 | The Baroness of New York |  |
V.
“Twas Popper's reception. Good Mrs. P.
Puffed and inflated herself till she
Was red in the face as a turkey cock.
She strutted and fumed, flew hither and yon,
Rattled her silks and ruffled her lace,
Bawled at her Mary and bullied her John;
Then flew to her drawers and powdered her face,
Then smoothed down her laces, consulted the clock,
And calmly awaited, with half-drooping eyes,
The guest she should welcome with studied surprise.
Puffed and inflated herself till she
Was red in the face as a turkey cock.
She strutted and fumed, flew hither and yon,
Rattled her silks and ruffled her lace,
Bawled at her Mary and bullied her John;
Then flew to her drawers and powdered her face,
Then smoothed down her laces, consulted the clock,
And calmly awaited, with half-drooping eyes,
The guest she should welcome with studied surprise.
The skies were serene; not a cloud in the blue.
Yet good Mrs. Popper had thoughtfully set
An awning, that yawned like a fisherman's net,
Far over the pavement. Now this had been done
With no other sentiment under the sun
Than the fear that some dear gushing guest should get wet.
Yet good Mrs. Popper had thoughtfully set
An awning, that yawned like a fisherman's net,
Far over the pavement. Now this had been done
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Than the fear that some dear gushing guest should get wet.
I resent the suggestion of plebeian curs,
That 'twas done for display. Such a proud soul as hers
Stoops not to such follies as that. And then, who
Could think such a thing of the Avenue?
That 'twas done for display. Such a proud soul as hers
Stoops not to such follies as that. And then, who
Could think such a thing of the Avenue?
The thoroughfare flowed like a strong, surging stream,
A figure, mostlike, we have called in before—
Flowed full as a river foam full to the shore,
And the soft, autumn sun fell gorgeously o'er
The long, gleaming lines where glitter and gleam
The black crush of carriages, far flashing back
Their wonder of wealth from the broad, endless track;
And good Mrs. P., with her pump-handle shake,
Her elegant airs, and her large, florid arms,
Smiled down her delight, in a rainbow of charms.
A figure, mostlike, we have called in before—
Flowed full as a river foam full to the shore,
And the soft, autumn sun fell gorgeously o'er
The long, gleaming lines where glitter and gleam
The black crush of carriages, far flashing back
Their wonder of wealth from the broad, endless track;
And good Mrs. P., with her pump-handle shake,
Her elegant airs, and her large, florid arms,
Smiled down her delight, in a rainbow of charms.
'Twas a gorgeous affair, as all such things are,
On the Murray Hill end of the Avenue.
The men were most tall, the women most fair,
In powder and paint. They had slate-penciled hair,
As frizzled and frowsy, almost, to the view,
As a pure nigger babies. Yet, for all, they were fair;
For all their weak falsehoods in dress and in air,
They were fair as young Junos. Bright gold shone in bar,
And diamonds flashed thick as the meadow sown dew
That mirrors the gold of the morn-minted star.
On the Murray Hill end of the Avenue.
The men were most tall, the women most fair,
In powder and paint. They had slate-penciled hair,
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As a pure nigger babies. Yet, for all, they were fair;
For all their weak falsehoods in dress and in air,
They were fair as young Junos. Bright gold shone in bar,
And diamonds flashed thick as the meadow sown dew
That mirrors the gold of the morn-minted star.
But what gave a special attraction to
This flashing affair of the Avenue
Was the fact that Sir Francis, the lion, was there.
Sir Francis, the yellow-maned lion, and, too,
The Baroness, belle of the Avenue,
And the love and delight of Sir Francis Jain.
“And who is Sir Francis?” a rival cried.
“Why, Sir Francis Jain,” a lady replied.
“Sir Francis Jain! The Sir Francis Jain
That drags his foot as if dragging a chain?”
This flashing affair of the Avenue
Was the fact that Sir Francis, the lion, was there.
Sir Francis, the yellow-maned lion, and, too,
The Baroness, belle of the Avenue,
And the love and delight of Sir Francis Jain.
“And who is Sir Francis?” a rival cried.
“Why, Sir Francis Jain,” a lady replied.
“Sir Francis Jain! The Sir Francis Jain
That drags his foot as if dragging a chain?”
Now whether dame Popper, as some others do,
When they go catching lions on the Avenue,
Had written Sir Francis the belle would be there,
And dying to see him. Then, with the same pen,
Ere the ink was well dry on the letter just done,
Had written this belle that this bravest of men
Was coming to meet her, I cannot declare.
I give you the facts, you can read as you run.
The lover was there, the lady was there;
And Popper was proud, as the lady was fair.
When they go catching lions on the Avenue,
Had written Sir Francis the belle would be there,
And dying to see him. Then, with the same pen,
Ere the ink was well dry on the letter just done,
Had written this belle that this bravest of men
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I give you the facts, you can read as you run.
The lover was there, the lady was there;
And Popper was proud, as the lady was fair.
| The Baroness of New York | |