In Camp With A Tin Soldier. Bangs John Kendrick
I was born, some years ago,
The world was standing upside down;
Pekin was off in Mexico,
And Paris stood near Germantown.
The moon likewise was out of gear.
And shone most brilliantly by day;
The while the sun did not appear
Until the moon had gone away.
Which was, you see, a very strange,
Unhappy way of doing things,
And people did not like the change,
Save clods who took the rank of kings.
For kings as well were going wrong,
And 'stead of crowns wore beaver hats,
While those once mean and poor grew strong;
The dogs e'en ran from mice and rats.
The Frenchman spoke the Spanish tongue,
The Russian's words were Turkestan;
And England's nerves were all unstrung
By cockneys speaking Aryan.
Schools went to boys, and billie-goats
Drove children harnessed up to carts.
The rivers flowed up hill, and oats
Were fed to babies 'stead of tarts.
With things in this shape was I born.
The stars were topsy-turvy all,
And hence it is my fate forlorn
When things are short to call them tall;
When thing are black to call them white;
And if they're good to call them bad;
To say 'tis day when it is night;
To call an elephant a shad.
And when I say that this is this,
That it is that you'll surely know;
For truth's a thing I always miss,
And what I say is never so."
"Poor fellow!" cried Jimmieboy. "How very unpleasant! Is that really a true story?"
"No," returned the major, sadly. "It is not true."
And then Jimmieboy knew that it was true, and he felt very sorry for the major.
"Never mind, major," he said, tapping his companion affectionately on the shoulder. "I'll believe what you say if nobody else does."
"Oh, don't, don't! I beg of you, don't!" cried the major, anxiously. "I wouldn't have you do that for all the world. If you did, it would get us into all sorts of trouble. If I had thought you'd do that, I'd never have told you the story."
"Very well," said Jimmieboy, "then I won't. Only I should think you'd want to have somebody believe in you."
"Oh, you can believe in me all you want," returned the major. "I'm one of the finest fellows in the world, and worthy of anybody's friendship – and if anybody ought to know, Jimmieboy, I'm the one, for I know myself intimately. I've known myself ever since I was a little bit of a boy, and I can tell you if there's any man in the world who has a noble character and a good conscience and a heart in the right place, I'm him. It's only what I say you mustn't believe in. Remember that, and we shall be all right."
"All right," said Jimmieboy. "We'll do it that way. Now tell me what you don't know about finding preserved cherries and pickled peaches. We've got to lay in a very large supply of them, and I haven't the first idea how to get 'em."
"H'm! What I don't know about 'em would take a long time to tell," returned the major, with a shake of his head, "because there's so much of it. In the first place,
"I do not know
If cherries grow
On trees, or roofs, or rocks;
Or if they come
In cans – ho-hum! —
Or packed up in a box.
Mayhap you'll find
The proper kind
Down where they sell red paint;
And then, you see,
Oh, dear! Ah, me!
And then again you mayn't."
"That appears to settle the cherries," said Jimmieboy, somewhat impatiently, for it did seem to him that the major was wasting a great deal of valuable time.
"Oh, dear me, no!" ejaculated the major. "I could go on like that forever about cherries. For instance:
"You might perchance
Get some in France,
And some in Germany;
A crate or two
In far Barboo,
And some in Labradee."
"Where's Labradee?" asked Jimmieboy.
"It's Labrador," said the major, with a smile; "but Labradee rhymes better with Germany, and as long as you know I'm not telling the truth, and are not likely to go there, it doesn't make any difference if I change it a little."
"That's so," said Jimmieboy, with a snicker. "But how about those peaches? Do you know anything that isn't so about them?"
"Oh, yes, lots," said the major.
"I know that when the peach is green,
And growing on the tree,
It's harder than a common bean,
And yellow as can be.
I know that if you eat a peach
That's just a bit too young,
A lesson strong the act will teach,
And leave your nerves unstrung.
And, furthermore, I know this fact:
The crop, however hale
In every year before 'tis packed,
Doth never fail to fail."
"That's very interesting," said Jimmieboy, when the major had recited these lines, "but it doesn't help me a bit. What I want to know is how the pickled peaches are to be found, and where."
"Oh, that's it, is it?" said the major. "Well, it's easy enough to tell you that. First as to how you are to find them – this applies to huckleberries and daisies and fire-engines and everything else, just as well as it does to peaches, so you'd better listen. It's a very valuable thing to know.
"The way to find a pickled peach,
A cow, or piece of pumpkin pie,
A simple lesson is to teach,
As can be seen with half an eye.
Look up the road and down the road,
Look North and South and East and West.
Let not a single episode
Come in betwixt you and your quest.
Search morning, night, and afternoon,
From Monday until Saturday;
By light of sun and that of moon,
Nor mind the troubles in your way.
And keep this up until you get
The thing that you are looking for,
And then, of course, you need not fret
About the matter any more."
"You are a great help," said Jimmieboy.
"Don't mention