“Who can deny the sense of truth
It gives the tongue of youth?
It hath the praise
Of being always candied in its ways,
And stops the carping critic’s mouth till he becometh dumb,
Delighted with a sugar plum!
“Comfit, come fit my mouth, and I
In thy sweet praise will try
My hand at feet,
With anxious aim to make the metre meet,
Till Arabic, or any other diff’rent sort of gum,
Shall water for a sugar plum.
“Muse, if thy musings can prevail,
I’ll at it tooth and nail;
I have no nerves
Of taste for syrups, jellies, or preserves;
Oh, let them go to pot, say I, as so much worthless scum,
They cannot make a sugar plum.
“Bull’s eyes may stick within the shop,
And so may lollapop,
Elecampane
Unsucked within its bottles may remain;
And barley sugar, brandy balls, or even balls of rum,
I’d spurn to get a sugar plum.
“Plums from the trees I do not find
So plummy to my mind;
Orleans or egg
Unnoticed for my patronage may beg;
And damsons may be da—; ah, I’m in a passion, I say mum,
I’ll swear not for a sugar plum.”
“You excel yourself, sir,” said Oriel Porphyry, with something of sarcasm in the tone of his voice, arising, perhaps, from his becoming a little out of patience.
“By the unsophisticated tail of Confucius, you may say that,” replied the poet with the same seriousness he had from the first evinced. “Having, in so unutterable a manner, obtained the precedency of my promiscuous cotemporaries, I had no alternative but to enter into competition with myself. That I have to so wonderful an extent exceeded my own super-excellence, therefore, cannot be considered strange; but, as you are evidently gratified in a manner perfectly unparalleled by the unimaginable superiority of my poetic genius, I will show my consideration of your admirable sagacity by enrapturing you still more completely by a more transcendental attempt at the sublime;” and the young Chinese began unfolding another paper.
“Not now, I’m very much obliged to you,” said Oriel, rising as if to depart. “I have business of importance that requires my immediate attendance; and, having waited for Long Chi so long, I am afraid I cannot protract my visit.”
“Not to be ravished by the immortal praises of the adorable Fee Fo Fum?” exclaimed the melancholy poet in the utmost astonishment.
“I cannot allow myself that pleasure at present,” said the merchant’s son, courteously, yet looking as if he was impatient to be gone.