous candle. I know names that are smoother than silk, And names that are softer than butter ; I know names that are perfectly sweet. And names that are utterly utter. If Cleo had only been Liz Her beauty would not have distraught me. If Flo had been Irma her phiz Would never, no never, have caught me. 26 TYPES OF PAN Oh Min! When I hear it I wince! Maria may rank as a charmer; But her monicker makes her a quince: A name is the joint in my armor! Spider and Spinner Arachne spins a gauzy net That floats and shimmers on the lawn; By noon that web is fouled and rent Which hung so perfect at the dawn; And when the wind of evening stirs, Arachne's gossamers are gone. Arachne, as no doubt you guess, Arachne is the daily press. Grave Clio weaves through circling years Her age-enduring tapestry. Of threads of gold and gossamer. The warp and woof of history; But since her threads she filches from Arachne's webs, 't is hard to see Where ends the web Arachne spins, Where Clio's filament begins. The Periscope Being a Menippean Satire on the Book World of 1918 The Poet Grouches A vamp on " Tommy" I WENT into a publisher's to sell a batch o' verse, The publisher 'e up an' sez, "Go out an' hire a hearse!" The gals that can the manuscrips, they giggled fit to die, I outs into the street again and to myself says I : Oh, it's Private this, an' Buddy that, an' "Rush 'im through the press!" For it's 'e that made the publisher that made the lucky guess. An' it 's Tommy this, Leftenant that, print anything you please! An' forty publishers stand by while Tommy taps the keys. Best swap your nom de plume for a nom de guerre. 28 TYPES OF PAN Holeproof Hank Come gather round old "Holeproof Hank," The only living human tank ; Who spins a yarn of bullet blocking, The best since Cooper's Leather Stocking. When first I showed my happy knack, They laid a target on my back. And thousands clapped for this recruity Who shed a bullet like a cootie. That holeproof name already mine, I reached the western firing line. The whole Hun host looked on embattled To see the human pill box rattled. Machine guns cackled in their nest. The bullets beat upon my breast, Boche riflemen were firing densely — It really tickled me immensely. Their field guns firing open sights, Scored hits direct like chigger bites. But though outflanked and enfiladed, I took those trenches all unaided. THE PERISCOPE 29 Just then a German heavy roared. The shell burst under me, I soared. And as I started swiftly dropping I heard the aircraft guns a-popping. Thanks be to Bill and Bertha Krupp, The bally shrapnel buoyed me up. And parachuting lightly down, I organized the captured town. "And this is where," said Holeproof Hank, " I get my air of martial swank, That none has earned so well as I — Not Private Peat or Arthur Guy." Sometimes we sigh for a recrudescence of the lampoon in literature and when we get it — it is too crude. A pasquinade recently published in Reedy's Mirror slams an eas- ily recognizable poetess on three counts, lack of poise ("She was nervous as a hor- net"), surplus of avoirdupois ("Then we saw the fat woman") and a penchant for corpulent cheroots ("She was smoking a cigar as big as a rolling pin"). To all of which we should reply: 30 TYPES OF PAN What do we care? What do we care for the sort of mesh If a soul pulsates in that pulp of flesh. What do we care? What do we care for the huge cigar, If the spark of it be a guiding star, What do we care? What do we care for the size, indeed? It's not the wrapper that makes the weed - Was the fiUer grown from a precious seed? What do we care? Live Interviews with Live Authors I The Piqua Pioneer "Damn the Kaiser?" said Dr. Davis in a recent interview. *'Yes, I may fairly claim to have originated the expression." Reaching for a copy of "The Kaiser as I Knew Him," Dr. Davis produced from between the leaves a square of rubber of the sort known to adepts as a dentist's dam. "This is the original article," continued THE PERISCOPE 31 the doctor, displaying to the astonished reviewer the actual impressions of the im- perial teeth. "It is true that in vulgar parlance the phrase has become, apparently, more drastic, but I assure you, sir" — the doc- tor smiled wickedly — "as pronounced by me it spelled more discomfort for Wil- liam than he will find in the future state." "Is it correct," asked the reporter, " that upon coming out from an appoint- ment with you the Kaiser told Von Beth- mann-Hollweg he had never been so bored in his life?" "Well," said the doctor, with a remi- niscent smile, "I cleaned out three cavi- ties that afternoon — and Bill always did hate the buzzer." II Joseph Hergesheimer "What is your favorite line of poetry, Mr. Hergesheimer?" began our reporter tentatively. His jaw dropped as the noted author quoted sharply: r 32 TYPES OF PAN '"Hark, hark! The dogs do bark.'" At this moment a distant barking be- came audible, which increased in rapid crescendo and ended in a scratching at the door. *'0h, the Airedales," reflected the re- lieved reporter, and repeated his opening gambit. "Beg pardon," said Mr. Hergesheimer. "You were saying?" " What is your favorite line of poetry? " The novelist reflected. "Amy Lowell has a good line," said he. " Only one? " asked the reporter densely. The novelist smiled tolerantly. " I refer to her commercial ' line ' — poets are very commercial people, you know — her poeti- cal efi'ects or goods and chattels, as the lawyers would pbjase it. Speaking poeti- cally, Miss Lowell has added a new muse to the old choir, Polyphonia. I am poly- phonious myself; Mr. Burton Rascos has said it. He is my poetical discoverer." "Yes," said the reporter, "Jones never thought of that-, but, Mr. Hergesheimer, THE PERISCOPE 33 are we to understand that Miss Lowell has influenced your poetic development?" "No," returned the author thought- fully. " I am not exactly in the position of Pope, who 'lisped in numbers, for the numbers came.' If I write in numbers I owe it, I think, to my early habit of serial publication." Heroes of Fiction Tarzan How many thousand readers greet Tarzan, half ape, but incomplete, And wait, with interest never stale, For sequels to complete his tail! If sales a trusty index be. Of vogue and popularity — A fact you simply can't escape — The apex goes to this ex-ape. Jack and Jill Our "Jack and Jill," that simple tale, How Mother Goose did slight it! Ah, how her careless lines would pale If H. G. Wells should write it! 34 TYPES OF PAN First take the hour when Jack was born, How anxious papa waited; Describe that age with bitter scorn; Tell how Jack's parents mated. Then analyze Jack's infant bean, Recount his careful schooling; Sketch Jill's arrival on the scene. And paint their childish fooling. State how the buckets were procured; (Describe a bucket shop.) Show how the ill-starred pair were lured To tempt the fatal drop. Give all the croakings ere the spill; The words of faithful granny, Depict the aspect of that hill With every coign and cranny. Tell how they clambered up the slope, Observing all the strata, And canvassed England's future hope, With economic data. THE PERISCOPE 35 Say how the first misstep was Jill's, Poor Jack fell down hke Adam ; They hit the road beneath the hill (The pavement was macadam). The Children's Encyclopedia "It puts the children over the top," says the Grolier Club of "The Book of Knowledge," an encyclopedia for chil- dren. Now, this, we had supposed, was a special function of the late German cen- tral staff. " It answers every question a child can ask," continues the advertisement, pro- pounding the following specimens: 1. How many worlds are there? 2. Can anything travel faster than thought.^ 3. Will the world ever stop spinning? 4. Why does an iceberg float? 5. How does alcohol affect the brain? 6. How does a cow meike its milk? How would you answer these conun- drums? Offhand, we would guess as fol- lows: 36 TYPES OF PAN 1. "One too many for me," says the kaiser. 2. Rumor. 3. No, now that we have removed the German monkey wrench. 4. Because it can't swim. 5. It turns the gray matter rosy. 6. Like mother used to make it. Timely Topics To the Boston Transcript Thanks brother, for that ink you spilt on How Grub street changed its name to Milton. But how, dear Transcript — there's the rub - Change my Mil tonic stuff to grub? The Bath Poets Some day the bath poets will be as famous as the lake poets. The "Bath Classics" will no doubt have an introductory chap- ter on Alderman John Coughlin of Chi- cago. Some readers may perhaps remember his poem, "Dear Midnight of Love," which, with its fine Turkish flavor, made "The Bath" founder of this school. Then THE PERISCOPE 37 there was Amy Lowell's iridescent effusion on her tub. From the same tap is drawn Miss Charlotte Eaton's "The Bath" (" Desire." By Charlotte Eaton. Duffield &Co. 1918): Without aid of soaps, or sweet smelling lotion, Each day do I bathe in the clear Croton water, Remaining submerged for long, that my body may absorb its invigorating properties. Stretched at ease — singing to myself — or exercising for mere delight in untrammeled action, etc. But for sheer bathos we dare say none of the bath poets has attained the success of our staff poetess. Miss Aphro Diziac. Here is one of her quieter poems in the classic vein: The Shower of Cold At morning in my turret room I stand, like Danae of old, Expectant for the amorous shower: O Zeus! the water's cold! But we like better her airy vaporing. 38 TYPES OF PAN "My Cabinet," which has the warmth and fervor of Hve steam: My Cabinet How warm I am when you have clipped me round, Head in the clouds and feet upon the ground: Dull days may come and Death may cross my path. Yet you were mine, my own, my vapor bath I We should like to quote further, espe- cially from her longer poems. "The Alco- hol Rub" and "The Hot Room," but no doubt our readers are prepared to admit that Miss Diziac is the peer of Amy Low- ell, Charlotte Eaton, or "The Bath" him- self. Observation Spring lines are trimmed with flowers, That's true of bonnets, And, by the powers, it 's still More true of sonnets. Sorrows of a Prof Butterflies This breaking social butterflies On academic wheels Is something, sirs, that ever tries The soul that keenly feels; This feeding food for grub worms To a saucy httle Miss That now, as any fool can see, Has shed the chrysalis. We like to see 'em flutter Round the sparks upon the campus, And it hurts to see their utter Lack o' lustre when they lamp us. It seems so sad to net 'em And to pin 'em down to cases When they look so cute in Arden With their fripperies and laces. The Exact Attitude I LIE supine upon my back When I astronomize; The blissful ignoramus prone Can con the starry skies. 40 TYPES OF PAN Ah, lucky dub, so prone to lie! While if I He too prone, I either must geologize Or fracture my backbone. The .Estivation of Bores Hibernation, they find it good, Big black bears in a wintry wood; Bores run loose while the deep snows stay, Summer sends 'em to hit the hay; Profs and pedagogues aBstivate While all the little studes jubilate. Bears grow thinner when they hole up, Sleep all winter with never a sup. Profs grow fat under summer skies, Fed on fishes and berry pies. Bores hole up on a double ration ; Nothing suits 'em like aestivation. In Flapper Time I LOVE the merry, merry spring, When winter long has lasted ; Now every flapper — cunning thing! — Has some lad flappergasted. LACRIM^ RERUM 41 T is now they lose their callow wits, 'T is now the purse string looses, To buy those rich banana splits For flappergastric juices! To Peace He serves thee ill that brings but loud Lip service to thy altar. And worships with vain minstrelsy, The sackbut and the psalter. For every man must pay his tithe Of blood and tears or toil: Some pay it on the stricken field, Some from the guarded soil. Johnny Comes Marching Home Johnny 's marching home to marry. Let us hope he '11 never tire Of the harmless curtain lecture, And regret the curtain fire. Lacrble Rerum They gave the ship a name. Life quickened all her frame, 42 TYPES OF PAN Speeding from builder's leash down sloping ways; Leaping to meet the sea, Scenting her liberty, Young, strong and made, it seemed, for length of days. While on the sea, that Ancient gray, The age-long rage was lost in light that day. In vain would winds arise To bay so staunch a prize. In vain would lashing wave her ribs assail; The shipwright's cunning art Made perfect every part, Where man has built his best. Ocean must quail, To crouch till man shall turn again To blast his conquests in that old domain. So, in the turn of time, Cradled upon the slime. Behold a steely thing that lurks and waits, Glaring like basilisk With cold unwinking disc. Until it strikes the gallant ship it hates. While in the sea, that Ancient gray. The malice wakes of his primeval day. THE HUNTING OF THE TURTLE 43 The Hunting of the Turtle The ark of state was sinking fast When Lansing tired of baling, Said he to Woodrow Wilson, "Sir, Thy servant's strength is failing. Blue water hems us all around, The submarines increase." "Fear not," said Woodrow Wilson then; "Let loose the dove of peace." To Potsdam and to Essen first That ardent turtle flew, And everywhere the turtle went The demonstration grew. They greeted her and feted her, Berlin to Wilhelmshaven; You see, her cooing partly drowned The croaking of the raven. But when she left her pleasant perch Upon the pickelhaube, In Petrograd and Paris they Mistook her for a Taube. In London town they potted her, And peppered her for fair ; ^•'^'=^-^*-«g^-a»^«^- 44 TYPES OF PAN She looped the loop for Woodrow's coop Remarking, "C'est la guerre." The dove of peace is out again; They say she's out to stay; The dove, you see, may safely fly Where eagles clear the way. In London, Rome, and Paris too She sheds her friendly quiUs; They really like to hear her coo When Deutschland pays the bills. The Murman Coast Said a Murmaid to her Murman By the far-famed Murman sea, "Have you heard, Lenine and Trotzky Are en route to you and me? " Said the Murman to his Murmaid, By that sea so washy-wishy, "Was it via Copenhagen? Then, my dear, your tale is fishy." ON THE SPREE 45 The Two Brooms / will sweep it with the besom of destruction. — Isa. XIV. 23 The Hun he loved the waning moon And flew as witches fly; His besom of destruction He rode across the sky. He shrank away from light of day, Along with bat and owl; He hovered over sleeping towns And there his work was foul. The Briton loves the light of day, And flies as sea mews fly; His besom of protection Shows clear against the sky. He long had nailed it to the mast And cleared the seven seas, As late he swept the filthy Hun And cleaned the midnight breeze. On the Spree How dark and brown wiU be the taste, The dawn how dull and gray. What time the Prussians sober up At Berlin on the Spree. taaimamtammiamdtKSaamtmmmm^mmmmmmmmm aitimmmiiimm'm \.iJ i J t0 mmm 46 TYPES OF PAN The katzenjammer they will have! Who now await to see The knockout drops we have prepared For Berlin on the Spree. An Ace I NEED — I take — to wing my song, One little punning word: An Ace on earth, it seems to me, Is just a Hunning bu-d. A whir, a hum, a dart, a dip, A zoom, and off again! I wonder, do they hunt the Hun Upon that astral plane? The Sensitive Superman * There once was a brave young Berliner, Who bawled for a bath and a dinner. "I need soap," he began, *'0n my whole superman And a barrel of kraut in my inner." Then a prominent Turkish official Replied in a manner judicial, THE HYPHENATED MUSE 47 " Do you mind when they sniff? Look at us you big stiff! O Fritz, you are so superficial!" The Navy Way On troubled waters oil, we thought, Was one sure way to peace. And every Httle sub we caught Made one more spot of grease. The Hyphenated Muse Oh, Carranza sent a cable- (on the Kaiser's birthday) gram To the Kaiser at his Pots- (that's a German palace) dam. And it said, ''Look out for Uncle (that's my north- ern neighbor) Sam, For he 's coming after you ! " Then the Kaiser waved his iron (as the papers have it) hand. And he danced a little sara- (that's a Turkish tango) band. And he said: "Tm safe in Heli- (in the German sea) goland. But I thank my friend Carranza." 48 TYPES OF PAN WooDROw, Spare That Treaty The Imperial German Government appeals to the Treaty of 1799 Oh, that treaty of seventeen ninety and nine Was the first of its kind and the last of its line ; And he clung, did the Teut, to this precious old page, The last and the best of a rich heritage. AU the treaties that stood in the days ante-bellum Had gone to the mill save this hoary old vellum ; He had pulped, had the Teut, all the treaties around, But his love for this stump was both deep and pro- found. All the parchments had perished, the sheepskins were torn, This decrepit old document lingered forlorn; But the heart that was hard to the ewe and the lamb Was tender and true to this doddering ram. Oh, this treaty of seventeen ninety and nine Was the last dusty flask of an old vintage wine, And the Teut shed a tear as he snuffed the aroma, The fragrant bouquet of this cobwebbed diploma. FOSTER CHILDREN 49 The German Way Along the roads where Roman legions sleep The Hapsburg eagles and the German sweep ; They shall not wear the glamour that they claim, The pomp of Caesar and the Roman name. Italia stands and shall, embattled yet. Where silver eagles flashed in suns now set; The eagle's note, hear Roman Virgil speak : "To smite the proud and to exalt the weak." The weak, the little cowering peoples know The German bluster and the German blow ; But let true metal ring, "They shall not pass!" Her talons fly like shards of brittle glass. Where armies fester and where states decay, Where maggot spies have made a mellow prey, With sounding vans the German vultures light, To rob the jackal and defraud the kite. Foster Children The world, I think, was like some idle mothers: We put our young inventions out to nurse. Dame Germany would nurture them so kindly. And take the merest pittance from our purse. 50 TYPES OF PAN But then the good old dame grew somewhat ad- dled, Declared she was the mother of them all; Yes, swore they were her very own conceptions — And how the scamps obeyed her beck and call! Well, lately we have shown 'em that we made 'em — Fritz U. Boat and Carl Taube and the rest. But when we have a young idea in future, A little home nutrition would be best. Where Shall We Lean ? Whiskey, wheat, and sugar gone, What supports remain? First they took the stick from life, Now the staff and cane. Retrospect Now has our wrath been as the tide That stirs in its own hour. And brushes dike or dune aside With slow majestic power. It sets before a hidden force, It claims the utmost rod: A GERMAN NOAH's ARK 51 Nor ruth nor rage avail to stem The tide that moves with God. Now have our millions moved as one That moves because he must; Our foes were as the driven spray, The rain, the spiteful gust. Be this our pride, our single boast, We swept across the sea A still, resistless tidal host To peace, with Liberty. A German Noah's Ark The German Sheep The German sheep, dear children, grew To more than common size; Their wool was long and silky too. And fell about their eyes; And thus they did not see so well — I 'm also told they could not smell The Prussian Goat The Prussian goat, my little dears, That wild and skippish beast, Conducted sheep from east to west, And then from west to east; 52 TYPES OF PAN And when the sheep sat down to rest He told them of that awful pest The Russian Bear The Russian bear, dear children used, To shamble round the fold. To ask for little lambs to eat, And scare their mothers cold; But now the bear has other duties To catch the Bolsheviki cooties. The Social Hour Between the dark and the daylight, When the night was beginning to lower, Came a pause in the trench occupations That was known as the social hour. As the Russian stars were rising And the sun was beginning to sink, Then the samovars unlimbered. All laden with fragrant drink. Then the train of Russ tea wagons Went out to the hungry Huns, MIRAGE 53 And the muzhik laughed at the Teuton chaff As the Hun and he crossed buns. It was beautiful but not lasting, For the pink tea and the buns Were nothing to fasting millions Of horrible, hungry Huns. So they seized on the pink tea wagons And the beautiful samovars, While the reds walked back with never a snack, 'Neath the glittering Russian stars. Mirage The fighting was suspended owing to a mirage, bat upon this lift- ing our offensive continued. — British report. Still waters glimmering between still palms Or ruffled dark by flaws of scented air. Vine tendrils, fern, the soft green living things A desert dream holds out to travelers there. What wonder if the fitful firing broke. And quiet brooded on the burning sands. While eye and heart yearned towards that faery isle As men to peace in other greener lands. 54 TYPES OF PAN The Prune and the Prism A philological romance She was only a humble prune, While he was a prism gay; She loved him for his gaudy hues, And he called her his souffle. Back they came from the honeymoon. To a life of sighs and schisms. None of you knows the original prune. But you sdl know prunes and prisms. Chin Que Song Obiit, Chicago, June 7, 19 16 There's a subtle necromancy. Like the poppy to my fancy. In your soft celestial name, Chin Que Song, Like some potent anodyne, Lotus flower or honeyed wine. Or the heavy scent of sandal, Chin Que Song; So I hope you get the odor In your heavenly pagoda -^^-''^-rffirnriirir r 1 TiimrfMirfiliit HOOK AND LINE 55 Of the joss that I am burning, Chin Que Song, As I name you an Immortal, Though you never crossed the portal Of an Academic Hall, Chin Que Song. May the little gods of jade Be propitious to your shade. In a tea house in Nirvana, Chin Que Song. Hook and Line I LOVE to fish with little squibs, Or bait my hook with captions. Now grubby little jingle worms. Now whirligig contraptions. It is a wary trout I feed, To tickle him is work indeed. A hook without a bait is vain As rimes without a reason: Good quips in May fall flat in June, The fly must fit the season. How sad to fish for goggle eyes And never never get a rise. 56 TYPES OF PAN My Visitant I FIND her daily at my doors, This flaunting, haunting hussy, A welcome guest in idle hours, A bore when one is fussy. She pries and peers, she sobs and sneers. She has an ear for tattle, She prates of petty pilferings Or tells tall tales of battle. You court her favors and she sulks, You flee her and she follows. Her faith is weak when truth you speak, The lies she always swaUows. I sometimes try to put her by. But yet, I must confess it. I grumble with, I pine without. My newspaper. God bless it! Divers Conceits Imagine all the fishes in a parti-colored maze. The mottled blue fish gazing at the red and yellow rays; LINES TO A ROAST WATER FOWL 57 The scarlet whale lamenting for his former decent drab; The shark marooned regarding pm-ple patches on the crab; The groper groping blindly in a cloud of indigo; The cod in dizzy colors overcome with vertigo ; For this is just what happened when that merchant submarine, All laden down with dye stuffs, by a British ship was seen. The cautious German sailor men obeyed the warning gun, But though the ship was hard and fast the dyes were bound to run. The cuttle fish quite pop eyed, and with envy green beside. Beheld the hues this super-squid shot out upon the tide. Lines to a Roast Water Fowl At dawn you slept upon a stone, All melancholy and alone, A-dreaming of the summer's joys. Your mallard mate, the pleasant ploys By False Presque Isle. sn 58 TYPES OF PAN How false, alas, I weep to tell itt Woe worth the gun that sped the pellet! It was not mine — I do but dine On thy reliques by False Presque Isle. And yet, sweet fowl, thy end was blest. Like finest gold you stood the test Of shrewdest flame and made a roast That Brillat Savarin would boast, By False Presque Isle. 'T is hard, dear bird, for you to lack The still bay girt with tamarack; But know that you were duly prized, With onion wept and fletcherized By False Presque Isle. Wonders of the West Dedicated to John Burroughs In far-off California, Where truth is passing strange, The ostriches began to pine And sicken on the range. At last a fine young cock expired; They called the local quacks, BALLADE d'aUTREFOIS 59 Who said the symptoms pointed to Ten penny nails and tacks. When through his ventral cavity A probe was deeply driv, They found the late lamented bird Had gobbled down a fliv. An antidote was found, and now Henritis rarely kills. Each ostrich farmer dopes his pets With little flivver pills. Ballade d' Autrefois Where are the maids of other days When you and I were young? — Such maids as Shelley never knew And Byron never sung. Villon, perhaps, and those old chaps Who knew that smiles bewitchin' Might make a scullery divine Or glorify a kitchen. Where are those humble goddesses Of mop and broom or skillet 60 TYPES OF PAN That never lost a character And seldom changed a billet? All vanished like the BufTalo, The modest cost of living; Their proxy is a doxy in This age of flim and flivving. On the Dry Seas Wonder why that Flying Dutchman never flies to- day, Lingering in some far offing where lost luggers stay. Wonder would our jackies weaken if he should ap- pear; If the gobs should meet the goblins would n't it be queer? Wonder why that old sea serpent keeps himself so dark; Dropping ash cans on his coco — that would be a larki If our navy ever sights him, that old lobster called the kraken, Bet a bomb he will be potted or uncommon badly shaken! TO CENTRAL 61 Wonder if there is a reason why that scaly humbug vanished, Why the merman and the mermaid and the Hol- lander are banished. Was it grog that made 'em see things, have the dry seas lost their wonder? Did old Davy close his locker when John Barleycorn went under? To Central That time you were so slow And I did twit you. Central, I never knew The flu had hit you. Shame on me cussing so! Central, I could not know! Hearing your distant sneeze Filled me with pity: Take, Central, if you please, This Httle ditty. StiU gripped by influenza. Clutch at this kind cadenza. For when you start to buzz I may be as I was. 62 TYPES OF PAN The Lost Art Does it make you tired, sirs, amateurish stuff, Laymen, sirs, and ministers, trying to be tough? Business men and senators, editors and . . . well, Everybody's stock in trade is poor old "Helll" Not that we're particular, out to play the prude,) If they only knew, sirs, what is really rude. Cussing was an art, sirs, out in Idaho; Ever have a sheep herd tell you where to go? Lumberjacks in Michigan — holy Mackinaw! — How the wicked words flew flicking on the raw! Let us save our breath, sirs, let us be polite; Or, if we must cuss, sirs, do the damn thing right! Reroute 'Em We now demand, with aU our soul, Combined with government control, Deflection; For ^olus, the trafiic king, And Boreas are out to sting Our section. SOL INVIGTUS 63 Now McAdoo or even Newt Could find some better way to route These blizzards; Refrigerator lines if pooled Could end this tie-up that has cooled Our gizzards. The sunny south must now kick in And start to take its Medicine Hat weather; The situation can be met If weather sharps will only get Together. Sol Invictus Old Sol still keeps his ancient thirst, Still westward steers to slake it ; Briny his nightcap as at first, Dry waves can never shake it. Though service takes him overseas, Old Sol, that thirsty rover, Pickled on brine and unabashed Sinks westward half seas over. 64 TYPES OF PAN Love o' Trees Pines that keep the sun from me, Thronging round my roof, Dusky shy and dumb to me, Near and yet aloof. I have seen the starry web. Flung about your tops, Heard your voices rise, and ebb As the night wind drops. Lately I have slaved for you, Fought the forest fire. Saved the cool disdain of you From a hot desire. I have worn the yoke for you, As a faithful Druid, Poured libations out to you. Pails of Huron fluid. Poets' hearts have yearned to oak. Ached for birch or pine: Poet back was never broke As this back o' mine! BACK TO NATURE 65 July, 1918, at Bell, Michigan I DO not mind the gnats that tweak like devils' tongs hereafter; I do not mind the bats that squeal and scratch along the rafter ; I do not mind the moths that drive like shock troops at om* lamp, The mice that in our kitchen thrive and riot there and ramp; Mosquitoes of a super size have scarcely power to tease; I 'm Uncle Toby to the flies, though when were flies like these? St. Francis, I, to all the bugs and vermin here at BeU. For when the Hun is on the run, a man could laugh in hell. Back to Nature I met a belle of Bell, Mich, From out the berry patch; ' And I admired her luscious pick As she my whopping catch. 66 TYPES OF PAN were we on the Boul, Mich, Madonna of the pails, How hick would be your buckets. What caviar my whales! Spinning Our Span Take the string and wind it neatly, Poise the top and peg it featly In a giddy drop; Watch it circle for a stance, Stand and bore there in a trance, Sleeping like a top. See it wake and start to stutter, Wobble in confusion utter. Topple then and He; Like a man that spins and whirs In a rut and never stirs Till he wakes and dies. Our Cloven Spoofs A pome is very like a ham, The commas like the spice, Some like the porcine flavor best. Some think the cloves are nice. THE BACHELOR CLAM 67 Our poems, too, are like a ham Small matter, sure, for boasting; Drop comma cloves, or add to taste, And, reader, do the roasting. A Snapshot To Friend Wife What were a negative like me Without a sun like you? If I turn out a positive. You make the hght, you do I The Bachelor Clam **ShI" shudders he, "it's a shy sad life, In our sheltered shuttered shells, And I sometimes sigh for a sly, shad wife From the shimmering, shining swell. "But I love my shelf on the shingly shoal. Where the spent waves slide and hiss. And I would not climb from the shielding slime Of my life of shingle bliss. "No, I would not gad with a mad sea shad Nor nest with a mollusc mate. To long for the selfish life I led As a shellfish celibate." 68 TYPES OF PAN Half-told Tales So many kiss to-day, And die to-morrow: And is remembrance sweet, Or sweet and sorrow? For some say, only sweet; And sweet and bitter, some . . Ah, who can end the tale, When all the dead are dumb! Pierre l'Hermite What time I fish with rod and reel Along the reeds of False Presque Isle, I watch the hermit of the place, A Great Blue Heron he, by race, We call him Peter, or Pierre, Because he eats the frogs 'round there. Aloof from care or strife or fear. Upon one leg he poses near; But let a frog so much as hop, He seems all neck and bill and crop. A whirlwind, he, what time he turns His mind to practical concerns. THAT AMBIGUOUS BIRD 69 Fact is, suspicion will persist, He is a sort of egotist. He has no chick nor child nor egg. But knows and shows he has a leg. He keeps his bachelor estate, Nor ever seems to miss a mate. He'll watch me peevishly reel back My empty, vain Dowagiac. Though for his thoughts I cannot vouch, He seems to chide me for my grouch ; As who should say, "What's life, old chap? A leg, a log, a frog, a nap." That Ambiguous Bird In the National Guard we would carry a gun. We would bleed for the national banner; But our patience is done with that national pan: Pray can it, National Canner ! When handled by Noah and Webster, you see, The chicken was merely a bird ; But old Noah to-day would be shocked, I dare say. At this sly reprehensible word. 70 TYPES OF PAN It is good, as a rule, for a smile on the Boul, Or a laugh at a tea or a dinner; If you serve it up raw it will win a guffaw: Condemn it, all-powerful Tinner. Pray, ban and taboo it, cold-pack it or stew it; The wits of the peepul may quicken; And your name will be blest if you heed our behest, And put a quietus on "chicken." Sheba Chicago could be a queen of Sheba, spread out beside her waters. — Editorial, Chicago Tribune 'Neath sable sylvias she lies Spread out beside her waters, *Neath wisps diaphanous of murk, The fairest of earth's daughters. Some day that fuscous veil will lift, Some Solomon unborn Will see our Sheba as she is On some September morn. Ah! speed that fair epiphany When Middle- Western eyes Will see those hidden beauty spots That now the East denies. CHANSON DE PUNG 71 Chanson de Pung Prate not to me of skate nor ski, Nor bob nor sleigh nor cutter; No western tongue nor bard has sung The word I love to utter. Now heed the call, Vermonters all, And sing it with a will. The old time ballad of the pung, The pung we used to fill. " Come hitch old Roxy to the pung, And let the wild bells jingle We'll skim the crust for twenty mile With every nerve a-tingle. "Up hill and down, by field and town, And how that critter races; At her best licks old Roxy kicks The snow balls in our faces." Thou good old pung, thy shafts are sprung, Thy runners rust, I trow. But still I praise those punging days That all Vermonters know. 72 TYPES OF PAN Noah, 19 19 If good old Noah were here to-day, He would not build in the olden way; He would not hammer and peg an ark ; He'd hie to the back yard after dark, And dig and delve in the cool dark ground A cellar an hundred cubits round. And when that cellar was delved and digged, The bins all laid and the tackle rigged, He 'd hoist to rest in the cool dark ground The critters he loved from the whole world round. He'd lower the demijohns, two by two. And the little fat kegs of Milwaukee brew. The squat black bottles with squirrel inside. The little pinch bottles from over the tide. The magnums marching in stately pairs. The flasks in couples with monkish airs, These and more like a chubby mole, Noah would stow in his cubby hole. Honest Noah! that good old man! What would he do when the drought began? Would he pity and let them in, Shem and Japhet and all his kin? NOAH, 1919 73 Could he, fresh from the flowing spout, Watch poor Ham when his tongue hung out? Well, I wager he'd pause and think Twice at least on the cellar's brink. "Durn their hides," he would likely say, "Why did they go for to vote that way? Going dry in the flood was pie To keeping wet when the world is dry." CAMBRIDGE . MASSACHUSETTS U . S . A if! L liifiiili " w'o 391 091 7 30