Classic Poem

Did you attend the high tea of Mrs. Bacon Rhynde?
No? Well, you missed such splendor as you will seldom find.
The hostess spared no trouble to make it recherche ,
And what in taste was lacking was made up in display.
A canvas from her portico extended to the street,
And rich and costly carpets were spread beneath the feet;
A gorgeous costumed footman first helped us to the ground,
Then waved us to the front door, with salaam most profound;
But, once within the mansion, such splendor met the gaze
That one might well give vent to some courteous amaze
In little " ahs " and " lovelys, " that meagerly expressed
The admiration great of each newly entered guest,
But all the decoration had nothing to compare
With the flowers in profusion, seen blooming everywhere.
Round grates and lofty mirrors they seemed to trail and bloom;
From rich and costly vases they shed a faint perfume;
From crystal chandeliers they were pendant overhead.
The whole scene was a wonder of green, and white, and red.

'Mid all the festal brav'ry the hostess moved, elate,
In rustling silks and laces, in splendid jeweled state;
Her fat and jolly features bedewed with beads of sweat,
Her very dress in places with perspiration wet;
While little founts of moisture sprung from her shoulders and
Ran trickling through the powder, like brooklets through the sand.
Her costume was a marvel, and every one confessed
The lady was most richly and wonderfully dressed.
The epaulettes of ribbon that from her shoulders flapped
The climax of her costume appropriately capped.
To add to all this grandeur, and make it just au fait ,
Tight clasped in bulging gauntlets she held a big bouquet.

But now I know you wonder who at the hostess' side
Stood ready to assist her, her labors to divide.
Two young and lovely ladies were to this task assigned —
Miss Esmerelda Rashyr, Miss Eva Bacon Rhynde.
The guests at last are gathered, and round the table placed,
Discussing tea and gossip, with well-developed taste.
A woman's pretty mouth's not unlike Pandora's box,
For out of it, when opened, misfortunes fly in flocks.
In tenderest female bosoms good names are doomed to death,
And foulest tales are wafted at first by sweetest breath.
So these good ladies soon turned the wasps of scandal loose,
And, while they praised the hostess, took notes for future use.

But who composed this throng, of such wit and beauty rare?
I cannot name them all, for the elite all were there.
No common Smiths and Joneses were in that stylish crowd,
But Sybyl Smythe was present, and those de Joneses proud;
With Mrs. Randolph Baykyr was Miss Estella Close,
And Georgianna Roset — her uncle's name is Rose.
Minna de Longe was there, too, bejeweled, decollete —
Her name was Molly Long once, so cruel gossips say.
Her father took to dredging, and made his pretty pile;
To boarding-school went Mary, and stayed a little while;
A grub she went away, but a butterfly became —
Too fine a thing by far for a common, vulgar name!
And I must not forget sweet Geralde de Vincent Stubs —
Her mother, Lucy Stubb, once bent over washing-tubs;
Nor must I pass Miss Blacke by, nor fair Blanche Hyggynstone,
Who scorn the Blacks and Higgins, and disdainfully disown!

Oh! magic god of Mammon! For, in so brief a while,
These haughty titles blossom beneath thy potent smile.
And, oh! this fruitful country, this strong, young land of ours,
Where honor grows so fast when refreshed by golden showers!
Ancestors, crests and heirlooms — we need no thousand years:
Give us a little money, and how soon the rest appears!

Our hostess was most eager that none should fail to see
How quite aristocratic was her mode of serving tea;
And, lest some little detail should lack admiring eyes,
She talked of this and that, and solicited replies.
Whene'er her language failed, or her meaning scarce expressed,
Miss Rashyr or Miss Rhynde would interpolate the rest.
She said she hoped her guests would excuse her if she tried
To show how things were managed " upon the other side; "
That she was just from Yurrip, and meant soon to go again,
Where she took observations among the " upper ten. "
Miss Rasher then remarked that the flowers were gorgeous, very.
" They all came, " said the hostess, " from my conservaterry. "
Here Miss Rhynde hoped the cake's taste was equal to its look,
As it was made by their new ten-thousand-dollar cook.

And now our hostess gave us a genuine surprise:
Our ears she next delighted, as well as taste and eyes.
From out a bower of roses there came a dulcet din —
The band was led, she told us, " by Signor Mandolin. "
But yet our entertainment by no means was complete;
It seems she still had for us reserved a mental treat.
She introduced a young man, Professor Lawrence Brays,
And said he'd read us something from " Mr. Shakespeare's plays. "
But here an interruption inopportune occurred —
A servant entered, boldly, as one who will be heard,
And said: " Plaize, mum, there's waiting below, widin the dhure,
A dapper little fellow, who says you'll see him, sure.
He sthripped his hat an' coat off, as handy as you please,
An' says, " I'm ripresintin' the Daily Mornin' Breeze." "
" Oh dear! it's a reporter, " the hostess cried in grief;
" I do declare, such boldness almost exceeds belief.
I shrink from public notice, 'tis such a vulgar thing;
Send him about his business with his reportering. "
" Indade, he'd not uv passed me, " chimed Patrick in with vim,
" Had not the lyin' spalpeen tould me you sint for him. "
At this a muffled titter broke out, but quickly died,
While Mrs. Rhynde most sternly the stupid servant eyed.
In fact, a pause quite awkward fell on the gathering gay,
Until Miss Rashyr went down to send the wretch away.
But, ah, the sly reporter! he's made of eyes and ears;
For in this morning's daily a full account appears.
" Aristocratic Splendor, " the screed is headed so,
And all the decorations are mentioned high and low;
The list of guests is given, the costumes that each wore,
While all throughout, the hostess is lauded o'er and o'er.

But hours of merry-making fly from us wondrous fast,
And even so much splendor could not forever last.
The ladies speak of leaving; 'round Mrs. Rhynde they press
To say they've had such pleasure as words cannot express.
Another interruption, however, mars the scene,
And clothes with sudden thunder the hostess' brow serene.
For Mr. Clarence Rhynde, in his shirt-sleeves and his hat,
Rushed in, exclaiming, " Here, now, what are you women at?
I know that mother told me to keep myself away,
But f'r all these fancy fixin's I have the bills to pay.
I want ye to feel welcome, an' so I've had a team
Drive 'round from Sweetner's, loaded with candy an' ice cream.
Don't scowl so at me, mother; I guess I know my biz;
I feel like celebratin', for, mother, pork is riz! "

As near as I remember, that's all you'd care to hear;
And yet this brief description is very poor, I fear.
To Mrs. Rhynde's next high tea you mustn't fail to go;
Just change your name to Smythe and she'll look you up, I know.