Here's a precept, young man, you should follow with care: If you're courting a girl, court her honest and square. Mr. 'Liakim Smith was a hard-fisted farmer, Of moderate wealth, And immoderate health, Who fifty-odd years, in a stub-and-twist armor Of callus and tan, Had fought like a man His own dogged progress, through trials and cares, And log-heaps and brush-heaps and wild-cats and bears, And agues and fevers and thistles and briers, Poor kinsmen, rich foemen, false saints, and true liars; Who oft, like the "man in our town," overwise, Through the brambles of error had scratched out his eyes, And when the unwelcome result he had seen, Had altered his notion, Reversing the motion, And scratched them both in again, perfect and clean; Who had weathered some storms, as a sailor might say, And tacked to the left and the right of his way, Till he found himself anchored, past tempests and breakers, Upon a good farm of a hundred-odd acres. As for 'Liakim's wife, in four words may be told Her whole standing in life: She was 'Liakim's wife. Whereas she'd been young, she was now growing old, But did, she considered, as well as one could, When HE looked on her hard work, and saw that 'twas good. The family record showed only a daughter; But she had a face, As if each fabled Grace In a burst of delight to her bosom had caught her, Or as if all the flowers in each Smith generation Had blossomed at last in one grand culmination. Style lingered unconscious in all of her dresses; She'd starlight for glances, and sunbeams for tresses. Wherever she went, with her right royal tread, Each youth, when he'd passed her a bit, turned his head; And so one might say, though the figure be strained, She had turned half the heads that the township contained. Now Bess had a lover—a monstrous young hulk; A farmer by trade— Strong, sturdy, and staid; A man of good parts—if you counted by bulk; A man of great weight—by the scales; and, indeed, A man of some depth—as was shown by his feed. His face was a fat exclamation of wonder; His voice was not quite unsuggestive of thunder; His laugh was a cross 'twixt a yell and a chuckle; He'd a number one foot, And a number ten boot, And a knock-down reserved in each separate knuckle. He'd a heart mad in love with the girl of his choice, Who made him alternately mope and rejoice, By dealing him one day discouraging messes, And soothing him next day with smiles and caresses. Now Bess had a lover, who hoped her to wed— A rising young lawyer—more rising than read; Whose theories all were quite startling; and who, Like many a chap In these days of strange hap, Was living on what he expected to do; While his landlady thought 'twould have been rather neat Could he only have learned, Till some practice was earned, To subsist upon what he expected to eat. He was bodily small, howe'er mentally great, And suggestively less than a hundred in weight. Now Bess had a lover—young Patrick; a sinner, And lad of all work, From the suburbs of Cork, Who worked for her father, and thought he could win her. And if Jacob could faithful serve fourteen years through, And still thrive and rejoice, For the girl of his choice, He thought he could play at that game one or two. Now 'Liakim Smith had a theory hid, And by egotism fed, Somewhere up in his head, That a dutiful daughter should always as bid Grow old in the service of him who begot her, Imbibe his beliefs, Have a care for his griefs, And faithfully bring him his cider and water. So, as might be expected, he turned up his nose, Also a cold shoulder, to Bessie's two beaux; And finally turned them away from his door, Forbidding them ever to enter it more; And detailed young Patrick as kind of a guard, With orders to keep them both out of the yard. So Pat took his task, with a treacherous smile, And bullied the small one, And dodged the big tall one, And slyly made love to Miss Bess all the while. But one evening, when 'Liakim and wife crowned their labors With praise and entreating At the village prayer-meeting, And Patrick had stepped for a while to some neighbor's, The lawyer had come, in the trimmest of dress, And, dapper and slim, And small, e'en for him, Was holding a session of court with Miss Bess. And Bess, sly love-athlete, was suited first rate At a flirtation-mill with this legal light-weight; And was listening to him, as minutes spun on, Of pleas he could make, And of fees he would take, And of suits that he should, in the future, have won; When just as the cold, heartless clock counted eight, Miss Bessie's quick ear caught a step at the gate. "'Tis mother!" she cried: "oh, go quick, I implore! But father'll drive 'round and come in the back-door! You can not escape them, however you turn! So hide for a while—let me see—in this churn!" The churn was quite large enough for him to turn in— Expanded out so, By machinery to go, 'Twould have done for a dairy-man-Cyclops to churn in. 'Twas fixed for attaching a pitman or lever, To go by a horse-power—a notion quite clever, Invented and built by the Irishman, Pat, Who pleased Mrs. 'Liakim hugely by that. The lawyer went into the case with much ease, And hugged the belief That the cause would be brief, And settled himself down with hardly a squeeze. And Bess said, "Keep still, for there's plenty of room," And shut down the cover, and left him in gloom. But scarcely were matters left decently so, In walked—not her mother, But—worry and bother!— The mammoth young farmer, whose first name was Joe. And he gleefully sung, in a h
|