Rhymes with reason and without

Then Johnny and Mally,
And Bobby and Sally,
And little Joe Alley, less stocking or shoe,
Set up such a clatter,
That, to settle the matter,
The kind Mr. Sled says they may go too.

And then he lays in lots of pickings,
Mammoth dough-nuts, legs of chickens,

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Apple-pies and ginger-bread,—
A bounteous man is Mr. Sled,—
For prices down at Hampton Beach
Are very far beyond his reach.

Then he takes a small bottle and fills it, the while
Mrs. Sled and her sister agreeably smile,
And all is packed snug, and away o'er the road
The horse, like a cynic, making light of his load.

O, Hampton Beach! no power of speech
Can half thy wondrous beauties teach!
Where the cool air brings on its lively wings
A generous zest for the victuals and things!
Where you wash in the spray,—or rather you may,
Should your inclination “cotton” that way.
(But don't do like him who decency shocks,
Undress openly down on the rocks,
Exposed to the gaze of the passers-by,
Who may look that way with a careless eye;
But go into the houses, and put on thin “trouses,”
And then you can bathe with sweet hearts or spouses,
Indulging in multitudinous souses.)
Where the force of the spray knocks you every way,
And chance is afforded to pretty things say,
And to show off brave, as you daringly lave
In the rushing whirl of the incoming wave!

Arrived at the spot, out Mr. Sled got,
And took out the lot as quick as a shot,

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And down on the grass the eatables “sot.”
The old horse, tied to the limb of a tree,
Thought to himself, “What nincoms are we,
To come so far,
With jolt and jar,
Just for to go for to see the sea!”
The horse did n't think in very good grammar,
But he could n't,—the breakers made such a clamor.

Now Mr. Sled placidly paces the sand,
With his spouse and her sister on either hand;
While the urchins, stockingless, bare to the knees,
Are revelling high in those “Tails of the Seas,”
Where the big waves come, with a rush and roar,
And expend themselves on the trembling shore,
Then rushing and roaring back again,
As if to play with the children they'd fain,
The little ones clapping their hands in fun,
As after them down the sands they run.

“Now really, my dear,” says Mr. Sled,
“If 't were n't for this 'ere cold in my head,
I'd be out there in the wink of an eye,
The force of them furious waves to try,—
I can't stand still, I'm tempted so,
I'm almost persuaded,—I vow I will go.”

This was a clincher; and Mrs. Sled,
Like a sensible woman, ne'er opened her head;

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He knew what was best,
And as for the rest,
They neither opinion nor warning expressed,
So up to the buggy he went and undressed;
Or he changed his garb to a suitable suit,—
'T was a mystery how he managed to do 't,—
But he cast his slough, and from heel to head
A comical chicken was Mr. Sled!

Stockingless, hatless, with shirt of check,
Tied snugly with tape around his neck,
Pantaloons blue, with a patch on each knee,
And fitting as tight as the skin could be.
Then the ladies blushed, and a laugh did smother,
But the sister blushed much more than the other.
To tell the truth, 't was a curious fix
To be seen by a virgin of forty-six!

Then darted he boldly the beach along,
Then dashed he wildly the waves among,
Then stood upright,
That a wave in sight
Might fall upon him in all its might!
And the ladies uttered a thrilling screech,
To see Mr. S. roll over the beach,
Like—I don't know what to compare him to—
Perhaps a dolphin, but rather more blue.
But he soon appeared, with a smile most bland,
His clothes and his hair well covered with sand,

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And expressed, in words that were not so plain,
The thoughts that he should try it again.

Then the ladies—Heaven bless them!—
Said they'd go and dress them,
And see how the waves in their sport would caress them,
If Mr. Sled, the best of old fellows,
Would promise his wife he would n't be jealous.

Now two such brides,
For the living tides,
No one saw, Mr. Sled besides,
You wonder, perhaps, how I got hold of it—
I only know it, as Mr. Sled told of it.

I always thought the dresses were shorter
The ladies had to wear into the water,
But theirs were as long and as black as soot,
And below the feet about a foot.
They tied a white cap 'neath the chin,
With every sprig of a curl tucked in,—
From the description, I should agree it
Would be most delectable fun to see it,—
And such a trio the world ne'er knew
As Mr. Sled and the other two!
Then down all three
Went into the sea,
Laughing with most ineffable glee.
Rolling and roaring the big wave came,

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Angry and high did it rear its head,
An instant only, and lo! the dame
And the spinster both were hurled in shame,
And piled on top of Mr. Sled!

I forgot to say the sky grew dark,
A fact which they had n't seemed to mark,
And the first thing that made her look on high
Was when Mrs. Sled got a drop in her eye.
“I declare it rains—we shall get wet through!
Mr. Sled, what upon airth shall we do?”
“Why, fretting, my dear, won't better make it—
I think we 'd better stand and take it.”
So their garments they change as best they may,
Each one looking the “other way,”
And then, to avoid the rainy weather,
They all crawl under the buggy together,
And pass round among them the eatables nice,
That are greedily snatched and ate in a trice.
Then Mr. Sled takes from some secret place,
And holds up to view, with a smiling face,
That little bottle I spoke of before,—
Holding a half a pint or more,—
And with a nod round, a health to denote,
He pours a small portion adown his own throat,
Then smacking his lips, his joy to express,
He passes the liquid the others to bless;
They take it, and nod back, and smilingly look,
But they thought the spinster the largest share took;
I don't say it was so,—care nothing about it,—
The story would go on quite well without it.

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Now it rained and rained, as it never would done,
Till it leaked through the buggy, and down on them run;
Again Mrs. Sled asked what they should do,
And the children and spinster looked dismally blue;
But Mr. S.
Smiled never the less,
Nor gave a sign denoting distress;
Indifferent he to the falling tide,
As the horse who, “smoking,” stood outside.

Their patience worn out, they gained their taps,
And gathered for home their scattered traps;
But ere they started did Mr. S.
These lines of reason and rhyme express,
Sealed with a doughnut, and nailed to a tree,
That wanderers there might the lesson see:
“A rainy day at Hampton Beach
Will test all the rules philosophers teach.”

MORAL.

I trust that this story the moral will teach,—
Just reckon the cost when you go to the beach,
And see if your pockets contain the tin,
If it rains, to admit you the hotel within.
Be sure that you have it, I tell you, because
To be there without it you 're a cat without claws;
Besides, 't is to show that a true man will bear
What would drive many others to utter despair,
And look at this truth-telling ditty you 've read,
And practise the virtues of rare Mr. Sled.

University of Virginia Library

A PLEASURE TRIP TO HAMPTON.

A “POEM,” OF COURSE.