POETRY.

Globe, Volume XXII, Issue 1842, 17 January 1880, Page 3

POETRY.

THIS MAN JONES. This man Jones was what you’d call A feller as hed no sand at all j Kind o’ consumpted, and undersize, And sailor-complected, with big, sad eyes, And akind-of-asort of-a-hang-dog style, And asneakin’-sott-of-a-half-way smile That kind o’ give him away to us As a preacher, maybe, or somepin’ wuss. Didn’t take with the gang ? Well, no— But still we managed to use him, though— Coddin’ the gilley along the route, And drivin’ the stakes that he pulled out; For 1 was one of the bosses then, And of course stood in with the canvasmen— And the way we put up jobs, you know, On this man Jones jes’ beat the show Used to rattle him scandalous, And keep the feller a-dodgiu’ us, And a shyin’ round ’jest skeered to death, And afeerd to whimper above his breath ; Give him a cussin’, and then a kick, And then a-kind of-a-back-hand lick— Jes’ for the fun of seein’ him climb Around with a head on half the time. But what was the curioust thing to me, Was along o’ the party—let me see— Who was our “ Lion Queen ” last year ! Mamzslle Zanty or De La Piene? Wei), no matter I a stunnin’ mash, With a red-ripe lip, and a long eyelash, And a figure sich as the angels owns— And k oae too many for this man Jones. Hed always wake in the afternoon As the band waltzed in on the lion tune, And thar, from the time that she’d go in Till she’d back out of the cage agin’. He’d stand shaky and limber-kneed—-'Specially when she come to “ feed The beast raw meat with her naked hand,” And all that busines’, you understand. And it was reeky in that den— For I think she juggled three cubs then, And a big “ green ” lion as used to smash < ollar-bones for old Frank Nash; And I reckon now she haint forgot The afternoon old “Nero” sot His paws on her —but, as for me, It’s a-sort-of-a mixed-up mystery; Kind-o’ remember an awful roar, And see her back for the bolted door— See the cage rock—heerd her call “ God have mercy I ” and that was all— For thar haint no livin’ man can tell What it’s like when a thousand yell In female tones, and a thousand more Howl in bass till their throats is sore. But they said as dragged her out, They heerd some feller laugh and shout : “ Save her 1 Quick 1 I’ve got the cuss 1 ’’ And yit she waked and smiled on us— And we daren’t fl'nch, for the doctor said, Seein’ as this man Jones was dead, Better to jes’ not let her know Nothin’ o that for a week or so. Johx 0, Walker, in " The Kokomo Tribune.”