expressions of favor from the company, though Bob, of course, must
heartlessly dissipate my weak delight by saying, "Well, it's certainly
bad enough; though," he goes on with an air of deepest critical
sagacity and fairness, "considered, as it should be, justly, as the
production of a jour-poet, why, it might be worse--that is, a little
worse."
"Probably," I remember saying,--"Probably I might redeem myself by
reading you this little amateurish bit of verse, enclosed to me in a
letter by mistake, not very long ago." I here fish an envelope from my
pocket the address of which all recognize as in Bob's almost printed
writing. He smiles vacantly at it--then vividly colors.
"What date?" he stoically asks.
"The date," I suggestively answer, "of your last letter to our dear
Doc, at Boarding-School, two days exactly in advance of her coming
home--this veritable visit now."
Both Bob and Doc rush at me--but too late. The letter and contents
have wholly vanished. The youngest Miss Mills quiets us--urgently
distracting us, in fact, by calling our attention to the immediate
completion of our joint production; "For now," she says, "with our new
reinforcement, we can, with becoming diligence, soon have it ready for
both printer and engraver, and then we'll wake up the boy (who has
been fortunately slumbering for the last quarter of an hour), and
present to him, as designed and intended, this matchless creation of
our united intellects." At the conclusion of this speech we all go
good-humoredly to work, and at the close of half an hour the tedious,
but most ridiculous, task is announced completed.
As I arrange and place in proper form here on the table the separate
cards--twenty-seven in number--I sigh to think that I am unable to
transcribe for you the best part of the nonsensical work--the
illustrations. All I can give is the written copy of--
BILLY'S ALPHABETICAL ANIMAL SHOW.
A was an elegant Ape
Who tied up his ears with red tape,
And wore a long veil
Half revealing his tail
Which was trimmed with jet bugles and crape.
B was a boastful old Bear
Who used to say,--"Hoomh! I declare
I can eat--if you'll get me
The children, and let me--
Ten babies, teeth, toenails and hair!"
C was a Codfish who sighed
When snatched from the home of his pride,
But could he, embrined,
Guess this fragrance behind,
How glad he would be that he died!
D was a dandified Dog
Who said,--"Though it's raining like fog
I wear no umbrellah,
Me boy, for a fellah
Might just as well travel incog!"
E was an elderly Eel
Who would say,--"Well, I really feel--
As my grandchildren wriggle
And shout 'I should giggle'--
A trifle run down at the heel!"
F was a Fowl who conceded
_Some_ hens might hatch more eggs than _she_ did,--
But she'd children as plenty
As eighteen or twenty,
And that was quite all that she needed.
G was a gluttonous Goat
Who, dining one day, _table-d'hote,_
Ordered soup-bone, _au fait_,
And fish, _papier-mache_,
And a _filet_ of Spring overcoat.
H was a high-cultured Hound
Who could clear forty feet at a bound,
And a coon once averred
That his howl could be heard
For five miles and three-quarters around.
I was an Ibex ambitious
To dive over chasms auspicious;
He would leap down a peak
And not light for a week,
And swear that the jump was delicious.
J was a Jackass who said
He had such a bad cold in his head,
If it wasn't for leaving
The rest of us grieving,
He'd really rather be dead.
K was a profligate Kite
Who would haunt the saloons every night;
And often he ust
To reel back to his roost
Too full to set up on it right.
L was a wary old Lynx
Who would say,--"Do you know wot I thinks?--
I thinks ef you happen
To ketch me a-nappin'
I'm ready to set up the drinks!"
M was a merry old Mole,
Who would snooze all the day in his hole,
Then--all night, a-rootin'
Around and galootin'--
He'd sing "Johnny, Fill up the Bowl!"
N was a caustical Nautilus
Who sneered, "I suppose, when they've _caught_ all us,
Like oysters they'll serve us,
And can us, preserve us,
And barrel, and pickle, and bottle us!"
O was an autocrat Owl--
Such a wise--such a wonderful fowl!
Why, for all the night through
He would hoot and hoo-hoo,
And hoot and hoo-hooter and howl!
P was a Pelican pet,
Who gobbled up all he could get;
He could eat on until
He was full to the bill,
And there he had lodgings to let!
Q was a querulous Quail,
Who said: "It will little avail
The efforts of those
Of my foes who propose
To attempt to put salt on my tail!"
R was a ring-tailed Raccoon,
With eyes of the tinge of the moon,
And his nose a blue-black,
And the fur on his back
A sad sort of sallow maroon.
S is a Sculpin--you'll wish
Very much to have one on your dish,
Since all his bones grow
On the outside, and so
He's a very desirable fish.
T was a Turtle, of wealth,
Who went round with particular stealth,--
"Why," said he, "I'm afraid
Of being waylaid
When I even walk out for my health!"
U was a Unicorn curious,
With one horn, of a growth so _luxurious_,
He could level and stab it--
If you didn't grab it--
Clean through you, he was so blamed furious!
V was a vagabond Vulture
Who said: "I don't want to insult yer,
But when you intrude
Where in lone solitude
I'm a-preyin', you're no man o' culture!"
W was a wild _Wood_chuck,
And you can just bet that he _could_ "chuck"
He'd eat raw potatoes,
Green corn, and tomatoes,
And tree roots, and call it all "_good_ chuck!"
X was a kind of X-cuse
Of a some-sort-o'-thing that got loose
Before we could name it,
And cage it, and tame it,
And bring it in general use.
Y is the Yellowbird,--bright
As a petrified lump of star-light,
Or a handful of lightning-
Bugs, squeezed in the tight'ning
Pink fist of a boy, at night.
Z is the Zebra, of course!--
A kind of a clown-of-a-horse,--
Each other despising,
Yet neither devising
A way to obtain a divorce!
& here is the famous--what-is-it?
Walk up, Master Billy, and quiz it:
You've seen the _rest_ of 'em--
Ain't this the _best_ of 'em,
Right at the end of your visit?
At last Billy is sent off to bed. It is the prudent mandate of the old
folks: But so lothfully the poor child goes, Bob's heart goes,
too.--Yes, Bob himself, to keep the little fellow company awhile, and,
up there under the old rafters, in the pleasant gloom, lull him to
famous dreams with fairy tales. And it is during this brief absence
that the youngest Mills girl gives us a surprise. She will read a
poem, she says, written by a very dear friend of hers who, fortunately
for us, is not present to prevent her. We guard door and window as she
reads. Doc says she will not listen; but she does listen, and cries,
too--out of pure vexation, she asserts. The rest of us, however, cry
just because of the apparent honesty of the poem of--
BEAUTIFUL HANDS.
O your hands--they are strangely fair!
Fair--for the jewels that sparkle there,--
Fair--for the witchery of the spell
That ivory keys alone can tell;
But when their delicate touches rest
Here in my own do I love them best,
As I clasp with eager acquisitive spans
My glorious treasure of beautiful hands!
Marvelous--wonderful--beautiful hands!
They can coax roses to bloom in the strands
Of your brown tresses; and ribbons will twine,
Under mysterious touches of thine,
Into such knots as entangle the soul,
And fetter the heart under such a control
As only the strength of my love understands--
My passionate love for your beautiful hands.
As I remember the first fair touch
Of those beautiful hands that I love so much,
I seem to thrill as I then was thrilled,
Kissing the glove that I found unfilled--
When I met your gaze, and the queenly bow,
As you said to me, laughingly, "Keep it now!"
And dazed and alone in a dream I stand
Kissing this ghost of your beautiful hand.
When first I loved, in the long ago,
And held your hand as I told you so--
Pressed and caressed it and gave it a kiss,
And said "I could die fora hand like this!"
Little I dreamed love's fulness yet
Had to ripen when eyes were wet,
And prayers were vain in their wild demands
For one warm touch of your beautiful hands.
Beautiful Hands! O Beautiful Hands!
Could you reach out of the alien lands
Where you are lingering, and give me, to-night,
Only a touch--were it ever so light--
My heart were soothed, and my weary brain
Would lull itself into rest again;
For there is no solace the world commands
Like the caress of your beautiful hands.
* * * * *
Violently winking at the mist that blurs my sight, I regretfully
awaken to the here and now. And is it possible, I sorrowfully muse,
that all this glory can have fled away?--that more than twenty long,
long years are spread between me and that happy night? And is it
possible that all the dear old faces--O, quit it! quit it! Gather the
old scraps up and wad 'em back into oblivion, where they belong!
Yes, but be calm--be calm! Think of cheerful things. You are not all
alone. _Billy_'s living yet.
I know--and six feet high--and sag-shouldered--and owns a tin and
stove-store, and can't hear thunder! _Billy!_
And the youngest Mills girl--she's alive, too.
S'pose I don't know that? I married her!
And Doc.--
_Bob_ married her. Been in California for more than fifteen years--on
some blasted cattle-ranch, or something,--and he's worth a half a
million! And am I less prosperous with this gilded roll?
End of Project Gutenberg's Pipes O'Pan at Zekesbury, by James Whitcomb Riley