And lo! to-night the phantom light That as a sprite flits on the fender Reveals a face whose girlish grace Brings back the feeling, warm and tender; And all the while the old time smile Plays on my visage, grim and wrinkled, As though, soubrette, your footfalls yet Upon my rusty heart-strings tinkled.

THE MONSTROUS PLEASANT BALLAD OF THE TAYLOR PUP.

Now lithe and listen, gentles all, Now lithe ye all and hark Unto a ballad I shall sing About Buena Park.

Of all the wonders happening there The strangest hap befell Upon a famous April morn, As you I now shall tell.

It is about the Taylor pup And of his mistress eke, And of the pranking time they had That I would fain to speak.

FITTE THE FIRST.

The pup was of a n.o.ble mein As e'er you gazed upon; They called his mother Lady And his father was a Don.

And both his mother and his sire Were of the race Bernard-- The family famed in histories And hymned of every bard.

His form was of exuberant mold, Long, slim and loose of joints; There never was a pointer-dog So full as he of points.

His hair was like a yellow fleece, His eyes were black and kind, And like a nodding, gilded plume His tail stuck up behind.

His bark was very, very fierce And fierce his appet.i.te, Yet was it only things to eat That he was p.r.o.ne to bite.

But in that one particular He was so pa.s.sing true That never did he quit a meal Until he had got through.

Potatoes, biscuits, mush or hash, Joint, chop, or chicken limb-- So long as it was edible, 'Twas all the same to him!

And frequently when Hunger's pangs a.s.sailed that callow pup, He masticated boots and gloves Or chewed a door-mat up.

So was he much beholden of The folk that him did keep; They loved him when he was awake And better still asleep.

FITTE THE SECOND.

Now once his master lingering o'er His breakfast coffee-cup, Observed unto his doting spouse: "You ought to wash the pup!"

"That shall I do this very day,"

His doting spouse replied; "You will not know the pretty thing When he is washed and dried.

"But tell me, dear, before you go Unto your daily work, Shall I use Ivory soap on him, Or Colgate, Pears' or Kirk?"

"Odzooks, it matters not a whit-- They all are good to use!

Take Pearline, if it pleases you-- Sapolio, if you choose!

"Take any soap, but take the pup And also water take, And mix the three discreetly up Till they a lather make.

"Then mixing these const.i.tuent parts, Let nature take her way,"

With such advice that sapient sir Had nothing more to say.

Then fared he to his daily toil All in the Board of Trade, While Mistress Taylor for that bath Due preparations made.

FITTE THE THIRD.

She whistled gayly to the pup And called him by his name, And presently the guileless thing All unsuspecting came.

But when she shut the bath-room door And caught him as catch-can, And dove him in that odious tub, His sorrows then began.

How did that callow, yellow thing Regret that April morn-- Alas! how bitterly he rued The day that he was born!

Twice and again, but all in vain He lifted up his wail; His voice was all the pup could lift, For thereby hangs this tale.

'Twas by that tail she held him down And presently she spread The creamery lather on his back, His stomach and his head.

His ears hung down in sorry wise, His eyes were, oh! so sad-- He looked as though he just had lost The only friend he had.

And higher yet the water rose, The lather still increased, And sadder still the countenance Of that poor martyred beast!

Yet all this time his mistress spoke Such artful words of cheer As "Oh, how nice!" and "Oh, how clean!"

And "There's a patient dear!"

At last the trial had an end, At last the pup was free; She threw awide the bath-room door-- "Now get you gone!" quoth she.

FITTE THE FOURTH.

Then from that tub and from that room He gat with vast ado; At every hop he gave a shake And--how the water flew!

He paddled down the winding stairs And to the parlor hied, Dispensing pools of foamy suds And slop on every side.

Upon the carpet then he rolled And brushed against the wall, And, horror! whisked his lathery sides On overcoat and shawl.

Attracted by the dreadful din, His mistress came below-- Who, who can speak her wonderment-- Who, who can paint her woe!

Great smears of soap were here and there-- Her startled vision met With blots of lather everywhere, And everything was wet!

Then Mrs. Taylor gave a shriek Like one about to die; "Get out--get out, and don't you dare Come in till you are dry!"

With that she opened wide the door And waved the critter through; Out in the circ.u.mambient air With grateful yelp he flew.

FITTE THE FIFTH.

He whisked into the dusty street And to the Waller lot Where bonny Annie Evans played With charming Sissy Knott.