THE SACRED ORDER OF ANCIENT TIMERS AND HOLY
RETROGRESSIONISTS, AND THEIR LUGUBRIOUS RITUAL.
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THE barkers were all true and immovable believers in the musty and
mouldy old doctrine that whatsoever was in the beginning ought to be
now and forever, world without end, amen. So they still held themselves
together as the Society for the Protection of the Almighty, as they had
found by past sad experience that he could not be trusted to take care
of himself.
And, oh! It was a solemn and sad society, that did nothing but weep
and mourn for the “Good Old Days” of the past, when dogs were all kept
with their noses heavenward (downward) by the wholesome administration
of Blue Thunderbolts. And they formed themselves into a solemn Order,
which they called the “Sacred Order of Ancient Timers and Holy
Retrogressionists.” And they had a sacred ritual of mourning and a
service of weeping, and ordinary, extraordinary and special days of
moaning, lamentation and bewailment, and prayer for the resurrection of
the dead past.
They met weekly in a damp and dead smelling catacomb, at the solemn
hour of midnight, and by the darkling light of smoky torches, stuck in
the eyeholes of skulls. In the center of the meeting place was a huge
crape-covered, black lachrymatory or weeping pot, around which they
gathered to moan, and into which they shed their tears.
To the north of the lachrymatory was stationed the Grand Lugubrious
Lachrymator, supported by the Worthy Right Hand and the Worthy Left
Hand Weepers; to the south was the Vice Grand Lugubrious Lachrymator,
supported by the Worthy Eyerag Wringer, and his assistant, the Assistant
Worthy Eyerag Wringer. To the east was the Past and Bygone Lugubrious
Lachrymator, and opposite him was the Worthy Grand Exalted Moaner, who
read the prayers.
And at the tap of a funeral bell, the Grand Lugubrious Lachrymator read
from the Solemn Ritual these words:
“Oh mourning brethren of the Eternal Tear Drop: It hath been appointed
unto us to bewail the good old days of Prostrate Piety and Blue
Thunderbolts; when the glory of Simple Faith was as the sun in
mid-heaven; when Reason—wicked Faith-upsetting Reason—was in chains;
when our ever glorious Almighty Vengeance and beloved Hell reigned
supreme, and blaspheming questioners were stricken dead; when dogs
everywhere piously and in the fear of God, gave up their blood to their
lawful and divinely appointed suckers, the fleas.
“These times are temporarily past; but our holy traditions, and
the promises made by our Almighty Vengeance—who for some great,
unfathomably wise and mysterious purpose, has suffered himself to be
cast into the shade for a time—tell us that the ancient glory shall
be re-established, the temporarily overthrown throne of our darksome
God shall be again set up, and to him again shall the nose of every dog
be held down in the dirt; the blasphemers and up-looking dogs shall
perish out of the land, the Blue Thunderbolts shall be refurbished and
shine with a latter-day glory, that shall be to the former glory as the
midday sun is to the midnight star. How saith the Vice Grand Lugubrious
Lachrymator?”
And the Vice Grand Lugubrious Lachrymator from _his_ book of the Ritual
read:
“Yea, Verily; and let all Ancient Timers and Holy Retrogressionists of
the pure and genuine musty and mouldy odor, say Amen.”
At which all the assembly lifted up their noses and groaned “Amen.”
Then said the Grand Lugubrious Lachrymator: “The Worthy Grand Exalted
Moaner will now put up the Solemn Wail. Let all bow the head.”
And all the Order bowed their heads while the Worthy Grand Exalted
Moaner, from _his_ book of the Ritual, recited:
“Oh, Almighty Vengeance, Fiction Eternal: Why art thou hidden from us?
Why have we lost thee? Why hast thou suffered the clouds of unbelief to
encompass thee? Why hast thou suffered the extinguisher of raillery to
snuff thee out, so to speak? Oh, grief be unto us that adversity hath
overtaken thee, and the blasphemer and the pesky sinful dog are on top!
Oh, we did prosper by thee. Thou wast our daily bread. We had invested
in thee. When thou wast the All-Powerful Terror, then were we in power;
then were we held in awe and reverence, and many basketfuls of meat and
a lazy life were ours. But, oh, Ichabod, the glory is departed and our
house is left unto us desolate. Mirth and gladness are fled away from
us; our meat is diminished, and our comfortable lazy life is turned into
a daily hustle, and none but fools and simpletons esteem us reverend.
“Oh glorious Past! Oh departed Power, Greatness and Glory, come again
from the dead to us. Oh, time of blessed dog ignorance, come, oh, come
back again. Oh, shadow on the dial of time, turn back; oh, wheel of
progress, revolve the hindward way. Oh, Almighty Fiction, if thou canst,
re-establish thyself; set up thy discarded Hell again, and cause it to
be respected. Blight and blast Thought, Reason, Progress and all other
modern and wicked things, and cause thyself and us once more to prosper.
Meanwhile we wait and weep and wail, and wail and weep and wait for
thee, Amen.”
The Solemn Wail having been recited, all the Order, as the last act of
the service, gathered around the lachrymatory, and shed therein all the
tears of their sorrow, and when it was full to overflowing, they poured
it out on the altar as a libation to their horrible God.
After which sad rite the service was adjourned, and the celebrants, in
silence, filed home one by one.
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