Poet's Corner.

New Zealand Tablet, Volume VII, Issue 343, 14 November 1879, Page 11

Poet's Corner.

THE INNKEEPER'S STORY. _ — . — +. — . BY BERNARD BIGSBY. Ab, Deacon Smith was a pious man — I kind o' guess as you'd seldom find A leveler head o' the orthodox plan, Or a much irore reg'lar turn o' mind. Scripter he'd quote by the book and ver6C, From Adam and Eve to Bevelation ; An' as for the hymns that he'd rehearse, When once set agoin', t'ud lick creation. Now when the summer come reekin' hot, An' things i' the city was kind o' biling, An the whirlin wheels o' life hed got Rusty an' stiff, an wanted iling. Then board 'ud go up, an' eary a one Of all them homesteads i' yonder vale Which wasn't crowded an' overdone By folks as come from the town by rail. No depot, you say ? 1 rayther guess not, But sixteen mile over Graylock hill, By Glenway Crick — you know the spot — Close to where Hulbert runs the mill — Was a tumble-down shanty as ever I seen ; An' the deacon staged over there last season Wi' a kind o' ramshacklin bathin' machine Which he called the coach — 'thout rhyme or reason. Now the deacon druv a wall-eyed mare — A flea-bitten grey, a useful critter — As 'ud do twelve mile wi'out turnin' a hair In less nor an hour, if you would but lit her. But the deacon was slow and methodical some, An' the beast got into the ways o' her master, Till you'd think, when you seed her joggin' to hum At a nine-forty gait, as she couldn't go faster. Wall, one day last fall the down train brings A young city sport — a glorious bein' — Fixed up wi' watch chains an pins an rings, Like a jeweller's store let out on a spreein'. An' he off wi' the deacon over the hills. An they fell o' talkin o' gettin' religion, An' this yere young chap he argeyed until The deacon sot ruff' d like a moultin' pigeon. He gey him Bob Ingersoll hot an' strong, An he dosed him wi' Darwin's evolution ; An prayers i' the public schools was wrong, An' he'd have no God i' the constitution. An' he talked o' "Advancement" an' " Reason's Age," An' his tongue run on like a streak o' lightnin' ; An' the deacon was bilin' over wi' rage, An' his lips grew white an' his breath kep 1 tightnin'. For he hedn't the words to answer him back, An' his hair was lift'n' his hat wi' horror, As tbe young 'un he kep' the inside track, An' poured out his vials o' sin an' sorrer. Then the deacon thought he'd give him away An' put a full stop to bis high falutin' ; So he lit the whip into the flea-bitten gray An' away down the hill went the creetur scootin'. I guess 'twas a sight to see that old stage Rock like a ship on the stormy ocean, An' the gray mare's heels — wall, I'll engage Her can kick like a mule when she gets the notion. Then white as death grew the young man s face, An' he clung to the seat in desperation, An' he prayed the deacon to slacken the pace, But the deacon was sot on his soul's salvation. " D'ye believe in Adam ?" he screamed in his ear, "In Eve's temptation ? In Noah's story ? In Methusalehlivin' eight hundred year, An' Elijah ridin' to heaven in glory ?" " jSot I !" yelled tbe youth, but there lay just there A corduroy road, over which they flew, ar, Which shot the poor chap clean up in the air, An' when he lit down, he lisps, " I dv, sir." He clean caved in, an' wi' many a groan He owned up to all o' Smith's insistin's, To David a-scotchir.' Goliah wi' a stone And Samson a-crushin' the fierce Philistines ; An' he vowed that Joshua stayed the sun, That the leper was healed i' tbe waves o Jordan ; An' whatever the deacon declared was done That meek young chap he thought accordin'. Then the deacon slack'd up an' let him get down, An' druv on, leavin' the lad to foller ; He hed only one cru9s in hia brand new crown — Though a boul he hed saved he bed lost a dollar, — Cal\fornian Paper,