Part 17 (1/2)

T. Jefferson, one history showed, Held all display was vain and idle; Alone, unpanoplied, he rode; Alone he hitched his horse's bridle.

No ball that night, and no carouse, But back to Conrad's boarding house.

He tied that bridle to the fence The morning of inauguration; John Davis saw him do it; whence Arose his ”simple” reputation.

The White House, though, with Thomas J., Had chefs--and parties every day.

THE MUSE INTERRUPTS THE ODIST

If I were you I think I'd change my medium; I weary of your meter and your style.

The sameness of it sickens me to tedium; I'll quit unless you switch it for a while.

THE ODIST REPLIES

I bow to thee, my Muse, most eloquent of pleaders; But why embarra.s.s me in front of all these readers?

Madison's inauguration Was a lovely celebration.

In a suit of wool domestic Rode he, stately and majestic, Making it be manifest Clothes American are best.

This has thundered through the ages.

(See our advertising pages.)

Lightly I pa.s.s along, and so Come to the terms of James Monroe Who framed the doctrine far too well Known for an odist to retell.

His period of friendly dealing Began The Era of Good Feeling.

John Quincy Adams followed him in Eighteen Twenty-four; Election was exciting--the details I shall ignore.

But his inauguration as our country's President Was, take it from McMaster, some considerable event.

It was a brilliant function, and I think I ought to add The Philadelphia ”Ledger” said a gorgeous time was had.

Old Andrew Jackson's pair of terms were terribly exciting; That stern, intrepid warrior had little else than fighting.

A time of strife and turbulence, of politics and flurry.

But deadly dull for poem themes, so, Mawruss, I should worry!

In Was.h.i.+ngton did Martin Van A stately custom then decree: Old Hickory, the veteran, Must ride with him, the people's man, For all the world to see.

A pleasant custom, in a way, And yet I should have laughed To see the Sage of Oyster Bay On Tuesday ride with Taft.

(Pardon me this Parenthetical halt: That sight you'll miss, But it isn't my fault.)

William Henry Harrison came Riding a horse of alabaster, But the weather that day was a sin and a shame, Take it from me and John McMaster.

Only a month--and Harrison died, And V.-P. Tyler began preside.

A far from popular prex was he, And the next one was Polk of Tennessee.

There were two inaugural b.a.l.l.s for him, But the rest of his record is rather dim.

Had I the pen of a Pope or a Thackeray, Had I the wisdom of Hegel or Kant, Then might I sing as I'd like to of Zachary, Then might I sing a Taylorian chant.

Oh, for the lyrical art of a Tennyson!

Oh, for the skill of Macaulay or Burke!

None of these mine; so I give him my benison, Turning reluctantly back to my work.

O Millard Fillmore! when a man refers To thee, what direful, awful thing occurs?

Though in itself thy name hath nought of wit, Yet--and this doth confound me to admit When I do hear it, I do smile; nay, more-- I laugh, I scream, I cachinnate, I roar As Wearied Business Men do shake with glee At mimes that say ”Dubuque” or ”Kankakee”; As bas.e.m.e.nt-brows that laugh at New Roch.e.l.le; As lackwits laugh when actors mention h.e.l.l.

Perhaps--it may be so--I am not sure-- Perhaps it is that thou wast so obscure, And that one seldom hears a single word of thee; I know a lot of girls that never heard of thee.

Hence did I smile, perhaps.... How very near The careless laughing to the thoughtful tear!