Chapter 6

It so befell upon a daye when jousts ben had and while Sir Launcelot did ramp around ye ring in gallaunt style, There came an horseman shriking sore and rashing wildly home,-- A mediaeval horseman with ye usual flecks of foame; And he did brast into ye ring, wherein his horse did drop, Upon ye which ye rider did with like abruptness stop, And with fatigue and fearfulness continued in a swound Ye space of half an hour or more before a leech was founde. "Now tell me straight," quod Launcelot, "what varlet knyght you be, Ere that I chine you with my sworde and cleave your harte in three!" Then rolled that knyght his bloudy een, and answered with a groane,-- "By worthy God that hath me made and shope ye sun and mone, There fareth hence an evil thing whose like ben never seene, And tho' he sayeth nony worde, he bode the ill, I ween. So take your parting, evereche one, and gird you for ye fraye, By all that's pure, ye Divell sure doth trend his path this way!" Ye which he quoth and fell again into a deadly swound, And on that spot, perchance (God wot), his bones mought yet be founde.

Then evereche knight girt on his sworde and shield and hied him straight To meet ye straunger sarasen hard by ye city gate; Full sorely moaned ye damosels and tore their beautyse haire For that they feared an hippogriff wolde come to eate them there; But as they moaned and swounded there too numerous to relate, Kyng Arthure and Sir Launcelot stode at ye city gate, And at eche side and round about stode many a noblesse knyght With helm and speare and sworde and shield and mickle valor dight.

Anon there came a straunger, but not a gyaunt grim, Nor yet a draggon,--but a person gangling, long, and slim; Yclad he was in guise that ill-beseemed those knyghtly days, And there ben nony etiquette in his uplandish ways; His raiment was of dusty gray, and perched above his lugs There ben the very latest style of blacke and shiny pluggs; His nose ben like a vulture beake, his blie ben swart of hue, And curly ben ye whiskers through ye which ye zephyrs blewe; Of all ye een that ben yseene in countries far or nigh, None nonywhere colde hold compare unto that straunger's eye; It was an eye of soche a kind as never ben on sleepe, Nor did it gleam with kindly beame, nor did not use to weepe; But soche an eye ye widdow hath,--an hongrey eye and wan, That spyeth for an oder chaunce whereby she may catch on; An eye that winketh of itself, and sayeth by that winke Ye which a maiden sholde not knowe nor never even thinke; Which winke ben more exceeding swift nor human thought ben thunk, And leaveth doubting if so be that winke ben really wunke; And soch an eye ye catte-fysshe hath when that he ben on dead And boyled a goodly time and served with capers on his head; A rayless eye, a bead-like eye, whose famisht aspect shows It hungereth for ye verdant banks whereon ye wild time grows; An eye that hawketh up and down for evereche kind of game, And, when he doth espy ye which, he tumbleth to ye same.

Now when he kenned Sir Launcelot in armor clad, he quod, "Another put-a-nickel-in-and-see-me-work, be god!" But when that he was ware a man ben standing in that suit, Ye straunger threw up both his hands, and asked him not to shoote.

Then spake Kyng Arthure: "If soe be you mind to do no ill, Come, enter into Camelot, and eat and drink your fill; But say me first what you are hight, and what mought be your quest." Ye straunger quod, "I'm five feet ten, and fare me from ye West!" "Sir Fivefeetten," Kyng Arthure said, "I bid you welcome here; So make you merrie as you list with plaisaunt wine and cheere; This very night shall be a feast soche like ben never seene, And you shall be ye honored guest of Arthure and his queene. Now take him, good sir Maligraunce, and entertain him well Until soche time as he becomes our guest, as I you tell."

That night Kyng Arthure's table round with mighty care ben spread, Ye oder knyghts sate all about, and Arthure at ye heade: Oh, 't was a goodly spectacle to ken that noblesse liege Dispensing hospitality from his commanding siege! Ye pheasant and ye meate of boare, ye haunch of velvet doe, Ye canvass hamme he them did serve, and many good things moe. Until at last Kyng Arthure cried: "Let bring my wassail cup, And let ye sound of joy go round,--I'm going to set 'em up! I've pipes of Malmsey, May-wine, sack, metheglon, mead, and sherry, Canary, Malvoisie, and Port, swete Muscadelle and perry; Rochelle, Osey, and Romenay, Tyre, Rhenish, posset too, With kags and pails of foaming ales of brown October brew. To wine and beer and other cheere I pray you now despatch ye, And for ensample, wit ye well, sweet sirs, I'm looking at ye!"

Unto which toast of their liege lord ye oders in ye party Did lout them low in humble wise and bid ye same drink hearty. So then ben merrisome discourse and passing plaisaunt cheere, And Arthure's tales of hippogriffs ben mervaillous to heare; But stranger far than any tale told of those knyghts of old Ben those facetious narratives ye Western straunger told. He told them of a country many leagues beyond ye sea Where evereche forraine nuisance but ye Chinese man ben free, And whiles he span his monstrous yarns, ye ladies of ye court Did deem ye listening thereunto to be right plaisaunt sport; And whiles they listened, often he did squeeze a lily hande, Ye which proceeding ne'er before ben done in Arthure's lande; And often wank a sidelong wink with either roving eye, Whereat ye ladies laughen so that they had like to die. But of ye damosels that sat around Kyng Arthure's table He liked not her that sometime ben ron over by ye cable, Ye which full evil hap had harmed and marked her person so That in a passing wittie jest he dubbeth her ye crow.

But all ye oders of ye girls did please him passing well And they did own him for to be a proper seeming swell; And in especial Guinevere esteemed him wondrous faire, Which had made Arthure and his friend, Sir Launcelot, to sware But that they both ben so far gone with posset, wine, and beer, They colde not see ye carrying-on, nor neither colde not heare; For of eche liquor Arthure quafft, and so did all ye rest, Save only and excepting that smooth straunger from the West. When as these oders drank a toast, he let them have their fun With divers godless mixings, but _he_ stock to willow run, Ye which (and all that reade these words sholde profit by ye warning) Doth never make ye head to feel like it ben swelled next morning. Now, wit ye well, it so befell that when the night grew dim, Ye Kyng was carried from ye hall with a howling jag on him, Whiles Launcelot and all ye rest that to his highness toadied Withdrew them from ye banquet-hall and sought their couches loaded.

Now, lithe and listen, lordings all, whiles I do call it shame That, making cheer with wine and beer, men do abuse ye same; Though eche be well enow alone, ye mixing of ye two Ben soche a piece of foolishness as only ejiots do. Ye wine is plaisaunt bibbing whenas ye gentles dine, And beer will do if one hath not ye wherewithal for wine, But in ye drinking of ye same ye wise are never floored By taking what ye tipplers call too big a jag on board. Right hejeous is it for to see soche dronkonness of wine Whereby some men are used to make themselves to be like swine; And sorely it repenteth them, for when they wake next day Ye fearful paynes they suffer ben soche as none mought say, And soche ye brenning in ye throat and brasting of ye head And soche ye taste within ye mouth like one had been on dead,--Soche be ye foul conditions that these unhappy men Sware they will never drink no drop of nony drinke again. Yet all so frail and vain a thing and weak withal is man That he goeth on an oder tear whenever that he can. And like ye evil quatern or ye hills that skirt ye skies, Ye jag is reproductive and jags on jags arise.

Whenas Aurora from ye east in dewy splendor hied King Arthure dreemed he saw a snaix and ben on fire inside, And waking from this hejeous dreeme he sate him up in bed,-- "What, ho! an absynthe cocktail, knave! and make it strong!" he said; Then, looking down beside him, lo! his lady was not there-- He called, he searched, but, Goddis wounds! he found her nonywhere; And whiles he searched, Sir Maligraunce rashed in, wood wroth, and cried, "Methinketh that ye straunger knyght hath snuck away my bride!" And whiles _he_ spake a motley score of other knyghts brast in And filled ye royall chamber with a mickle fearfull din, For evereche one had lost his wiffe nor colde not spye ye same, Nor colde not spye ye straunger knyght, Sir Fivefeetten of name.

Oh, then and there was grevious lamentation all arounde, For nony dame nor damosel in Camelot ben found,-- Gone, like ye forest leaves that speed afore ye autumn wind. Of all ye ladies of that court not one ben left behind Save only that same damosel ye straunger called ye crow, And she allowed with moche regret she ben too lame to go; And when that she had wept full sore, to Arthure she confess'd That Guinevere had left this word for Arthure and ye rest: "Tell them," she quod, "we shall return to them whenas we've made This little deal we have with ye Chicago Bourde of Trade."

BERANGER'S "MA VOCATION"

Misery is my lot, Poverty and pain; Ill was I begot, Ill must I remain; Yet the wretched days One sweet comfort bring, When God whispering says, "Sing, O singer, sing!"

Chariots rumble by, Splashing me with mud; Insolence see I Fawn to royal blood; Solace have I then From each galling sting In that voice again,-- "Sing, O singer, sing!"

Cowardly at heart, I am forced to play A degraded part For its paltry pay; Freedom is a prize For no starving thing; Yet that small voice cries, "Sing, O singer, sing!"

I _was_ young, but now, When I'm old and gray, Love--I know not how Or why--hath sped away; Still, in winter days As in hours of spring, _Still_ a whisper says, "Sing, O singer, sing!"

Ah, too well I know Song's my only friend! Patiently I'll go Singing to the end; Comrades, to your wine! Let your glasses ring! Lo, that voice divine Whispers, "Sing, oh, sing!"

CHILD AND MOTHER

O mother-my-love, if you'll give me your hand, And go where I ask you to wander, I will lead you away to a beautiful land,-- The Dreamland that's waiting out yonder. We'll walk in a sweet posie-garden out there, Where moonlight and starlight are streaming, And the flowers and the birds are filling the air With the fragrance and music of dreaming.

There'll be no little tired-out boy to undress, No questions or cares to perplex you, There'll be no little bruises or bumps to caress, Nor patching of stockings to vex you; For I'll rock you away on a silver-dew stream And sing you asleep when you're weary, And no one shall know of our beautiful dream But you and your own little dearie.

And when I am tired I'll nestle my head In the bosom that's soothed me so often, And the wide-awake stars shall sing, in my stead, A song which our dreaming shall soften. So, Mother-my-Love, let me take your dear hand, And away through the starlight we'll wander,-- Away through the mist to the beautiful land,-- The Dreamland that's waiting out yonder.

THE CONVERSAZZHYONY

What conversazzhyonies wuz I really did not know, For that, you must remember, wuz a powerful spell ago; The camp wuz new 'nd noisy, 'nd only modrit sized, So fashionable sossiety wuz hardly crystallized. There hadn't been no grand events to interest the men, But a lynchin', or a inquest, or a jackpot now an' then. The wimmin-folks wuz mighty scarce, for wimmin, ez a rool, Don't go to Colorado much, excep' for teachin' school, An' bein' scarce an' chipper and pretty (like as not), The bachelors perpose, 'nd air accepted on the spot.

Now Sorry Tom wuz owner uv the Gosh-all-Hemlock mine, The wich allowed his better haff to dress all-fired fine; For Sorry Tom wuz mighty proud uv her, an' she uv him, Though _she_ wuz short an' tacky, an' _he_ wuz tall an' slim, An' _she_ wuz edjicated, an' Sorry Tom wuz _not_, Yet, for _her_ sake, he'd whack up every cussid cent he'd got! Waal, jest by way uv celebratin' matrimonial joys, She thought she'd give a conversazzhyony to the boys,-- A peert an' likely lady, 'nd ez full uv 'cute idees 'Nd uv etiquettish notions ez a fyste is full uv fleas.

Three-fingered Hoover kind uv kicked, an' said they might be durned So far ez any conversazzhyony was concerned; _He'd_ come to Red Hoss Mountain to tunnel for the ore, An' _not_ to go to parties,--quite another kind uv bore! But, bein' he wuz candidate for marshal uv the camp, I rayther had the upper holts in arguin' with the scamp; Sez I, "Three-fingered Hoover, can't ye see it is yer game To go for all the votes ye kin an' collar uv the same?" The wich perceivin', Hoover sez, "Waal, ef I _must_, I _must_; So I'll frequent that conversazzhyony, ef I bust!"

Three-fingered Hoover wuz a trump! Ez fine a man wuz he Ez ever caused an inquest or blossomed on a tree!-- A big, broad man, whose face bespoke a honest heart within,-- With a bunch uv yaller whiskers appertainin' to his chin, 'Nd a fierce mustache turnt up so fur that both his ears wuz hid, Like the picture that you always see in the "Life uv Cap'n Kidd." His hair wuz long an' wavy an' fine as Southdown fleece,-- Oh, it shone an' smelt like Eden when he slicked it down with grease! I'll bet there wuzn't anywhere a man, all round, ez fine Ez wuz Three-fingered Hoover in the spring uv '69!

The conversazzhyony wuz a notable affair, The bong tong deckolett 'nd en regaly bein' there; The ranch where Sorry Tom hung out wuz fitted up immense,-- The Denver papers called it a "palashal residence." There wuz mountain pines an' fern an' flowers a-hangin' on the walls, An' cheers an' hoss-hair sofies wuz a-settin' in the halls; An' there wuz heaps uv pictures uv folks that lived down East, Sech ez poets an' perfessers, an' last, but not the least, Wuz a chromo uv old Fremont,--we liked that best, you bet, For there's lots uv us old miners that is votin' for him yet!

When Sorry Tom received the gang perlitely at the door, He said that keerds would be allowed upon the second floor; And then he asked us would we like a drop uv ody vee. Connivin' at his meanin', we responded promptly, "Wee." A conversazzhyony is a thing where people speak The langwidge in the which they air partickulerly weak: "I see," sez Sorry Tom, "you grasp what that 'ere lingo means." "You bet yer boots," sez Hoover; "I've lived at Noo Orleens, An', though I ain't no Frenchie, nor kin unto the same, I kin parly voo, an' git there, too, like Eli, toot lee mame!"

As speakin' French wuz not my forte,--not even oovry poo,-- I stuck to keerds ez played by them ez did not parly voo, An' bein' how that poker wuz my most perficient game, I poneyed up for 20 blues an' set into the same. Three-fingered Hoover stayed behind an' parly-vood so well That all the kramy delly krame allowed he wuz _the_ belle. The other candidate for marshal didn't have a show; For, while Three-fingered Hoover parlyed, ez they said, tray bow, Bill Goslin didn't know enough uv French to git along, 'Nd I reckon that he had what folks might call a movy tong.

From Denver they had freighted up a real pianny-fort Uv the warty-leg and pearl-around-the-keys-an'-kivver sort, An', later in the evenin', Perfesser Vere de Blaw Performed on that pianny, with considerble eclaw, Sech high-toned opry airs ez one is apt to hear, you know, When he rounds up down to Denver at a Emmy Abbitt show; An' Barber Jim (a talented but ornery galoot) Discoursed a obligatter, conny mory, on the floot, 'Till we, ez sot up-stairs indulgin' in a quiet game, Conveyed to Barber Jim our wish to compromise the same.

The maynoo that wuz spread that night wuz mighty hard to beat,-- Though somewhat awkward to pernounce, it was not so to eat: There wuz puddin's, pies, an' sandwidges, an' forty kinds uv sass, An' floatin' Irelands, custards, tarts, an' patty dee foy grass; An' millions uv cove oysters wuz a-settin' round in pans, 'Nd other native fruits an' things that grow out West in cans. But I wuz all kufflummuxed when Hoover said he'd choose "Oon peety morso, see voo play, de la cette Charlotte Rooze;" I'd knowed Three-fingered Hoover for fifteen years or more, 'Nd I'd never heern him speak so light uv wimmin folks before!

Bill Goslin heern him say it, 'nd uv course _he_ spread the news Uv how Three-fingered Hoover had insulted Charlotte Rooze At the conversazzhyony down at Sorry Tom's that night, An' when they asked me, I allowed that Bill for once wuz right; Although it broke my heart to see my friend go up the fluke, We all opined his treatment uv the girl deserved rebuke. It warn't no use for Sorry Tom to nail it for a lie,-- When it come to sassin' wimmin, there wuz blood in every eye; The boom for Charlotte Rooze swep' on an' took the polls by storm, An' so Three-fingered Hoover fell a martyr to reform!

Three-fingered Hoover said it was a terrible mistake, An' when the votes wuz in, he cried ez if his heart would break. We never knew who Charlotte wuz, but Goslin's brother Dick Allowed she wuz the teacher from the camp on Roarin' Crick, That had come to pass some foreign tongue with them uv our alite Ez wuz at the high-toned party down at Sorry Tom's that night. We let it drop--this matter uv the lady--there an' then, An' we never heerd, nor wanted to, of Charlotte Rooze again, An' the Colorado wimmin-folks, ez like ez not, don't know How we vindicated all their sex a twenty year ago.

For in these wondrous twenty years has come a mighty change, An' most of them old pioneers have gone acrosst the range, Way out into the silver land beyond the peaks uv snow,-- The land uv rest an' sunshine, where all good miners go. I reckon that they love to look, from out the silver haze, Upon that God's own country where they spent sech happy days; Upon the noble cities that have risen since they went; Upon the camps an' ranches that are prosperous and content; An' best uv all, upon those hills that reach into the air, Ez if to clasp the loved ones that are waitin' over there.

PROF. VERE DE BLAW

Achievin' sech distinction with his moddel tabble dote Ez to make his Red Hoss Mountain restauraw a place uv note, Our old friend Casey innovated somewhat round the place, In hopes he would ameliorate the sufferin's uv the race; 'Nd uv the many features Casey managed to import The most important wuz a Steenway gran' pianny-fort, An' bein' there wuz nobody could play upon the same, He telegraffed to Denver, 'nd a real perfesser came,-- The last an' crownin' glory uv the Casey restauraw Wuz that tenderfoot musicianer, Perfesser Vere de Blaw!

His hair wuz long an' dishybill, an' he had a yaller skin, An' the absence uv a collar made his neck look powerful thin: A sorry man he wuz to see, az mebby you'd surmise, But the fire uv inspiration wuz a-blazin' in his eyes! His name wuz Blanc, wich same is Blaw (for that's what Casey said, An' Casey passed the French ez well ez any Frenchie bred); But no one ever reckoned that it really wuz his name, An' no one ever asked him how or why or whence he came,-- Your ancient history is a thing the Coloradan hates, An' no one asks another what his name wuz in the States!

At evenin', when the work wuz done, an' the miners rounded up At Casey's, to indulge in keerds or linger with the cup, Or dally with the tabble dote in all its native glory, Perfessor Vere de Blaw discoursed his music repertory Upon the Steenway gran' piannyfort, the wich wuz sot In the hallway near the kitchen (a warm but quiet spot), An' when De Blaw's environments induced the proper pride,-- Wich gen'rally wuz whiskey straight, with seltzer on the side,-- He throwed his soulful bein' into opry airs 'nd things Wich bounded to the ceilin' like he'd mesmerized the strings.

Oh, you that live in cities where the gran' piannies grow, An' primy donnies round up, it's little that you know Uv the hungerin' an' the yearnin' wich us miners an' the rest Feel for the songs we used to hear before we moved out West. Yes, memory is a pleasant thing, but it weakens mighty quick; It kind uv dries an' withers, like the windin' mountain crick, That, beautiful, an' singin' songs, goes dancin' to the plains, So long ez it is fed by snows an' watered by the rains; But, uv that grace uv lovin' rains 'nd mountain snows bereft, Its bleachin' rocks, like dummy ghosts, is all its memory left.

The toons wich the perfesser would perform with sech eclaw Would melt the toughest mountain gentleman I ever saw,-- Sech touchin' opry music ez the Trovytory sort, The sollum "Mizer Reery," an' the thrillin' "Keely Mort;" Or, sometimes, from "Lee Grond Dooshess" a trifle he would play, Or morsoze from a' opry boof, to drive dull care away; Or, feelin' kind uv serious, he'd discourse somewhat in C,-- The wich he called a' opus (whatever that may be); But the toons that fetched the likker from the critics in the crowd Wuz _not_ the high-toned ones, Perfesser Vere de Blaw allowed.

'T wuz "Dearest May," an' "Bonnie Doon," an' the ballard uv "Ben Bolt," Ez wuz regarded by all odds ez Vere de Blaw's best holt; Then there wuz "Darlin' Nellie Gray," an' "Settin' on the Stile," An' "Seein' Nellie Home," an' "Nancy Lee," 'nd "Annie Lisle," An' "Silver Threads among the Gold," an' "The Gal that Winked at Me," An' "Gentle Annie," "Nancy Till," an' "The Cot beside the Sea." Your opry airs is good enough for them ez likes to pay Their money for the truck ez can't be got no other way; But opry to a miner is a thin an' holler thing,--The music that he pines for is the songs he used to sing.

One evenin' down at Casey's De Blaw wuz at his best, With four-fingers uv old Wilier-run concealed beneath his vest; The boys wuz settin' all around, discussin' folks an' things, 'Nd I had drawed the necessary keerds to fill on kings; Three-fingered Hoover kind uv leaned acrosst the bar to say If Casey'd liquidate right off, _he'd_ liquidate next day; A sperrit uv contentment wuz a-broodin' all around (Onlike the other sperrits wich in restauraws abound), When, suddenly, we heerd from yonder kitchen-entry rise A toon each ornery galoot appeared to recognize.

Perfesser Vere de Blaw for once eschewed his opry ways, An' the remnants uv his mind went back to earlier, happier days, An' grappled like an' wrassled with a' old familiar air The wich we all uv us had heern, ez you have, everywhere! Stock still we stopped,--some in their talk uv politics an' things, I in my unobtrusive attempt to fill on kings, 'Nd Hoover leanin' on the bar, an' Casey at the till,-- We all stopped short an' held our breaths (ez a feller sometimes will), An' sot there more like bumps on logs than healthy, husky men, Ez the memories uv that old, old toon come sneakin' back again.

You've guessed it? No, you hav n't; for it wuzn't that there song Uv the home we'd been away from an' had hankered for so long,-- No, sir; it wuzn't "Home, Sweet Home," though it's always heard around Sech neighborhoods in wich the home that _is_ "sweet home" is found. And, ez for me, I seemed to see the past come back again, And hear the deep-drawed sigh my sister Lucy uttered when Her mother asked her if she 'd practised her two hours that day, Wich, if she hadn't, she must go an' do it right away! The homestead in the States 'nd all its memories seemed to come A-floatin' round about me with that magic lumty-tum.