It's fancying, fable-making, nonsense-work- The knack of story-telling, brightening up In the oddest way of themselves and pens, good Lord, Who knows if you drive them or they drive you? I'll prove, you push on David till he dives Turn up their eyes, and cry, as you expect, 66 Lord, who'd have thought it!" But there's always one Looks wise, compassionately smiles, submits "Of your veracity no kind of doubt, But do you feel so certain of that boy's? Really, I wonder! I confess myself More chary of my faith!" That's galling, sir! What, he the investigator, he the sage, When all 's done? Then, you just have shut your eyes, Opened your mouth, and gulped down David whole, You! Terrible were such catastrophe! So, evidence is redoubled, doubled again, And doubled besides; once more, "He heard, we heard, You and they heard, your mother and your wife, Straight The rest join chorus. Thomas stands abashed, Some just as tough a morsel. Over the way, Holds Captain Sparks his court: is it better there? Have not you hunting-stories, scalping-scenes, And Mexican War exploits to swallow plump If you 'd be free of the stove-side, rocking-chair, And trio of affable daughters? Doubt succumbs! Victory! All your circle 's yours again! Out of the clubbing of submissive wits, David's performance rounds, each chink gets patched, All 's fit to set a-rolling round the world, Lies seven-feet-thick about his first half-inch. Poor David's pledged to! You've employed no tool You hold, if there's one half or a hundredth part You 've told almighty Boston of this passage Of arms between us, your first taste of the foil From Sludge who could not fence, sir! Sludge, your boy! I lied, sir, there! I got up from my gorge On offal in the gutter, and preferred Your canvass-backs: I took their carver's size, Tickled him on the cockles of his heart With a raven feather, and next week found myself And creep out from its hole, inch after inch, 66 How last night, I no sooner snug in bed, Tucked up, just as they left me, than came raps ! While a light whisked " "Shaped somewhat like a star ?" "Well, like some sort of stars, ma'am."-" So we thought! And any voice? Not yet? Try hard, next time, If you can't hear a voice; we think you may: At least, the Pennsylvanian 'mediums' did." Oh, next time comes the voice! "Just as we hoped!" Are not the hopers proud now, pleased, profuse Of course! So, off we push, illy-oh-yo, trim the boat, On we sweep with a cataract ahead, We 're midway to the Horse-shoe: stop, who can, See rings on his hand with pleasure. Ask yourself up, Cram him with corn a month, then out with him Among his mates on a bright April morn, With the turf to tread; see if you find or no A caper in him, if he bucks or bolts! Much more a youth whose fancies sprout as rank |