And this, a Sub-Inspector, is a lady’s man, you know; With braid, and rings, and eye-glass, he can make a gallant show; Of justice he knows nothing, and of law he never dreamt, But he can stop a meeting or he’ll fall in the attempt. He can really waltz divinely; he can powder, he can puff, And he’d quite an ear for music till ’twas spoiled by “Harvey Duff”; He is silly, he is loyal,--he is all a Sub should be, With a due appreciation of a rise of salaree.
John Thompson was a postman who Was bound in Cupid’s fetters, And though not deeply read, ’tis true, Was still a Man of Letters.
He paid attention to one Kate Maria Julia Jervis, But she did not appreciate John Thompson’s Civil Service.
Quoth he, “Oh scorn me not, sweet Kate, Nor let my love-suit fail, Oh tell me not my pleading’s late, And don’t Despatch this Mail.”
But she replied, in accents grave, “I love you not--decamp!” And when he spoke again--she gave Her foot an Extra Stamp.
And cried, “My anger you awake, Your speech on insult borders, I’m poor, but I would scorn to take Your vile Post-office Orders.”
Then Thompson felt in mournful mood, And moaned in accents shivery, “Miss Jervis, if my speech be rude, Pray pardon its Delivery.”
He left the room with footsteps slow, A bitter lesson taught, And then to counteract the blow, A pillar-box he sought.
He felt how foolish was the tact In courtship he had boasted, And recognized the solemn fact That he was badly Posted.
The cobbler’s always cheerful, though His path of life be crost, He does not tear his hair in woe, Whene’er his all is lost.
He welts a lot, but not the wife With whom his lot is cast; She’ll find him, whatsoe’er their strife, Still faithful to the last.
Onward his motto, aye, he strives To grasp some other feat, And in the dullest times contrives Somehow to make ends meet.
The world may smite him without cause, He never shuns its whacks, And seldom grumbles at the laws That regulate his tax.
We know but little of the good His many acts reveal-- Were he ’midst madmen, why, he would Their understandings heal.
And a much higher motive yet His generous heart controls, You would not see that saint forget Their perishable souls.
The financial flare-up is going round. It has penetrated the modest shanty of Jones, in our street.