Part 2
“Oh,” said the girl, “where did you spring from? Did you call at the house? I left word for you that I had to go out for an hour. What makes you look so cross? Wouldn’t you wait for me an hour?”
The Philosopher answered this array of questions as best he could. “I am not cross. I was just thinking. Certainly I would wait for you an hour, if it was necessary.”
“Well, don’t think, if you have to look cross,” said the girl. “I’m so glad you caught us. Miss Gip here called for me to go with her to meet Mr. Rip on the Golf Links. He has his camera with him and is going to take us, and besides I want you to meet Mr. Rip; he is such a nice fellow.”
“Why did you not look to see if I was coming?” the Philosopher blurted out. He wanted to come to a decision on the facts.
“Now, you’re thinking again, I see by your face,” said the girl. “I want you to be gay and not always looking for something to grumble about. I don’t remember whether I looked or not.”
The Philosopher came to a decision.
When the Golf Links were reached Mr. Rip was soon discovered--a young man with rush of words to the mouth,--who grated on the nerves of the Philosopher, who knew in a minute that he and Rip could not both be “such a nice fellow,” which was rather vain of the Philosopher.
On the way home the Philosopher concluded that to marry the girl was no fair match; he was a heavy-weight and she was a feather-weight, no doubt; but no amount of training could train her up to his weight, or him down to her’s.
So the girl married Rip and made him happy, instead of marrying the Philosopher and making him unhappy. You must either be blind to a girl’s failings, or, knowing them, love them as part of the girl.
A little reason would prevent a lot of people from voting marriage a failure.
[Illustration]
SONG OF THE SERVICE
I sing of the Service fast going to pot, And it seems no one cares a tittle or jot, Now, any jackass, when not eating grass, Can bray regulations and have them to pass. It looks much as if we were surely between A reformatory school and a place not so cool; And we look like fat little boys of fifteen Who had played in the dirt And when whipt had been pert, And so had to go without our dessert.
We must sign every time we _come out_ or _go in_, And all our small faults are writ down as a sin. In a manner to gall him, each is put in a column Arranged to exhibit him naked and solemn. Some day soon we expect to all carry passes, And each Monday morn, at sound of a horn, We’ll line up for a dose of sulphuretted molasses, And get a badge of red tape To show any old ape Our insides are in shape!
THE LAY OF THE CIVIL SERVANT
I am the very model of a modern Civil Servant,-- My ambition for the strenuous life’s _particularly_ fervent. I know a host of pleasant facts and many a pleasing fiction, Among which last I may include, a member’s “firm conviction.” I know the day and month of every statutory feast,-- But why these days are “Holy Days,” it matters not the least. I know the Civil Service List and everybody’s pay And why they came, why they’re here, and their likely length of stay; I can see a hole in a ladder and know a Pull when I feel it, And the modus operandi of getting a thing without having to steal it. I know the Civil Service Act and how it’s circumvented Who is who in Parliament, what’s real and what pretended. I know about Elipse of Stress and why a bridge breaks down And all about the vested rights and the powers of the Crown. I know when to work moderato and when fortissimo, What’s the diff. between in and out, in fact I’m in the know; I know about contractors and their peculiar ways, How honestly they always act, especially when it pays. I’m very well acquainted, too, with social etiquette, Have shook Gov.-General’s hands and Ministers have met. And yet with all my knowing it grieves me much to say That as yet I’ve not discovered how to get a raise in pay. I have a ready flow of words, which passes for profundity, But really a few scattered wits, are all that fills, my head’s rotundity.
[Illustration]
The dead level is the devil.
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You need great ballast in your mind to spread a vast canvas of vanity to the wind.
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A brave man may run from danger, a coward fight, a fool do wisdom, and a wise man folly; so consider a reputation, but count it not too high.
DE ROMANCE OF POMPIER NOMBRE TREE
Long tam ago, when I’m de young feller, I’m work on de Fire Stashun. I’m pompier on Depôt Nombre Tree on de Faubourg Quebec. I’m strong lak a beef dose tam, and doant afraid of notting.
Well, perhaps I have fear for wan ting; yes, fer sure, I have much afraid of de ole notaire Leblanc, not fer de raison dat he is more strong as me,--no ba gosh, I’m ver sure I’m give it wan ponch she’s die right away,--but I’m fear fer de raison dat she is de fadder of ma belle petite Antoinette.
Ver well, I recollec wat Antoinette lok lak on dat tam. Bagosh I nevare see de beauty wan lak it. Fer sure she is de bess wan I doan’t care; juce lak wot you call hangel.
Dats twenty year ago. Now she is big as two hunner pound and he have de gray hairs on its head; but she’s de good wan fer me an I can recommember ver well when she is de little ting, belle comme une ange an can mek de dance lak fairy girl.
I’m ver fond of dat little Antoinette fer sure, but de ole man Leblanc she’s not lak me ver much. I’m only Pompier on Nombre Tree: an when one tam she’s see me kiss it several tam de little Antoinette on de passage she’s get so mad lak a bull, an trow me off on de house an tell me go pass on de street an doan’t come back some more. An Antoinette she’s cry lak baby.
Fer sure dats de bad affaire fer me.
I’m ver mad fer de ole man Leblanc, an I’m go on lovin dat little Antoinette juce lak crazy mans. I can’t eat, I can’t slip, I can’t do notting fer tink about dat little Antoinette.
After dat of course I see some tam de little Antoinette, on de sly, an de more I’m see de more I’m crazy; an I tink she’s lak me purty well too.
One time I speak fer mek de ronne away marriage, but she doan’t lek fer do dat; she have only seventeen year an me I have twenty year.
But by me by I have de gran eeday fer finish up de hole affaire. I’m work on de hook an ladder dat tam. I mek de bargaine wit de little Antoinette fer little fire on its house so I can save its life juce fer fun. Ba gosh I’m de most foolishness young feller on the whole Faubourg Quebec, but de poor little Antoinette she doan’t fine dat foolish. She tink dat’s de grande eeday an ver romantique.
Well, I fix hup de hole affaire an de night an de hour arrive fer de fire on de house of de old Notaire Leblanc. Fer sure I’m ver excite dat night. De hour come. Ten o’clocks.
I’m walkin up an down an walkin up an down an look de gong, and expec effery minute she’s goin fer ring, gong! gong!! No ba gosh she doan’t ring anny.
Five minute, ten minute, fifteen minute ronne away on de clock an den I get ver quiet, ver tranquil, fer I tink someting have arreeve so she can’t mek de fire.
Twenty minute pass, twenty-fy minute pass, haff pass ten an den, Oh mon Dieu wot’s dat? De gong!! she’s sound bang! Dong! Dong, Dong, Dong, Dong. Dat’s de nombre. Sapristi! I tink my hart’s goin fur burss wide open.
I’m excite, I’m excite. Hurrah! hurrah!! de hors come out, de door fly opeen, so slow, so slow. I nevare see de like before. I yell lak tiger on de driver, “Lick de hors Alphonse, lick de horse.” I’m hole on de side de hook an ladder an yell, an yell, an yell like hell. I tink we nevare get dere, an, Saint Esprit! when we do get dere I wish we have never get dere. Wot do I see? Mon Dieu! de hole house of de ole Notaire Leblanc en feu, de flame high on de sky, de smoke so much you can see notting; de crowd tick like fly, an yell, an yell.
Wot has arreeve dat night I can’t tell; only wan ting, wan ting, juce de wan ting dats mek me mad, mek me crazy, mek me tiger, mek me devil.
Wot I’m care fer de house Leblanc? All I can hear is dat de poor little Antoinette he is in de house. I rosh on de house, I doan’t hear some ting, I doan’t see some ting, I doan’t feel some ting. Wot I’m do I nevare can tell. I know only dat I fine de little Antoinette, my Antoinette, perhaps ded an hang out de window on de top storee an no way fer pass back de way I come. But de boys on de hook an ladder, dey doan’t wait long; de ladder she’s dere so close I can touch wid one han.
I’m strong lak a beef dose tam, but when I tek de little Antoinette on one harm an reach fer de ladder, hot lak a furnace, an swing masef an de little Antoinette out de window I know den I’m strong, strong lak twenty plow hors.
An den I know notting fer tree day, an when I’m ope de eye I’m in de osspital an cover all over wit bandage; an de firs ting I see is de little Antoinette sit dere on side ma bed an look me wid wet on his eye--
Oh, bagosh!! I tell you dis little histoire, but you bet my life de ole man Leblanc when he’s die she doan’t know yet why his house took on fire. De fire fer joke is fer sure no joke, an de old man Leblanc she doan’t like joke annyway.
[Illustration]
Buy not futures, whether of this world or the next.
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Being a square plug, if thou findest thyself in a round hole, alter the hole.
THE CIVIL SERVICE BERNARDO
The Civil Servant bowed his head And keeping down his ire, He begged and prayed the minister To make his salary higher. “The winter’s coming on,” he said, “And everything’s so dear I can’t afford to eat,” he said; “And keep warm, too, that’s clear.”
“Rise! Rise! Even now a bill is drawn Which will take care of you; Even while we speak of it It may have been passed through.” Then lightly rose that trustful clerk, His face no longer sad, And hied him to the House to see, The bill to make him glad.
When lo! the bill being duly read And well conned o’er and o’er, The Civil Servant couldn’t see Where he got any more. He pondered o’er it line by line And scanned it clause by clause, But he’d be blowed if he could see For gladness any cause.
Then straightway to the minister The Civil Servant went; He knocked upon the green baise door And in his card he sent. And, when he saw the minister, He nailed him with a look, And put the bill before his face And talked just like a book.
“What farce of bill is this?” he cried, “All framed with base intent; You know full well, as well as I, It don’t give me a cent.” “Why, really,” said the minister, “It does appear quite so; “But we can make another bill “Quite easily, you know.”
And so another bill was made Just in the same old way-- That is, with plenty words, The clerk got very little pay. But still he had the honour left Of working for the King, Which although it doesn’t pay, Is a genteel kind of thing.
The minister was not to blame, He did not give it thought-- Fact is, he didn’t know as much About the matter as he ought. Whatever he set out to do Was sure to do by guess, Because of C. S. he knew little, And cared a little less.
The minister was not alone In his ignorance dark as night; All the members of the House Were just in the same plight. You know, dear reader, that the House Has many things to Do; And it cannot think of them And the Civil Service, too.
[Illustration]
Trust not the man who is honest because he fears hell.
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Be ready and willing to modify thy ideas as years are added to thee.
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The Game is not the acquirement of wealth, honour, power, position, or glory, for in no one of these things is happiness inherent. A little of each goeth a long way.
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Pleasure is a mere word and meaneth one thing to one and another to another, he that dissecteth a worm or pinneth a bug on a cork hath pleasure therein, but who shall say which hath the more pleasure, the bug hunter or he that chaseth after ambition.
PARABLE OF THREE HAS-BEENS
Two old widows and an old maid, who had existed much longer than was necessary for the comfort and well being of the community wherein they dwelt, sat beside a comfortable grate fire furnished by Life Insurance, drinking tea, eating muffins and discussing Man.
A young married woman was also present but she did not count.
“I met that odious Mr. Blank down town to-day,” said Mrs. Gabb, the widow who was providing the good cheer, “and do you know he stares every woman he sees out of countenance.”
“My dear,” said Blabb, the other widow, “Blank is just like all the men; everyone knows him, but his poor wife.”
“Oh, my gracious goodness,” exclaimed the ancient maid, whose name was Slabb, “is Mr. Blank such a dreadful man? What did HE do?” And she hoped that poor Blank had done something dreadful and wicked so that she could hear about it.
“He hasn’t done anything that I can hear about,” said Gabb, “but that does not make him any better. The way he looks is enough for me. I know him; I know him; he is a very fast man.”
“Mr. Blank seems a very nice man to me,” ventured the young married woman meekly.
“That’s it, my dear,” said Gabb; “of course he seems nice, lots of them seem nice, but you are young; wait till you are as old as we are and you will discover that a man is not to be trusted because he SEEMS nice.”
“Well, I am sure,” said the newly married woman, “I can trust my Willie. He tells me everything and is the most truthful man I ever knew.”
The Three Has Beens smiled in unison.
“I thought as you do,” said Blabb. “Mr. Blabb was a very fine man in many ways, but he certainly could put Annanias and Sapphira in the cool shade when he found it expedient; and he was an awful man. You see they always commence by getting up a reputation for veracity, so they can tell you anything.”
“Although I have never been married, thank the Lord, I must say I have seen enough of men to know that they are dreadfully untruthful,” said Slabb, and she shivered in a way to suggest that the very idea of a man gave her a cold chill, while everyone knew that her single state was no fault of hers and she would give her eyes to call anything in the shape of a man MINE.
The young married woman went home thoughtful, the poison working in her mind. She wept a little and wondered how much truth there was in that she had heard, and if Willie was really what he seemed.
Blessed are the pure in heart.
9 TO 5
Nine to five for a starter to show the new Commish, That they are doing something and to carry out some crank’s wish.
Nine to five for the worker; nine to five for the sot; Stay at your desk and wait for the hour, whether there’s work or not.
Nine to five is good odds! Let us make them true, We can, if, at election time, we all know what to do.
The drunkard holds his job, the drones stay in the hive, And all is as rotten as ever, but the hours are nine to five!
The fool sits in high office; the bully continues to drive, The grafter gets his “rake off”, but--the hours are nine to five.
What to us of the hulks, if the summer do arrive, With all its promise of outings?--the hours are nine to five.
What tho’ the patient plod, the energetic strive, Your task is never done, the hours are nine to five.
The loafer will persist to loaf, no benefit derive, He’ll show how little he can do from nine to five.
Here’s to the brilliant one, whose brain made him arrive And conclude that reform in the service commenced with “Nine to Five!”
May the item he calls his soul, and the stick he calls his spine, Ache with toil and sweat with hours from FIVE TO NINE.
[Illustration]
There is only one person in the world that you can successfully humbug--yourself.
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No one can show thee the way that leadeth to thy happiness, but wisdom may save thee much discomfort.
CIRCUMSTANCES
A certain merchant who had risen from zero to four or five hundred thousand, was filled with the idea that he was self-made.
The idea increased until he was not only filled with it, but he overflowed so that he lost no opportunity to put his thumb in the arm-hole of his vest, throw out his chest and tell people how much patience, perseverance, energy and will power he had exerted to make himself.
He took much pleasure in smiling superior smiles at the young, striving and unsuccessful, and in relating how, unaided he had risen from an undershirt and trousers to a dress suit at dinner.
One evening the merchant was lounging in his library, smoking his perfecto and composing peans of praise to himself, when he became aware of the presence of an entity which stood before him regarding him with an amused expression of countenance.
“Who are you?” said the merchant.
“I am Circumstances; I alter cases,” said the Entity.
“Oh, indeed,” said the merchant, “do you want to see me?”
“I am forced to take cognizance of you,” replied the Entity.
“Well, but what can I do for you? What is your business with me?” asked the merchant.
“You can do nothing for me,” replied the Entity; “but I can do much for you and have done much.”
“You must be making a mistake,” said the merchant. “You are in the wrong house. I never had any cases altered and I don’t need any altered now. Go away, please, I do not know you.”
“Yet I made you,” said the Entity.
“Pooh! pooh! nonsense,” said the merchant, “you must be a stranger hereabouts; everyone knows I am a self-made man.”
“A self-made fool,” said the Entity, “your memory is short and your vanity great. Do you remember the strike that took place when you were in the undershirt and trousers period of your life?”
“Yes,” slowly replied the merchant, a little flurried to hear a stranger go back so far into his history.
“Well I made that strike case, and only for that case you would have starved to death. You became a scab workman by taking advantage of me.”
“Really,” said the merchant.
“Now,” continued the Entity, “you remember your quick promotion; how you rose to be foreman?”
“Yes,” quickly interrupted the merchant, “but you know that I was eminently fit for the position.”
“Of course you were fit,” answered the Entity, “but ’twas I who made you fit and I made the case. What good would your fitness have been without the case?”
“Well, but my dear fellow,” commenced the merchant.
“Don’t ‘well but,’ and ‘dear fellow’ me,” interrupted the Entity, “the war that laid the foundation of your fortunes was my doing. You must admit that I made you or I am done with you.”
“I will not admit anything of the kind,” hotly replied the merchant.
Immediately the Entity became invisible. His sudden disappearance rather shook the self-confidence of the merchant, but a few hundred thousand makes a man very brave and assertive.
The merchant thought no more of his experience till he went to his office and discovered that his trusted manager had eloped with his daughter after having used up various negotiable securities. Then something seemed to tell the merchant that Circumstances had to be taken into consideration. And more lessons were forthcoming, for Circumstances altered so many cases that the merchant did not expect to be altered that he was finally reduced to his undershirt and trousers again. The front door of the merchant’s house banged furiously and the merchant awoke to the fact that he had been dozing on the lounge of his own comfortable library with the cat asleep on his chest.
He patted and stroked the cat kindly and thought a few thoughts that did him a great deal of good.
When the merchant’s cat had kittens, the one that was not drowned was christened Circumstance.
[Illustration]
It is an honest church that pays taxes.
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The poorest reason for being straight is fear of being crooked.
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We go into Society to rid ourselves of the dull monotony of an empty head.
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Say not in thy ignorance, “If I had wealth I would do so or thus,” for no man knoweth himself sufficiently to foretell his actions under circumstances he hath not experienced.
THE EVOLUTION OF ALEXANDER
A certain man owned the name of Mike. While very young he had been brought from Mikeland, with a lot of other little Mikelanders, by a kind lady who made a very handsome living in a genteel kind of slave trade.
Immediately upon his arrival in America, Mike was rented by the kind lady to another equally kind lady, who needed cheap help.
Notwithstanding this inauspicious start in life, Mike made his way; he ran away from the kind lady who wanted cheap help and struggled up to manhood unaided by similar philanthropists.
There were washerwomen in those days; Mike married one, putting into the partnership, as offset to the washboard skill of his wife, a horse and cart that were not new.