Chips, fragments and vestiges by Gail Hamilton collected and arranged by H. Augusta Dodge |
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Canto Second.
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 | Chips, fragments and vestiges by Gail Hamilton |  |
Canto Second.
The Heroine.
Young Betty was a lassie fair,
With thin and slightly grayish hair.
Her eyes were neither gray nor green,
But just about half way between.
And so far back within her head
They looked like little balls of lead.
Her pretty mouth, though rather wide,
Touched not the ear on either side,
But seemed as if it fain would do it
Whene'er a laugh came ringing through it,
Which was not oft (to speak the truth—
Miss Betty was a sombre youth).
Her teeth were large, and square, and good,
To masticate the hardest food.
With thin and slightly grayish hair.
Her eyes were neither gray nor green,
But just about half way between.
68
They looked like little balls of lead.
Her pretty mouth, though rather wide,
Touched not the ear on either side,
But seemed as if it fain would do it
Whene'er a laugh came ringing through it,
Which was not oft (to speak the truth—
Miss Betty was a sombre youth).
Her teeth were large, and square, and good,
To masticate the hardest food.
Her head was plump and round and small,
With no unseemly bumps at all.
Her character was perfect made,
So no protuberance displayed.
But all was fair, symmetric, neat,—
Once Nature left her work complete.
Her bust was faultless to be seen
As any Betty's bust, I ween.
Her height was neither less nor more
But just exactly three feet four.
Her gait was somewhat like the swan,
When solid land it walks upon.
What added to her pretty face,
And gave her graceful form more grace,
Were the accomplishments possessed,
Which served her more than all the rest;
For Betty made the best of bread,
And not a cook-book ever read.
Her butter was so fresh and sweet,
It seemed as if 'twas made to eat.
And Betty, too, could make a cheese
With all imaginable ease;
Could fry a most delicious fritter,
Whene'er her mistress chose to let her.
Indeed, she cooked a handsome dish
Of any kind, fowl, flesh, or fish.
Ah! Betty Dow was always sure
To suit the daintiest epicure.
With no unseemly bumps at all.
Her character was perfect made,
So no protuberance displayed.
But all was fair, symmetric, neat,—
Once Nature left her work complete.
Her bust was faultless to be seen
As any Betty's bust, I ween.
Her height was neither less nor more
But just exactly three feet four.
Her gait was somewhat like the swan,
When solid land it walks upon.
What added to her pretty face,
And gave her graceful form more grace,
Were the accomplishments possessed,
Which served her more than all the rest;
For Betty made the best of bread,
And not a cook-book ever read.
69
It seemed as if 'twas made to eat.
And Betty, too, could make a cheese
With all imaginable ease;
Could fry a most delicious fritter,
Whene'er her mistress chose to let her.
Indeed, she cooked a handsome dish
Of any kind, fowl, flesh, or fish.
Ah! Betty Dow was always sure
To suit the daintiest epicure.
Her master liked her for her skill,
Her mistress, for her lack of will.
Whene'er she heard the children mutter,
She gave them sugared bread and butter.
So this Miss Dow was loved by all
Within the house both great and small.
Although I query if she knew
Whether the sea were red or blue;
And thought the sun, whate'er they said,
Was not much larger than her head;
And that the stars were bits of light,
Hung up to glisten in the night;
And knew, let men think what they please,
The moon was made of fresh, green cheese.
Her mistress, for her lack of will.
Whene'er she heard the children mutter,
She gave them sugared bread and butter.
So this Miss Dow was loved by all
Within the house both great and small.
Although I query if she knew
Whether the sea were red or blue;
And thought the sun, whate'er they said,
Was not much larger than her head;
And that the stars were bits of light,
Hung up to glisten in the night;
And knew, let men think what they please,
The moon was made of fresh, green cheese.
| Chips, fragments and vestiges by Gail Hamilton | |