 | The select poems of Dr. Thomas Dunn English (exclusive of the "Battle lyrics") |  |
THE BANKRUPT'S VISITOR.
So you're the senior of the firm, the head
Of the great house of Erbenstone and Son—
Great house that has been. That is what is said
On street, in counting-rooms, by every one.
That house had ships one time on every sea;
But then your father with his brains had sway,
His ventures, millions. Come, don't frown at me!
Sir, I have business, and I'll have my say.
Of the great house of Erbenstone and Son—
Great house that has been. That is what is said
On street, in counting-rooms, by every one.
That house had ships one time on every sea;
But then your father with his brains had sway,
His ventures, millions. Come, don't frown at me!
Sir, I have business, and I'll have my say.
Here are the firm's acceptances—behold!
There is a list, and you may scan it well:
This paper once was thought as good as gold;
Now worthless if the tales be true they tell.
Two hundred thousand and—well, never mind
The odd amount—I bought them as they lay
In many hands—investments poor I find,
But still I put the question—can you pay?
There is a list, and you may scan it well:
This paper once was thought as good as gold;
Now worthless if the tales be true they tell.
Two hundred thousand and—well, never mind
The odd amount—I bought them as they lay
In many hands—investments poor I find,
But still I put the question—can you pay?
“The house has fallen now”—that cannot be;
You've made a stumble, that is not a fall;
That brings a story freshly up to me—
We queer old fellows will such things recall.
I'll tell you all about it, if you will,
There's something in it you will much admire;
You're bound to hear the story, so keep still—
It's somewhat chilly—let me stir the fire.
You've made a stumble, that is not a fall;
That brings a story freshly up to me—
We queer old fellows will such things recall.
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There's something in it you will much admire;
You're bound to hear the story, so keep still—
It's somewhat chilly—let me stir the fire.
'Twas fifty years ago, one day, a lad
Orphaned and friendless—one of those you see
Hanging about the street; some good, some bad—
Walked in a counting-room as bold and free
As if he owned it—'twas your father's; there
He stood and waited. When your sire that day
Saw him, he asked with a repellant air—
“What do you want?” The answer—“Work and pay.”
Orphaned and friendless—one of those you see
Hanging about the street; some good, some bad—
Walked in a counting-room as bold and free
As if he owned it—'twas your father's; there
He stood and waited. When your sire that day
Saw him, he asked with a repellant air—
“What do you want?” The answer—“Work and pay.”
The merchant stared. “Boy, I've no place for you”—
Your father's manner, not his heart, was cold—
“And if I took you here what could you do?”
And the boy answered—“Do as I am told.”
Your father liked prompt speech, and so inquired
More of the boy—he rather liked his face—
And on the following day the lad was hired
To run on errands, and to sweep the place.
Your father's manner, not his heart, was cold—
“And if I took you here what could you do?”
And the boy answered—“Do as I am told.”
Your father liked prompt speech, and so inquired
More of the boy—he rather liked his face—
And on the following day the lad was hired
To run on errands, and to sweep the place.
You were a baby then, sir; but you came
As you grew up to boyhood, rambling through
The great storehouses. You recall the name
Of Byng, the letter-clerk. I see you do.
He was the errand boy, that bit by bit
Had risen in the house till he had won
The confidence of one who had more wit
In choosing servants than has shown his son.
As you grew up to boyhood, rambling through
The great storehouses. You recall the name
Of Byng, the letter-clerk. I see you do.
He was the errand boy, that bit by bit
Had risen in the house till he had won
The confidence of one who had more wit
In choosing servants than has shown his son.
One day a letter from Calcutta came
From a great firm there—Belden and Carstairs,
Begging your father that some clerk he'd name
Acquainted with American affairs,
Trusty and shrewd, and send him out to them—
The kind of man they sought they thought he knew.
You know your father's way. He said—“Ahem!
‘Trusty and shrewd’—Byng, there's a chance for you.
From a great firm there—Belden and Carstairs,
Begging your father that some clerk he'd name
Acquainted with American affairs,
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The kind of man they sought they thought he knew.
You know your father's way. He said—“Ahem!
‘Trusty and shrewd’—Byng, there's a chance for you.
“Belden is dead—Carstairs has kept the name
Of the old firm—he was its life's blood too—
Immensely rich, and if you play the game
You've played from boyhood, and be just and true
And diligent, and make his interest yours
As you have mine so long, you'll surely rise;
I hate to part with you; but this secures
A certain fortune. Take it, if you're wise.”
Of the old firm—he was its life's blood too—
Immensely rich, and if you play the game
You've played from boyhood, and be just and true
And diligent, and make his interest yours
As you have mine so long, you'll surely rise;
I hate to part with you; but this secures
A certain fortune. Take it, if you're wise.”
Byng took the advice; and then your father said—
“You'll need some money, Byng, and here's a draft;
Take it; a man can always hold his head
Higher with cash in hand.” And then he laughed.
“No thanks! 'Tis bread upon the waters thrown,
And may come back. If ever you be rich
Pay it to me or mine, or give some one
Who needs it sorely—'tis no matter which.”
“You'll need some money, Byng, and here's a draft;
Take it; a man can always hold his head
Higher with cash in hand.” And then he laughed.
“No thanks! 'Tis bread upon the waters thrown,
And may come back. If ever you be rich
Pay it to me or mine, or give some one
Who needs it sorely—'tis no matter which.”
I'll cut the story short. Byng made his way
There at Calcutta; all seemed cut and dried;
First, general manager; in a little day
The junior partner; when his senior died,
Became both his successor and his heir;
And recently, the lord of lac on lac
Of good rupees, selling his business there
For a round sum, came to his country back.
There at Calcutta; all seemed cut and dried;
First, general manager; in a little day
The junior partner; when his senior died,
Became both his successor and his heir;
And recently, the lord of lac on lac
Of good rupees, selling his business there
For a round sum, came to his country back.
Here when he landed, judge of his surprise
To find his benefactor dead, the name
Of the old firm made loathly in men's eyes;
Its olden reputation brought to shame.
Well, sir, he bought its notes, and there they are—
I am John Byng—to save your house's fame
I bought them cent per cent—paid them at par—
There, sir, your fire's improved—they're in the flame.
To find his benefactor dead, the name
Of the old firm made loathly in men's eyes;
Its olden reputation brought to shame.
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I am John Byng—to save your house's fame
I bought them cent per cent—paid them at par—
There, sir, your fire's improved—they're in the flame.
What! crying like a child! Let go my hand;
I'm rich beyond compute. I only do
What I can well afford. Keep self-command;
Ruin has passed—a friend shall stand by you.
The house of Erbenstone and Son is saved;
The bread your father on the water cast
Comes after many years; the hour I've craved
When I could pay my debt, is here at last.
I'm rich beyond compute. I only do
What I can well afford. Keep self-command;
Ruin has passed—a friend shall stand by you.
The house of Erbenstone and Son is saved;
The bread your father on the water cast
Comes after many years; the hour I've craved
When I could pay my debt, is here at last.
| The select poems of Dr. Thomas Dunn English (exclusive of the "Battle lyrics") | |