A PROUD Pasha was BAILEY BEN,
His wives were three, his tails were ten;
His form was dignified, but stout,
Men called him “Little Roundabout.”
_His Importance_
Pale Pilgrims came from o’er the sea
To wait on PASHA BAILEY B.,
All bearing presents in a crowd,
For B. was poor as well as proud.
_His Presents_
They brought him onions strung on ropes,
And cold boiled beef, and telescopes,
And balls of string, and shrimps, and guns,
And chops, and tacks, and hats, and buns.
_More of them_
They brought him white kid gloves, and pails,
And candlesticks, and potted quails,
And capstan-bars, and scales and weights,
And ornaments for empty grates.
_Why I mention these_
My tale is not of these—oh no!
I only mention them to show
The divers gifts that divers men
Brought o’er the sea to BAILEY BEN.
_His Confidant_
A confidant had BAILEY B.,
A gay Mongolian dog was he;
I am not good at Turkish names,
And so I call him SIMPLE JAMES.
_His Confidant’s Countenance_
A dreadful legend you might trace
In SIMPLE JAMES’S honest face,
For there you read, in Nature’s print,
“A Scoundrel of the Deepest Tint.”
_His Character_
A deed of blood, or fire, or flames,
Was meat and drink to SIMPLE JAMES:
To hide his guilt he did not plan,
But owned himself a bad young man.
_The Author to his Reader_
And why on earth good BAILEY BEN
(The wisest, noblest, best of men)
Made SIMPLE JAMES his right-hand man
Is quite beyond my mental span.
_The same_, _continued_
But there—enough of gruesome deeds!
My heart, in thinking of them, bleeds;
And so let SIMPLE JAMES take wing,—
’Tis not of him I’m going to sing.
_The Pasha’s Clerk_
Good PASHA BAILEY kept a clerk
(For BAILEY only made his mark),
His name was MATTHEW WYCOMBE COO,
A man of nearly forty-two.
_His Accomplishments_
No person that I ever knew
Could “yödel” half as well as COO,
And Highlanders exclaimed, “Eh, weel!”
When COO began to dance a reel.
_His Kindness to the Pasha’s Wives_
He used to dance and sing and play
In such an unaffected way,
He cheered the unexciting lives
Of PASHA BAILEY’S lovely wives.
_The Author to his Reader_
But why should I encumber you
With histories of MATTHEW COO?
Let MATTHEW COO at once take wing,—
’Tis not of COO I’m going to sing.
_The Author’s Muse_
Let me recall my wandering Muse;
She _shall_ be steady if I choose—
She roves, instead of helping me
To tell the deeds of BAILEY B.
_The Pasha’s Visitor_
One morning knocked, at half-past eight,
A tall Red Indian at his gate.
In Turkey, as you’re p’raps aware,
Red Indians are extremely rare.
_The Visitor’s Outfit_
Mocassins decked his graceful legs,
His eyes were black, and round as eggs,
And on his neck, instead of beads,
Hung several Catawampous seeds.
_What the Visitor said_
“Ho, ho!” he said, “thou pale-faced one,
Poor offspring of an Eastern sun,
You’ve _never_ seen the Red Man skip
Upon the banks of Mississip!”
_The Author’s Moderation_
To say that BAILEY oped his eyes
Would feebly paint his great surprise—
To say it almost made him die
Would be to paint it much too high.
_The Author to his Reader_
But why should I ransack my head
To tell you all that Indian said;
We’ll let the Indian man take wing,—
’Tis not of him I’m going to sing.
_The Reader to the Author_
Come, come, I say, that’s quite enough
Of this absurd disjointed stuff;
Now let’s get on to that affair
About LIEUTENANT-COLONEL FLARE.