The Wit and Humor of America, Volume II | Page 2

JOHN B. TABB

Among your many playmates here, How is it that you all prefer Your
little friend, my dear? "Because, mamma, tho' hard we try, Not one of
us can spit so high, And catch it in his ear."

BARNEY MCGEE
BY RICHARD HOVEY
Barney McGee, there's no end of good luck in you, Will-o'-the-wisp,
with a flicker of Puck in you, Wild as a bull-pup, and all of his pluck in
you-- Let a man tread on your coat and he'll see! Eyes like the lakes of
Killarney for clarity, Nose that turns up without any vulgarity, Smile
like a cherub, and hair that is carroty-- Whoop, you're a rarity, Barney
McGee! Mellow as Tarragon, Prouder than Aragon-- Hardly a paragon,
You will agree-- Here's all that's fine to you! Books and old wine to
you! Girls be divine to you, Barney McGee!
Lucky the day when I met you unwittingly, Dining where vagabonds
came and went flittingly. Here's some Barbera to drink it befittingly,
That day at Silvio's, Barney McGee! Many's the time we have quaffed
our Chianti there, Listened to Silvio quoting us Dante there-- Once
more to drink Nebiolo spumante there, How we'd pitch Pommery into
the sea! There where the gang of us Met ere Rome rang of us, They had
the hang of us To a degree. How they would trust to you! That was but
just to you. Here's o'er their dust to you, Barney McGee!
Barney McGee, when you're sober you scintillate, But when you're in
drink you're the pride of the intellect; Divil a one of us ever came in till
late, Once at the bar where you happened to be-- Every eye there like a
spoke in you centering, You with your eloquence, blarney, and
bantering-- All Vagabondia shouts at your entering, King of the
Tenderloin, Barney McGee! There's no satiety In your society With the
variety Of your esprit. Here's a long purse to you, And a great thirst to
you! Fate be no worse to you, Barney McGee!
Och, and the girls whose poor hearts you deracinate, Whirl and

bewilder and flutter and fascinate! Faith, it's so killing you are, you
assassinate-- Murder's the word for you, Barney McGee! Bold when
they're sunny, and smooth when they're showery-- Oh, but the style of
you, fluent and flowery! Chesterfield's way, with a touch of the Bowery!
How would they silence you, Barney machree? Naught can your gab
allay, Learned as Rabelais (You in his abbey lay Once on the spree).
Here's to the smile of you, (Oh, but the guile of you!) And a long while
of you, Barney McGee!
Facile with phrases of length and Latinity, Like honorificabilitudinity,
Where is the maid could resist your vicinity, Wiled by the impudent
grace of your plea? Then your vivacity and pertinacity Carry the day
with the divil's audacity; No mere veracity robs your sagacity Of
perspicacity, Barney McGee. When all is new to them, What will you
do to them? Will you be true to them? Who shall decree? Here's a fair
strife to you! Health and long life to you! And a great wife to you,
Barney McGee!
Barney McGee, you're the pick of gentility; Nothing can phase you,
you've such a facility; Nobody ever yet found your utility-- There is the
charm of you, Barney McGee; Under conditions that others would
stammer in, Still unperturbed as a cat or a Cameron, Polished as
somebody in the Decameron, Putting the glamour on price or Pawnee.
In your meanderin', Love and philanderin', Calm as a mandarin Sipping
his tea! Under the art of you, Parcel and part of you, Here's to the heart
of you, Barney McGee!
You who were ever alert to befriend a man, You who were ever the
first to defend a man, You who had always the money to lend a man,
Down on his luck and hard up for a V! Sure, you'll be playing a harp in
beatitude (And a quare sight you will be in that attitude)-- Some day,
where gratitude seems but a platitude, You'll find your latitude, Barney
McGee. That's no flim-flam at all, Frivol or sham at all, Just the
plain--Damn it all, Have one with me! Here's one and more to you!
Friends by the score to you, True to the core to you, Barney McGee!

THE OLD DEACON'S VERSION OF THE STORY OF THE RICH
MAN AND LAZARUS
BY FRANK L. STANTON
I s'pose yo' know de story, O my brotherin', er de man Dat wuz rich ez
cream, en livin' on de fatness er de lan'? How he sot dar eatin' 'possum,
en when Laz'rus ax fer some, He tell 'im: "Git erway, dar! fer you'll
never git a crumb!"
De rich man wuz a feastin' f'um his