In short, if the truth must be displayed In puris—Beauty wasn’t a maid. Beauty, furry and fine and fat, Yawny and clawy, sleek and all that, Was a pampered and spoiled Angora cat!
I loved her well, and I’m proud that she Wasn’t indifferent, quite, to me; In fact I have sometimes gone so far (You know, mesdames, how silly men are) As to think she preferred—excuse the conceit— My legs upon which to sharpen her feet. Perhaps it shouldn’t have gone for much, But I started and thrilled beneath her touch!
Ah, well, that’s ancient history
now:
The fingers of Time have touched my brow,
And I hear with never a start to-day
That Beauty has passed from the earth
away.
Gone!—her death-song (it killed
her) sung.
Gone!—her fiddlestrings all
unstrung.
Gone to the bliss of a new regime
Of turkey smothered in seas of cream;
Of roasted mice (a superior breed,
To science unknown and the coarser need
Of the living cat) cooked by the flame
Of the dainty soul of an erring dame
Who gave to purity all her care,
Neglecting the duty of daily prayer,—
Crisp, delicate mice, just touched with
spice
By the ghost of a breeze from Paradise;
A very digestible sort of mice.
Let scoffers sneer, I propose to hold
That Beauty has mounted the Stair of Gold,
To eat and eat, forever and aye,
On a velvet rug from a golden tray.
But the human spirit—that is
my creed—
Rots in the ground like a barren seed.
That is my creed, abhorred by Man
But approved by Cat since time began.
Till Death shall kick at me, thundering
“Scat!”
I shall hold to that, I shall hold to
that.
THE STATESMEN.
How blest the land that counts among
Her sons so many good and
wise,
To execute great feats of tongue
When troubles rise.
Behold them mounting every stump
Our liberty by speech to guard.
Observe their courage:—see
them jump
And come down hard!
“Walk up, walk up!” each cries
aloud,
“And learn from me what
you must do
To turn aside the thunder cloud,
The earthquake too.
“Beware the wiles of yonder quack
Who stuffs the ears of all
that pass.
I—I alone can show that black
Is white as grass.”
They shout through all the day and break
The silence of the night as
well.
They’d make—I wish they’d
go and make—
Of Heaven a Hell.
A advocates free silver, B
Free trade and C free banking
laws.
Free board, clothes, lodging would from
me
Win warm applause.
Lo, D lifts up his voice: “You
see
The single tax on land would
fall
On all alike.” More evenly
No tax at all.
“With paper money” bellows
E
“We’ll all be
rich as lords.” No doubt—
And richest of the lot will be
The chap without.