APOSTROPHE TO AN OLD HAT.
BY JOHN G. SAXE.
Come forth, Old Hat! I’ll pluck thee from the ditch,
Where thou hadst well nigh found a grave, ‘unwept,
Unhonor’d and unsung.’ I’ll rescue thee
A moment longer from oblivion,
Albeit thou art old, bereaved of rim,
And like a prince dethroned, no more canst boast
A crown!
Would thou couldst talk! I’d e’en consent
That thou shouldst steal my prating grandame’s tongue,
And so procure her silence and thy history.
Time-worn, adust, degraded as thou art,
Thine ancient quality doth still appear;
And this fine web, malgré thy present mien,
(A batter’d cylinder of dingy brown,)
Proclaims that once, some dozen years ago,
Thou wert a good and fashionable hat.
Perchance thou first wert perch’d right jauntily
A-top some dandy’s poll; a most convenient block
To keep thee in good shape, and serve beside
One purpose more—to advertise thy brethren.
Mayhap a lawyer, in thy pristine years
And his, with thy possession much enhanced
His meagre sum of personal estate;
And, in phrase professional, call’d thee ‘chattel’—
A vile distinction for a beaver hat!
A lawyer’s hat!—alack! what teeming store-house oft
Of mischiefs dire; ill-boding parchment; ‘writs,’
With hieroglyphics mystical inscribed;
Invention curious of graceless men,
And in sad mock’ry named ‘the grace of God!’
What mighty ‘suits at law,’ begot and born
Within thy strait enclosure, yet survive
Thy tenth successor! And what mighty ‘suits
In chancery,’ (so named from Chance, who sits
Alternate there and in the legal courts,)
Still flourish, endless as the heap of words
Which mark the spot where Justice lies entomb’d!
Perhaps at first thou wert allow’d to crown
The ‘honorable’ head of some grave senator;
Or judge astute; or member of ‘the other
House;’ pregnant perforce with weighty matters;
‘Petitions’ humbly praying to abolish
Slavery and ‘hard times.’ ‘Bills’ to promote
The better culture of morality
And morus multicaulis! Mayhap a brief
And formal letter to a brother member,
In courteous phrase requesting leave to shoot him.
‘Notes,’ ‘Resolutions,’ ‘Speeches’ of vast length,
And just adapted to produce what thou
Hast wanted many a year—a decent nap.
Perchance an editor, by some mysterious accident
Made passing rich with five-and-forty shillings,
First bore thee off in triumph; ’tis pity then
Thou canst not speak; else should we hear
Of much before unpublished; of countless ‘bills’
Unpaid; of libels prudently suppress’d;
Of ‘Stanzas’ much, of ‘Lines’ innumerable;
And love-sick ‘Songs’ to goddesses mundane,
All wickedly committed to the Persian’s god!
Thou mayst have crown’d a parson, and couldst tell,
If thou hadst power of verbal utterance,
Of ‘the divinity that stirred within thee’
In shape of sermons; faithful or smooth-tongued,
As he who wrote them chanced to covet most
The smile of God or man. A lover’s hat
Thou surely wert, (since all men love,
Who have a head,) and oft no doubt hast given
To scented billet-doux and amorous rhymes
Thy friendly guardianship; secure from aught
Save lifting winds and porter’s curious eye.
At second-hand ’tis ten to one thou wert
A Jew’s possession, got in honest barter;
Next, John the ostler’s; last of all, past doubt
A vagrant’s hat; the equitable purchase
Of an ill-sung song. Till quite worn out
With rain, and wind, and sleet, and other ‘ills
Thy race is heir to,’ the beggar cast thee
From his plebeian pate—and here thou liest.
St. Alban’s, Vermont.