A Bachelor’s Thanksgiving

I sit with pipe and uncut book

     Before the glowing fire;

I cannot read, and so I puff,

     And rings mound high and higher.

I see within them old time scenes,

     A mother singing gay;

A turkey, stuffed, upon the shelf

     Before Thanksgiving day.

And I behold a peerless face,

     A maid of seven years;

Who used to walk with me to school,

     Who shared my smiles and tears.

And pictures crowd my vision fast,

     Of home, and far away;

Of her – of lonely hotel fares

     On this Thanksgiving day.

I will not dine, but dream of her,

     Of things that ought to be;

And try to picture through the smoke

     Her deep in cookery.

And here I swear, by all that’s great,

     Life shall not course this way;

I’ll carve a turkey stuffed by her

     On next Thanksgiving day!

July 31, 1900

'uncut book' - The pages are "connected" in older books and periodicals because larger sheets were folded before binding (generally into 8 parts) to make a book of the size we're used to.  That's why these are called "octavo" editions.  So-called "quarto" editions are larger and the pages were only folded into four quarters before binding.

When purchasing a new book in the 19th century and before, you would indeed need a book knife (or any sharp-edged object) to "cut" the pages to read the "uncut" book.  You will still find references to pages being uncut in antiquarian book catalogs.

http://askville.amazon.com/older-book-binding-pages-books-connected-cut-read-term/AnswerViewer.do?requestId=2424450

LINES ON A BUTTER

JOE CONE

Old Saybrook, Conn.

Box 47

Maid Mary had a little goat,

   She kept it on the lawn;

It gamboled there in innocence

   Each day from early dawn.

Mary’s mother kept a cow,

   In fact she harbored four;

She milked at morn and left the pail

   Beside the kitchen door.

Now Mary’s goat espied a dog,

   And broke his rope to butt him,

And like the good goat that he was

   Right out the yard he put him.

Poor Mary tried to round him up,

     Alas for pretty Mary,

He dropped his head and helped her through

     The doorway quite contrary.

Alas! He spied the pail, and e’er

   A protest they could utter,

He shoved his head into the milk,

   And worked it into butter.

                        JOE CONE

c. July 31, ‘05

The Difference

The summer maidens soon will flit

     Back to the busy towns;

To get in readiness their new

     Expensive winter gowns.

The summer fellows, too, will leave

     Their outing camps and boats

And wear their baggy summer suits

     ‘Neath winter overcoats.

July 31, ‘05

High Hooked

O, see him now within the boat

About to cast a fly.

He twirls his rod, then lets it go

     Upon the lake to lie.

But did it fly across the lake?

     O, no, a turn it took,

Then caught him where his pants hang loose,

     Which made him out high hook

c. July 31, ‘10

high-hook n. The most successful one of several fishermen; the one who takes the most fish with his line: also used adjectively. Also high-line.

                                                https://www.wordnik.com/words/high-line

Rhymes Out of Season

Jack Frost is round the corner

     Jest waitin’ in the shade,

To swat you on the fingers

     With his cold weather blade.

He’s hidin’ in the bushes,

     Jest keepin’ out o’ sight;

But one o’ these here evenin’s

     You’re goin’ to feel his bite.

Jack Frost is bent on mischief,

     No matter where he goes;

He likes to clip your fingers

     An’ shorten up your toes.

He’s dressed in autumn colors

     Your spirit to beguile;

But when he gets you nappin’

     He’ll freeze you with a smile.

Perhaps these lines are early,

     An’ out uv season quite;

But then, we have to do it

     Or git out uv the fight,

With magazines and journals,

     With pushers of the pen,

All hev to up an’ hustle

     To beat the other men.

July 31, ‘09

The Big Noise

It’s fun to ride

     Down to the shore

And hear the tide

     And billows roar,

But on the walks

     Where follies be

‘Tis money talks

     Above the sea.

July 31, ‘09

The New Way

“Mother may I go out to sail

     In Jack’s new dirigible fair ship?”

“Oh, yes my daughter, fly all you like,

     But don’t go near the air ship.”

c. July 31, ‘10

A Seaside Game

I met her on the sandy beach,

     Her eyes were peerless blue;

Her cheeks they showed the fairest peach,

     That nature ever grew.

And while she in her hammock lay,

     I swung her to and fro;

While Cupid well his part did play

     And bent his little bow.

Ye gods! I loved her madly and

     Her eyes all doubt did kill;

She let me hold her jeweled hand

     Against the evening’s chill.

But, ah! At last my heart she slew –

     In accents gay and light;

She leaned and whispered, “friend, adieu,

     My hubby comes tonight.”

July 31, 1893

Pub. in B. Courier,

  June 10, ‘94 

A Blest Quartet

No smiling sun in loving June

     E’er shone upon two such as they;

The one like Grecian marble hewn,

     The other fair as dawn of day.

And sisters, too, of wealth and fame;

     Two brilliant stars o’er fashions whirl.

And each how fitted to her name –

     The one was Rose, the other Pearl.

And Rose was queen amongst her kind,

     While Pearl, the classic scholar said,

A living statue was designed,

     To worship here, to love when dead.

Men did worship, yet did not bare

     Their hearts before her      gaze;

While Rose, the gay and debonair,

     Stood ‘neath a shower of love and praise.

In course of time rich brothers, two,

     Of lofty rank and Royal air,

Sought Rose and Pearl, and soon there grew

     A double love, which promised fair.

Each one was princely in his way,

     Each to his love bowed as a slave;

They differed likewise, strange to say,

     One debonair, the other grave.

Gay Percy lived for blithesome Rose,

     Grave Harold on Pearl’s wisdom fed;

And at the marriage bell’s repose,

     “A blessed quartet”, the kingdom said.

As time wore on, and love’s young dream

     Awoke to life and earnestness,

A flash of truth, a frightful gleam,

     Burst on the fair with vivid stress.

Gay Percy tired of mirth and whirl,

     And longed for Pearl’s more quiet way;

While grave Harold wearied of Pearl,

     And worshiped Rose, his “dawn of day”.

The sisters were but human, too,

     And saw the dreadful e’er likewise,

But strove to hide, the long days through,

     The thought of life-long sacrifice.

Till, one day, Harold plucked his Rose,

     Then Percy with his idol fled;

And, at the startled day’s repose,

     “A sad, sad thing,” the kingdom said.

July 31, ‘91 

Blissful Anticipation

Hard times are on us now,

You can read it on our brow,

And in the region of our pocketbook it’s twenty times more plain;

            But nights we sit and think

            Of the old time sil’vry chink,

And of the times hilarious when we get flush again.

Aug. 8, 1893

 Pub. in B.

Courier, Nov. 5

     ‘93

  

THE GOOD OLD FIREPLACE

          You can have you modern ranges with your nickel plate and all,

          Their storage hot and storage cold, their ovens grand and small;

          Their time-clocks and their “handys” and their ornaments in fine,

          You can have them, I was saying, but I don’t like them in mine.

          Give me just a wide old fireplace that is deep and long and high,

          That will take a stick of cordwood from the forest handy by,

          And a fire that’s bright and cheery, throwing out a wave of heat;

          Though it’s crude and called old fashioned I’ll be bound it can’t be beat.

          People used to be more healthy when they lived a slower gait,

          When their food and drink were simple and their hours weren’t late;

          When they gathered round the fireplace in the winter evening long

          Where they heard the fairy story and the good old folk-lore song.

          O the comfort of the fireplace when the logs are burning bright!

          And the pictures you can fancy in the embers’ glowing light.

          There is nothing complicated in the running of the thing,

          And it can’t get out of order like my furnace does, I jing!

July 30, ‘06 

The Useful Fire

We sat before the open fire,

     Which threw a glaring light;

It snapped and crackled very loud,

     And made me nervous quite.

“I do not like your open fires,”

     I said to her at last;

She looked beyond the open door,

     Then low her tones were cast:

“I like them very, very much,

     All kissing sounds, you see,

Pa thinks are caused by burning wood,”

     That angel said to me.

July 30, ‘05

Belinda Brown

Bewitching is Belinda Brown,

The most bewitching maid in town

I watch her passing to and fro,

And ask, “how can you witch me so?”

Belinda Brown looks not at me,

But passes by with dignity;

She holds her parasol up straight,

And alters neither gaze nor gait.

She knows I love her; bless her eyes!

But then she likes to tantalize;

She knows I’ll follow soon if she

Refuses thus to notice me.

Belinda Brown, I’m on her track,

O, how I’d like to pay her back!

But how can I so cruel be;

Belinda’s only fun you see.

July 30, ‘06

THESE COMMON SAYINGS

Thee common sayings make me laugh,

For they are never true by half;

These foolish sayings, which each day,

The common run of people say.

“I’m frozen stiff,” we’ve often heard;

If true they couldn’t say a word.

“I’m all broke up,” a man will say,

Yet attend business every day.

“The wind blew through me,” mind you, through;

How queer they’d look if it were true.

“She dropped her yes;” would not that be

A very sad calamity?

“I’m busted;” a financial break

A hundred times you’ve heard them make;

“I caught the train;” you did? Well, well,

What did you catch it with, pray tell?

“She cut me dead the other day,”

You often hear some fellow say.

Worse still you’ll hear someone aver:

“She’s suck on him,” or “him on her.”

“I never slept a wink last night,”

Is an exaggeration quite.

“The rain came down in bucketfuls,”

Is but another of those bulls.

And so they go from day to day,

These foolish things that people say.

To get them all in print, I think,

Would take a barrel full of ink.

                            JOE CONE

July 30, ‘06 

A Bathing Girl

We feel no special call to write

     Upon the bathing girl,

She who parades along the beach

     And sets all hearts awhirl.

We’ve done this each and every year,

     Since we began to write;

And every time she’s been a “dream”,

     A “mermaid” or a “sprite”.

No other reason can we give

     Why this course we pursue,

Except that in our business

     It is the thing to do.

Thanksgiving verses must be writ

     Likewise Christmas rhymes;

Each writer has to hit them all

     To keep up with the times.

So here is to the bathing girl,

     The fairest on the beach;

Before she dips into the surf

     She surely is a peach.

But after she has plunged therein

     With tresses wet and tight,

She isn’t quite so peachy then,

     She rather is a sight.

July 30, ‘09