Brand-New Ballads :: :: University of Virginia Library

THE STORY OF MR. SCROPER, ARCHITECT.

Yes, I'll tell you how it happened—that, too, with all due respect
To the memory of Scroper, late departed architect—
How it came that he departed so abruptly in the train;
Why it was he 's been so late, too, in returnin' back again.

Now some folks are born to greatness, some achieve it, as you've read;
And some justly stand and take it as it dollops on their head;
But in this sublime Republic, where it 's help and help again,
We all generally make it in cahoot with other men.

Scroper was a fine young fellow, of a monstrous enterprise;
Likewise really d-ambitious, for he was so bound to rise,

And he left no stone unturned—nor a log—he rolled 'em all,
Till at last he got the contract for our new great City Hall.

Now, of all our mortal actors here upon this earthly stage,
The contractors have the hardest parts to play, I will engage;
Specially in bran-new cities, just between the knead and bake,
And where all the population are severely on the make.

What between the Common Council, and the more uncommon sort,
Politicians, Press, and preachers, Scroper fell uncommon short.
All of such as come a plummin' when a puddin 's to be had;
All against his best contractin' counter-actin' mighty bad.

Therefore when this edificial had got up his edifice,
All who'd not been edifishing with him soon got up a hiss;

Said the stuff upon the buildin' was the worst that could be had,
Likewise called the architexture architechnically bad.

So it came one solemn evenin' in a Presbyterian rain
Mr. Scroper all in silence gently took the Northern train;
All he left was one small message to a friend who shared his home,—
When the darned affair blows over, telegraph for me to come.

So he sat one summer mornin', far away in Montreal,
Musin' on his recent patrons, while at heart he darned 'em all,
When there came a little letter datin' fron his recent home,—
“All the thing is quite blown over, back again we bid you come.

“For last night we had a tempest,—while the mighty thunder rang,
Up there came a real guster, which blew down the whole shebang.
(Shebang's a word from Hebrew, meanin' Seven, sayeth Krupp,
And applied to any shanty where they play at seven-up.)

“Truly it was well blown over all to splinders in the night,
And the winds of heaven are blowing o'er the ruins as I write.”
Gentlemen, the story's over. It would last for many a day
If it told of every buildin' built upon the swindlin' lay.