The Very Merry Voyage of the Macaroni Man
This figure here before you is a Macaroni Man,
Who is built, as you may notice, on a most ingenious plan.
His skeleton, I beg to state, is made of hairpins three,
Which are bent and curved and twisted to a marvellous degree.
His coat-sleeves and his trouser-legs, his head and eke his waist
Are made of superfine imported macaroni paste.
And if you care to listen, you may hear the thrilling tale
Of the merry Macaroni Man’s extraordinary sail.
One sunny day he started for a voyage in his yacht,
His anxious mother called to him, and said, “You’d better not!
Although the sun is shining bright, I fear that it may rain;
And don’t you think, my darling boy, you’d better take the train?”
“Oh, no,” said he, “no clouds I see,—the sky is blue and clear,
I will return in time for tea—good-by, my mother dear.”
Full merrily he started off, the day was fine and fair,
And to his great delight he found no dampness in the air.
You know if he gets wet, a Macaroni Man is spoiled,
And if he stands too near the steam, of course he may get boiled.
But our hero used precautions,—carefully he shunned the spray,—
And when the steam blew toward him, he just steered the other way.
Now, as the breeze was from the land, his course lay out to sea;
He sailed so far that he felt sure he would be late for tea.
He sailed, and sailed, and sailed, and sailed,—he feared the dew would fall—
He tried to turn,—but oh, that steam! it would not do at all!
A single puff blew toward him, and it nearly cooked his face!
The mournful Macaroni Man felt sadly out of place.
But a happy thought occurred to him, “Ha, ha,—ho, ho!” said he,—
“I’ll just sail on around the world,—and then, it seems to me,
I’ll reach my home (according to a careful estimate)
In time for tea, although I’ll be perhaps a trifle late.”
Then merrily his gallant ship sped o’er the bounding main,
Quickly he crossed the ocean wide, he flew by France and Spain;
Covered the Mediterranean, spanned the Suez Canal,—
“I’ll reach my home to-night,” he thought, “oh, yes, I’m sure I shall.”
He skimmed the Red Sea like a bird,—the Indian Ocean crossed
(But once, in Oceanica, he feared that he was lost).
He passed Australia on the fly,—cut over Capricorn,
And as the sunset gun he heard, he swung around Cape Horn.
Still at full speed, he sailed due north, he rounded Cape St. Roque,
Crossed the equator, and found out the Gulf Stream was no joke.
He coasted by the seaboard States. Hurrah! all danger past,
Quickly he sailed the last few miles and reached his home at last;
His mother welcomed him, and said, “I’m glad there was no shower;
But hurry in, my bonny boy, I’ve waited tea an hour.”
The 4.04 Train
“There’s a train at 4.04,” said Miss Jenny;
“Four tickets I’ll take. Have you any?”
Said the man at the door:
“Not four for 4.04,
For four for 4.04 is too many.”
A Valuable Gift
Old Father Time, one day
In his study, so they say,
Was indulging in a surreptitious nap,
When from his drowsy dreams
He was wakened, as it seems,
By a timid but persistent little rap.
He yawned and rubbed his eyes
In indolent surprise,
Then slowly he arose from where he sat;
He opened wide his door,
And nearly tumbled o’er
The figure that stood waiting on the mat.
A tiny little dog,
With excitement all agog,
And angry eyes that seemed to flash and glower.
His manner was polite,
But he said, “I claim my right!
And I’ve called, sir, to demand of you my hour.”
“Your what?” the old man said,
As he shook his puzzled head;
And the pertinacious puppy spoke with force:
“Well, sir, they often say,
‘Every dog must have his day,’
So a puppy ought to have an hour, of course!”
The old man shook with glee,
But he said obligingly,
“The dog days are all gone, I grieve to say;
But since you’ve come so far,
And so mannerly you are,
I’ll give you just an hour—to get away.”
The Grandiloquent Goat
A very grandiloquent Goat
Sat down to a gay table d’hôte;
He ate all the corks,
The knives and the forks,
Remarking: “On these things I dote.”
Then, before his repast he began,
While pausing the menu to scan,
He said: “Corn, if you please,
And tomatoes and pease,
I’d like to have served in the can.”
How the Cat was Belled
A fable told by La Fontaine,
Two centuries or more ago,
Describes some rats who would arraign
A cat, their direst foe,
Who killed so many rats
And caused the deepest woe,
This Catiline of cats.
The poor rats were at their wits’ end
Their homes and families to defend;
And as a last resort
They took the case to court.
It seems they called a caucus wise
Of rats of every age and size,
And then their dean,
With sapient mien,
A very Solon of a rat,
Said it was best to bell the cat.
The quaint old tale goes on to tell
How this plan would have worked quite well,
But, somehow, flaws
Appeared, because
No one would hang the bell.
Though there the ancient fable ends,
Later report the tale extends,
No longer is the truth withheld;
Developments appear,
And so you have it here.
For the first time
Set down in rhyme
Just how that cat was belled.
The council, as ’twas getting late,
Was just about to separate,
When suddenly a rat arose
Who said he could a plan propose
Which would, he thought, succeed
And meet their urgent need.
Now as this rat was very small,
And had no dignity at all,
Although his plan was well advised,
We really need not be surprised
That all the rats of riper years
Expressed the gravest doubts and fears;
Till suddenly
He said, said he,
“If you will leave it all to me,
I will avow
Three days from now
That you shall all be free.”
The solemn council then adjourned.
Each rat to home and fireside turned;
But each shook his wise head
And to his neighbor said:
“It is a dangero