The Writings of Bret Harte standard library edition |
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THE WANDERINGS OF ULYSSES
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 | The Writings of Bret Harte |  |
THE WANDERINGS OF ULYSSES
AS REPORTED BY MARY JONES, MAID TO MRS. GRANT
We're here, dear, and what with our glories
And honor, you'll know by that sign
Why we have n't met Mrs. Sartoris
And I have n't written a line;
Why, what with Dukes giving receptions,
And going in state to Guildhall,
You ain't got the faintest conceptions
Of what we are doing at all!
And honor, you'll know by that sign
Why we have n't met Mrs. Sartoris
And I have n't written a line;
Why, what with Dukes giving receptions,
And going in state to Guildhall,
You ain't got the faintest conceptions
Of what we are doing at all!
I 've just took the card of a Countess,
I 've said “Not-at-home” to an Earl;
As for Viscounts and Lords the amount is
Too absurd. Why there is n't a girl
In Galena who would n't be hating
Your friend Mary Jones, who now writes,
While behind her this moment, in waiting,
Stands the gorgeousest critter in tights.
I 've said “Not-at-home” to an Earl;
As for Viscounts and Lords the amount is
Too absurd. Why there is n't a girl
In Galena who would n't be hating
Your friend Mary Jones, who now writes,
While behind her this moment, in waiting,
Stands the gorgeousest critter in tights.
He 's the valet of Viscount Fitz Doosem;
He wears eppylets and all that;
Has an awful nosegay in his bosom;
His legs are uncommonly fat.
He called our Ulysses “My Master,”
Just think of it!—but I stopped that.
He tried to be halfway familiar,
But I busted the crown of his hat!
He wears eppylets and all that;
Has an awful nosegay in his bosom;
His legs are uncommonly fat.
He called our Ulysses “My Master,”
Just think of it!—but I stopped that.
He tried to be halfway familiar,
But I busted the crown of his hat!
391
We're to dine out at Windsor on Friday;
We take tea with the Princess next week;
Of course I shall make myself tidy
And fix myself up, so to speak.
“I presume I'm addressing the daughter
Of America's late President?”
Said a Duke to me last night; you oughter
Have seen how he stammered and—went.
We take tea with the Princess next week;
Of course I shall make myself tidy
And fix myself up, so to speak.
“I presume I'm addressing the daughter
Of America's late President?”
Said a Duke to me last night; you oughter
Have seen how he stammered and—went.
The fact is the “help” of this city
Ain't got no style, nohow; why, dear,
Though I should n't say it, I pity
These Grants, for they do act so queer.
Why, Grant smoked and drinked with a Marshal,
Like a Senator, and Missus G.,
Well!—though I'm inclined to be partial,
She yawned through a royal levee.
Ain't got no style, nohow; why, dear,
Though I should n't say it, I pity
These Grants, for they do act so queer.
Why, Grant smoked and drinked with a Marshal,
Like a Senator, and Missus G.,
Well!—though I'm inclined to be partial,
She yawned through a royal levee.
Why, only last night, at a supper,
He sat there so simple and still,
That, had I the pen of a—Tupper,
I could n't express my shame—till
An Earl, he rose up and says, winking,
“You 're recalling your battles, no doubt?”
Says Ulysses, “I only was thinking
Of the Stanislaus and the dug-out.
He sat there so simple and still,
That, had I the pen of a—Tupper,
I could n't express my shame—till
An Earl, he rose up and says, winking,
“You 're recalling your battles, no doubt?”
Says Ulysses, “I only was thinking
Of the Stanislaus and the dug-out.
“And the scow that I ran at Knight's Ferry,
And the tolls that I once used to take.”
Imagine it, dear! Them 's the very
Expression he used. Why, I quake
As I think of it—till a great Duchess
Holds out her white hand and says “shake”;
Or words of that meaning; for such is
Them English to folks whom they take.
And the tolls that I once used to take.”
Imagine it, dear! Them 's the very
Expression he used. Why, I quake
As I think of it—till a great Duchess
Holds out her white hand and says “shake”;
Or words of that meaning; for such is
Them English to folks whom they take.
392
There 's dear Mr. Pierrepont; yet think, love,
In spite of his arms and his crest,
And his liveries—all he may prink, love,
Don't bring him no nearer the best;
For they 're tired of shamming and that thing
They 've had for some eight hundred year,
And really perhaps it 's a blessing
These Grants are uncommonly queer.
In spite of his arms and his crest,
And his liveries—all he may prink, love,
Don't bring him no nearer the best;
For they 're tired of shamming and that thing
They 've had for some eight hundred year,
And really perhaps it 's a blessing
These Grants are uncommonly queer.
As for me, dear,—don't let it go further,—
But—umph!—there 's the son of a peer
Who 's waiting for me till his father
Shall give him a thousand a year;
Tha castle we'll live in, as I know,
Is the size of the White House, my dear,
And you'll just tell them folks from Ohio
That I think we will settle down here.
But—umph!—there 's the son of a peer
Who 's waiting for me till his father
Shall give him a thousand a year;
Tha castle we'll live in, as I know,
Is the size of the White House, my dear,
And you'll just tell them folks from Ohio
That I think we will settle down here.
| The Writings of Bret Harte | |