The Wit and Humor of America
Chapter 22 : While pondering on the frailty Of happiness, hope, and mirth, The ascending sun with de

While pondering on the frailty Of happiness, hope, and mirth, The ascending sun with derisive scoff Hurled its golden lances and smote me off From the bulge of the restless earth.

Through the yellowish dawn of velvet Where stars were so thickly strewn.

That quietly chuckled as I pa.s.sed through, I fell in the gardens of Grizzly-Gru, On the mad, mysterious moon.

I fell on the turquoise ether, Low down in the wondrous west, And thence to the moon in whose yielding blue Were hidden the gardens of Grizzly-Gru, In the Monarchy of Unrest.

And there were the fairy gardens, Where beautiful cherubs grew In daintiest way and on separate stalks, In the listed rows by the jasper walks, Near the palace of Grizzly-Gru.

While strolling around the garden I noticed the rows were full Of every conceivable size and type-- Some that were buds, and some nearly ripe, And some that were ready to pull.

In gauzy and white corolla, Was one who had eyes of blue, A little excuse of a baby nose, Little pink ears, and ten little toes, And a mouth that kept saying ah-goo.

Ah-gooing as I came near her, She raised up her arms in glee-- Her little fat arms--and she seemed to say, "I'm ready to go with you right away; Don't hunt any more--take me."

I picked her off quick and kissed her, And, hugging her to my breast, I heard a loud yelling that pierced me through, 'Twas His Terrible Eminence, Grizzly-Gru, Of the Monarchy of Unrest.

He had on a blood-red turban, A picturesque lot of clothes, With big moustaches both fierce and black, And a ghastly saber to cut and hack, And shoes that turned up at the toes.

Out of the gate of the garden The cherub and I took flight, And closely behind us the saber flew, And back of the saber came Grizzly-Gru, And he chased us all day till night.

I ran down the lunar crescent, 'And out on the silver horn; I kissed the baby and held her tight, And jumped down into the starry night, And--I lit on the earth at morn.

He fitfully threw his saber, It missed and went round the sun; He followed no further, he was not rash, But the baby held on to my coa.r.s.e moustache, And seemed to enjoy the fun.

In saving that blue-eyed baby From the gardens of Grizzly-Gru, I suffered a terrible shock and fright; But the doctor believes it will be all right, And he thinks he can pull me through.

JOHN HENRY IN A STREET CAR

BY HUGH McHUGH

Throw me in the cellar and batten down the hatches.

I'm a wreck in the key of G flat.

I side-stepped in among a bunch of language-heavers yesterday and ever since I've been sitting on the ragged edge with my feet hanging over.

I was on my way down to Wall Street to help J. Pierpont Morgan buy a couple of railroads and all the world seemed as blithe and gay as a love clinch from Laura Jean Libbey's latest.

When I climbed into the cable-car I felt like a man who had mailed money to himself the night before.

I was aces.

And then somebody blew out my gas.

At the next corner two society flash-lights flopped in and sat next to me.

They had a lot of words they wanted to use and they started in.

The car stopped and two more of the 400's leading ladies jumped the hurdles and came down the aisle.

They sat on the other side of me.

In a minute they began to bite the dictionary.

Their efforts aroused the energies of three women who sat opposite me, and _they_ proceeded to beat the English language black and blue.

In a minute the air was so full of talk that the grip germs had to pull out on the platform and chew the conductor.

The next one to me on my left started in:

"Oh, yes; we discharged our cook day before yesterday, but there's another coming this evening, and so--"

Her friend broke away and was up and back to the center with this:

"I was coming down Broadway this morning and I saw Julia Marlowe's leading man. I'm sure it was him, because I saw the show once in Chicago and he has the loveliest eyes I ever looked at!"

I knew that that was my cue to walk out, kick the motorman in the knuckles, upset the car and send in a fire call, but I pa.s.sed it up.

I just sat there and bit my nails like the heavy villain in one of Corse Payton's ten, twen, thir dramas.

That "loveliest eyes" speech had me groggy.

Whenever I hear a woman turn on that "loveliest eyes" gag about an actor I always feel that a swift slap from a wet dish-rag would look well on her back hair.

Then the bunch across the aisle got the flag.

"Well, you know," says the broad lady who paid for one seat and was compelled by Nature to use three, "you know there's only five in our family, and so I take just five slices of stale bread and have a bowl of water ready in which I've dropped a pinch of salt. Then I take a piece of b.u.t.ter about the size of a walnut, and thoroughly grease the bottom of a frying-pan; then beat five eggs to a froth, and--"

I'm hoping the conductor will come in and give us all a tip to take to the timber because the cops are going to pinch the room, but there's nothing doing.

One of the dames on my right finds her voice and pa.s.ses it around:--

"Oh, I think it's a perfect fright! I always did detest electric blue, anyway. It is so unbecoming, and then--"

I've just decided that this lady ought to make up as a Swede servant girl and play the part, when her friend hooks in:

"Oh, yes; I think it will look perfectly sweet! It is a foulard in one of those new heliotrope tints, made with a crepe de chine chemisette, with a second vest peeping out on either side of the front over an embroidered satin vest and cut in scallops on the edge, finished with a full ruche of white chiffon, and the sleeves are just too tight for any use, and the skirt is too long for any good, and I declare the lining is too sweet! and I just hate to wear it out on the street and get it soiled, and I was going to have it made with a tunic, and Mrs.

Wigwag--that's my brother-in-law's first cousin--she had her's made to wear with guimpes--and they are so economical! and--"

Think of a guy having to ride four miles and get his forehead fanned all the while with talk about foulard and crepe de chine and guimpes!

Wouldn't it lead you to a padded cell?

Say! I was down and out--no kidding!