A line-o'-verse or two

At Aerschot, confound it! we blew out a tire.

I jacked up the axle and ripped off the shoe,
And snapped on an extra that promised to do.
“All aboard!” I exclaimed as I cranked the machine,
But something was wrong with the curst gasoline.
“By Hasselt!” Dirck groaned, “We’ll be half a day late;
We ought to have sent the good tidings by freight.”

False prophet! I tinkered a minute or two
And again we were off like “a bolt from the blue.”
We ate up the hills at a forty-mile clip,
And skidded the turns like the snap of a whip,
Till we dashed into Aix and were pinched by a cop
For failing to slow when commanded to stop.

“Now, wouldn’t that frost you!” said Joris, but we
When we told the glad tidings were instantly free.
The Mayor himself paid the ten dollars’ fine,
And blew us to dinner with six kinds of wine,
Which (the burgesses voted, by common consent)
Was no more than their due that brought good news from Ghent.

THE DINOSAUR

Behold the mighty Dinosaur,
Famous in prehistoric lore,
Not only for his weight and strength
But for his intellectual length.
You will observe by these remains
The creature had two sets of brains —
One in his head (the usual place),
The other at his spinal base.
Thus he could reason a priori
As well as a posteriori.
No problem bothered him a bit;
He made both head and tail of it.
So wise he was, so wise and solemn,
Each thought filled just a spinal column.
If one brain found the pressure strong
It passed a few ideas along;
If something slipped his forward mind
’Twas rescued by the one behind;
And if in error he was caught
He had a saving afterthought.
As he thought twice before he spoke
He had no judgments to revoke;
For he could think, without congestion,
Upon both sides of every question.

Oh, gaze upon this model beast,
Defunct ten million years at least.

A BALLADE OF CAP AND BELLS

When as a dewdrop joy enspheres
This pleasant planet, arched with blue,
When every prospect charms and cheers,
And all the world is fair to view —
Who does not envy (have not you?)
That mortal, by Thalia kissed,
Who plies, in plumes of cockatoo,
The blithesome trade of humorist?

But when the wind of fortune veers,
And blue-white skies turn leaden hue,
When every pleasant prospect blears
And all the weary world’s askew —
Who then would envy (if he knew)
Jack Point the jester, glum and trist;
Or ply, tho’ first of all the crew,
The dismal trade of humorist?

Ah, jocund trifles writ in tears,
And merry stanzas steeped in rue!
When all the world in drab appears
The fool must still in motley woo.
Tho’ bitter be the cud he chew,
Still must he grind his foolish grist;
Still must he ply, the long day through,
The tragic trade of humorist!

L’Envoi

Lady of Tears, what pains perdue
The heart and soul of him may twist
Who doth in cap and bells pursue
The glad sad trade of humorist!

GENTLE DOCTOR BROWN

It was a gentle sawbones and his name was Doctor Brown.
His auto was the terror of a small suburban town.
His practice, quite amazing for so trivial a place,
Consisted of the victims of his homicidal pace.

So constant was his practice and so high his motor’s gear
That at knocking down pedestrians he never had a peer;
But it must, in simple justice, be as truly written down
That no man could be more thoughtful than gentle Doctor Brown.