The Jackdaw of Rheims Which a nice little boy stood ready to catch A napkin bore, Of the best white diaper, fringed with pink, The great Lord Cardinal turns at the sight His costly turquoise; And, not thinking at all about little Jackdaws, By the side of his plate, While the nice little boys on his Eminence wait; 2075 There's a cry and a shout, And a deuce of a rout, And nobody seems to know what they're about, But the monks have their pockets all turned inside out; The friars are kneeling, And hunting, and feeling The carpet, the floor, and the walls, and the ceiling. The Cardinal drew Off each plum-colored shoe, And left his red stockings exposed to the view; He peeps, and he feels In the toes and the heels; They turn up the dishes,-they turn up the plates,— They take up the poker and poke out the grates, -They turn up the rugs, They examine the mugs: But no!-no such thing; They can't find THE RING! And the Abbot declared that, "when nobody twigged it, Some rascal or other had popped in and prigged it!" The Cardinal rose with a dignified look, He called for his candle, his bell, and his book: In holy anger, and pious grief, He solemnly cursed that rascally thief! He cursed him at board, he cursed him in bed, But what gave rise To no little surprise, Nobody seemed one penny the worse! The day was gone, The night came on, The monks and the friars they searched till dawn; When the sacristan saw, On crumpled claw Come limping a poor little lame Jackdaw. No longer gay, As on yesterday; His feathers all seemed to be turned the wrong way; His pinions drooped-he could hardly stand, His head was as bald as the palm of your hand; His eye so dim, So wasted each limb, That, heedless of grammar, they all cried, "THAT'S HIM! That's the scamp that has done this scandalous thing! That's the thief that has got my Lord Cardinal's Ring!" The Jackdaw of Rheims 2077 The poor little Jackdaw, When the monks he saw, Feebly gave vent to the ghost of a caw; And turned his bald head, as much as to say, "Pray, be so good as to walk this way!" Slower and slower He limped on before, Till they came to the back of the belfry-door, Midst the sticks and the straw, Was the RING, in the nest of that little Jackdaw. Then the great Lord Cardinal called for his book, The mute expression Served in lieu of confession, And, being thus coupled with full restitution, -When those words were heard, That poor little bird Was so changed in a moment, 'twas really absurd. He grew sleek and fat; In addition to that, A fresh crop of feathers came thick as a mat. His tail waggled more Even than before; But no longer it wagged with an impudent air, With a gait devout; At matins, at vespers, he never was out; He always seemed telling the Confessor's beads. If any one lied, or if any one swore, Or slumbered in prayer-time, and happened to snore, That good Jackdaw Would give a great "Caw!" As much as to say, "Don't do so any more!" While many remarked, as his manners they saw, He long lived the pride Of that countryside, And at last in the odor of sanctity died; When, as words were too faint His merits to paint, The Conclave determined to make him a Saint; THE ALARMED SKIPPER MANY a long, long year ago, Nantucket skippers had a plan How near New York their schooners ran. They greased the lead before it fell, And then by sounding, through the night, A skipper gray, whose eyes were dim, Could tell, by tasting, just the spot; And so below he 'd "douse the glim,"After, of course, his "something hot." Snug in his berth, at eight o'clock, This ancient skipper might be found; No matter how his craft would rock, He slept, for skippers' naps are sound. The watch on deck would now and then One night 'twas Jotham Marden's watch, The Puzzled Census Taker 2079 "We're all a set of stupid fools, To think the skipper knows, by tasting, What ground he's on; Nantucket schools Don't teach such stuff, with all their basting!" And so he took the well-greased lead, And rubbed it o'er a box of earth "Where are we now, sir? Please to taste." And then upon the floor he sprung. The skipper stormed, and tore his hair, Hauled on his boots, and roared to Marden, "Nantucket's sunk, and here we are Right over old Marm Hackett's garden!" James Thomas Fields [1816-1881] THE PUZZLED CENSUS TAKER "Gor any boys?" the Marshal said "Got any girls?" the Marshal said To the lady from over the Rhine; "But some are dead?" the Marshal said "Husband of course?" the Marshal said |