|
|
Works in the Bulletin 1914
THE SMITH WHO FOUND HIMSELF
God bless me! When I contemplate
The crowds and crowds of Smiths I’ve known
‘Tis with dismay I note that they
Such lack of enterprise have shown.
Of all the multitude of Smiths
Who’ve mooned about this busy earth,
‘Tis but a few have filled the view
Of continents, as men of worth.
And is the name a handicap
Upon the members of that race?
On land and sea some Smith should be
In ev’ry seventh honored place.
Wher’er my weary feet have trod
About this continent immense,
In or around each place I’ve found
Some Smiths or Smythes in evidence.
But ever are their lines obscure,
It is a mystery to me,
I’ve racked my brain, but can’t explain
Why this phenomenon should be.
The thing is inexplicable,
And such a theme to struggle with
Were no avail. But here’s the tale
Of Everard Uriah Smith.
‘Tis quite a dozen years, or more,
Since Everard Uriah Smith,
Still quite a boy, sought the employ
Of Mister Thomas Istletwith.
They say the chance of fortune rests
With ev’ry honest working man;
And Everard, by working hard,
Became a skilful artisan.
His chief ambition was to be
(He was a very modest Smith)
A foreman in the factory
Of Mister Thomas Istletwith.
To all his hands a mighty man
Was Thomas Istletwith, Esquire.
His subtle brain, his schemes for gain,
They deemed it worthy t admire.
And chief amongst his supporters
Was Everard Uriah Smith.
His god, his joss, he made his boss,
The towering Thomas Istletwith.
By day he toiled, at night he prayed
To earn this wondrous master’s praise,
Contented he a "hand" to be,
And work for wages all his days.
Now, had not Fate decreed that he
Should hitch his modest wagonette
On to a star, the chances are
Smith would have been a workman yet.
But, as some dire catastrophe,
There came a blessing, well-disguised;
And Smith, alack, he got the sack.
No Smith was ever more surprised.
In vain he pleaded with the boss
(O anguished, flabbergasted Smith!)
That god’s decree was plain, and he
Must leave the House of Istletwith.
Upon high Heav’n he called to gaze
On what he called his "ruined life"
Then home he went, and sorrow bent,
And wept in chorus with his wife.
Smith’s uncle on his mother’s side,
A man of probity and worth,
When made aware of Smith’s despair
Was moved to most unseemly mirth.
There’s virtue in a name, I ween.
This uncle he was keen and slick.
Does not his name denote the same?
‘Twas Ebenezer Pennyquick.
Said Uncle Eb.: 'Buck up, me boy!
You have some money put away."
(For, while he’d slaved, Smith pinched and saved
Against a dreaded rainy day.)
"Call up your cash," quoth Uncle Eb.,
"And I’ll advance a little loan.
You’ll have the stuff - more than enough -
To start a business of your own."
Aghast at such a sacrilege
Stood Everard Uriah Smith.
What! He compete in trade to beat
The mighty Thomas Isletwith!
But Uncle Eb. at last prevailed.
Smith made a start and plugged along.
When Isletwith the sign of Smith
Beheld, his laugh was loud and long.
I wot you like a story short -
‘Tis meeter so, I’ve not a doubt.
Just let me say that, day by day,
Smith’s latent talent blossomed out.
And, though the years that followed were
Years of prosperity for Smith,
A gloomy term ‘twas for the firm
Of Mister Thomas Istletwith.
I vow a tale is better brief,
No matter be it spoke or sung;
But, by the way, just let me say
That, later, Istletwith went bung.
‘Tis now far-famed throughout the land,
The well-known firm of E. U. Smith.
His manager ' who calls him "Sir" -
Is humble Thomas Isletwith.
Gird up your loins, ye Smiths! Are you
Content to linger on the shelf?
If you’d be great, why, emulate
Tis simple Smith, who found himself.
"Den"
The Bulletin, 1 January 1914, p14
|