Pipes O'Pan At Zekesbury Part 19

Wandering ever with tireless feet Through scenes of silence, and jubilee Of long-hushed voices; and faces sweet Were thronging the shadowy side of the street As far as the eye could see; Dreaming again, in antic.i.p.ation, The same old dreams of our boyhood's days That never come true, from the vague sensation Of walking asleep in the world's strange ways.

Away to the house where I was born!

And there was the selfsame clock that ticked From the close of dusk to the burst of morn, When life-warm hands plucked the golden corn And helped when the apples were picked.

And the "chany-dog" on the mantel-shelf, With the gilded collar and yellow eyes, Looked just as at first, when I hugged myself Sound asleep with the dear surprise.

And down to the swing in the locust tree, Where the gra.s.s was worn from the trampled ground, And where "Eck" Skinner, "Old" Carr, and three Or four such other boys used to be Doin' "sky-sc.r.a.pers," or "whirlin' round:"

And again Bob climbed for the bluebird's nest, And again "had shows" in the buggy-shed Of Guymon's barn, where still, unguessed, The old ghosts romp through the best days dead!

And again I gazed from the old school-room With a wistful look of a long June day, When on my cheek was the hectic bloom Caught of Mischief, as I presume-- He had such a "partial" way, It seemed, toward me.--And again I thought Of a probable likelihood to be Kept in after school--for a girl was caught Catching a note from me.

And down through the woods to the swimming-hole-- Where the big, white, hollow, old sycamore grows,-- And we never cared when the water was cold, And always "ducked" the boy that told On the fellow that tied the clothes.-- When life went so like a dreamy rhyme, That it seems to me now that then The world was having a jollier time Than it ever will have again.

The crude production is received, I am glad to note, with some 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 ill.u.s.trations. 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 c.r.a.pe.

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 s.n.a.t.c.hed 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 c.o.o.n 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 Jacka.s.s 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 Racc.o.o.n, 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 a.s.serts. 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!