Poor Jim
In a New England commonwealth, while knocking 'round for strength and health,
I boarded with a widow dame (of course I can't disclose her name),
An acid creature, gaunt and grim, who lived alone with one son, Jim.
A freckled, awkward, red-haired chap, not reared exactly in the lap
Of luxury, or taught to know affection's honeyed overflow.
And oft my rose-hued fancy's dreams were rudely shattered by the screams
Wild from the wood-shed forth which came. And then my stern, ascetic dame,
Smoothing the wrinkles from her lap and waving high a leathern strap,
Emerged, and said in accents grim: " Feel better now, I've paddled Jim. "
Day in, day out, that same assault, whate'er the wrong or whose the fault.
If any boarder sought by night to liquidate his debt in flight,
My acid widow from her grief in flogging Jim found swift relief.
Whene'er in anger, 'twas her wont to strap that awkward little runt.
The beef was tough, the bread was burned — at once my lady quickly turned,
Until she spied the trembling Jim; her claw-like fingers gobbled him,
Swift to the wood-shed bore him out, aloft she swung her leathern knout,
And then emerged, tall, sour, and grim: " Feel better now, I've paddled Jim. "
Poor Jim, a child of sores and salve, served as a constant safety valve.
Perhaps my lady angered came from quarrel with some neighbor dame;
Or worsted in some church debate; arose, perchance, a little late;
The butcher's bill was deemed too large; the grocer's trifling overcharge
Conspired to rouse my lady's ire; her lips were drawn, her eyes flashed fire;
Straightway the luckless Jim was sought, the strap from out the kitchen brought,
Jim laid across his mother's lap; shrill whistled then the leathern strap.
Until she breathed in accents grim: " Feel better now, I've paddled Jim. "
But once my lady's accents shrill were silenced; she was stricken ill.
Her lungs distressed, she strove for breath, and hovered between life and death.
The doctors pondered in dismay; they held no hope and saw no way
To save my lady's life. More grim and gaunt she grew, and little Jim
Was called to say his last good-bye. She spied him with a brighter eye,
Swift seized him, drew him 'cross her lap, and called the nurse to bring the strap.
At eve the doctor, calling 'round, miraculous improvement found.
" I feel, " she whispered low to him, " much better since I paddled Jim. "
I boarded with a widow dame (of course I can't disclose her name),
An acid creature, gaunt and grim, who lived alone with one son, Jim.
A freckled, awkward, red-haired chap, not reared exactly in the lap
Of luxury, or taught to know affection's honeyed overflow.
And oft my rose-hued fancy's dreams were rudely shattered by the screams
Wild from the wood-shed forth which came. And then my stern, ascetic dame,
Smoothing the wrinkles from her lap and waving high a leathern strap,
Emerged, and said in accents grim: " Feel better now, I've paddled Jim. "
Day in, day out, that same assault, whate'er the wrong or whose the fault.
If any boarder sought by night to liquidate his debt in flight,
My acid widow from her grief in flogging Jim found swift relief.
Whene'er in anger, 'twas her wont to strap that awkward little runt.
The beef was tough, the bread was burned — at once my lady quickly turned,
Until she spied the trembling Jim; her claw-like fingers gobbled him,
Swift to the wood-shed bore him out, aloft she swung her leathern knout,
And then emerged, tall, sour, and grim: " Feel better now, I've paddled Jim. "
Poor Jim, a child of sores and salve, served as a constant safety valve.
Perhaps my lady angered came from quarrel with some neighbor dame;
Or worsted in some church debate; arose, perchance, a little late;
The butcher's bill was deemed too large; the grocer's trifling overcharge
Conspired to rouse my lady's ire; her lips were drawn, her eyes flashed fire;
Straightway the luckless Jim was sought, the strap from out the kitchen brought,
Jim laid across his mother's lap; shrill whistled then the leathern strap.
Until she breathed in accents grim: " Feel better now, I've paddled Jim. "
But once my lady's accents shrill were silenced; she was stricken ill.
Her lungs distressed, she strove for breath, and hovered between life and death.
The doctors pondered in dismay; they held no hope and saw no way
To save my lady's life. More grim and gaunt she grew, and little Jim
Was called to say his last good-bye. She spied him with a brighter eye,
Swift seized him, drew him 'cross her lap, and called the nurse to bring the strap.
At eve the doctor, calling 'round, miraculous improvement found.
" I feel, " she whispered low to him, " much better since I paddled Jim. "
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