II. Among the maidens of low degree The poorest of all was Cicely— A shabbier girl could hardly be. “Oh, I should like to see the feast, But my frock is old, my shoes are pieced, My hair is rough!”—(It never was greased.) The clock struck three! She durst not go! But she heard the band, and, to see the show, Crept after the people that went in a row. When Cicely came to the castle gate, The porter exclaimed, “Miss Shaggypate, The hall is full, and you come too late!” Just then the music made a din, Flute, and cymbal, and culverin, And Cicely, with a squeeze, got in. Oh, what a sight! Full fifty score Of dames that Cicely knew, and more, Filling the hall from dais to door! The dresses were like a garden bed, Green and gold, and blue and red— Poor Cicely thought of her tossy head! She heard the singing—she heard the clatter— Clang of flagon and clink of platter— But, oh, the feast was no such matter! For she saw Sir Nicholas himself, Raised on a dais just like a shelf, And fell in love with him—shabby elf! Her heart beat quick; aside she stepped: Under the tapestry she crept, Tousling her tossy hair, and wept! Her cheeks were wet, her eyes were red. “Who makes that noise?” the ladies said; “Turn out that girl with the shaggy head!”
III. Just then there was heard a double roar, That shook the place, both wall and floor: Everybody looked to the door. It was a roar, it was a growl; The ladies set up a little howl, And flapped and clucked like frightened fowl. Sir Hildebrand for silence begs— In walked the bears on their hinder legs, Wise as owls, and merry as grigs! The dark girls tore their hair of sable; The fair girls hid underneath the table; Some fainted; to move they were not able. But most of them could scream and screech— Sir Nicholas Hildebrand made a speech— “Order, ladies, I do beseech!” The bears looked hard at Cicely, Because her hair hung wild and free— “Related to us, miss, you must be!” Then Cicely, filling two plates of gold As full of cherries as they could hold, Walked up to the bears, and spoke out bold: “Welcome to you! and to you Mr. Bear! Will you take a chair? will you take a chair? This is an honor, we do declare!” Sir Hildebrand strode up to see, Saying, “Who may this maiden be? Ladies, this is the wife for me!” Almost before they could understand, He took up Cicely by the hand, And danced with her a saraband. Her hair was rough as a parlor broom; It swung, it swirled all round the room— Those ladies were vexed, we may presume. Sir Nicholas kissed her on the face, And set her beside him on the dais, And made her the lady of the place. The nuptials soon they did prepare, With a silver comb for Cicely’s hair: There were bands of music everywhere. And in that beautiful bridal show Both the bears were seen to go Upon their hind legs to and fro! Now every year on the wedding-day The boys and girls come out to play, And scramble for cherries as they may. With a cheer for this and the other bear, And a cheer for Sir Nicholas, free and fair, And a cheer for Cis, of the tossy hair— With one cheer more (if you will wait) For every girl with a curly pate, Who keeps her hair in a proper state. Sing bear’s grease! curling-irons to sell! Sing combs and brushes! sing tortoise-shell! Oh, yes! ding-dong! the crier, the bell! Isn’t this a pretty tale to tell? Lilliput Levee.
A HOWL IN ROME.
It had been a day of triumph in Capua. Lentulus, returning with victorious eagles, had amused the populace with the sports of the amphitheatre to an extent hitherto unknown, even in that luxurious city. A large number of people from the rural districts had taken advantage of half-rates on the railroad, and had been in town watching the conflict in the arena, listening to the infirm, decrepit ring-joke, and viewing the bogus sacred elephant.
The shouts of revelry had died away. The last loiterer had retired from the free-lunch counter, and the lights in the palace of the victor were extinguished. The restless hyena in the Roman menagerie had sunk to rest, and the Numidian lion at the stock-yards had taken out his false teeth for the night. The moon, piercing the tissue of fleecy clouds, tipped the dark waters of the Tiber with a wavy, tremulous light. The dark-browed Roman soldier moved on his homeward way, the sidewalk flipping up occasionally, and hitting him in the small of the back. No sound was heard, save the low sob of some retiring wave as it told its story to the smooth pebbles on the beach, or the unrelenting boot-jack as it struck the high board fence in the back yard, just missing the Roman tomcat in its mad flight; and then all was still as the breast when the spirit has departed. Anon the half-stifled Roman snore would steal in upon its deathly stillness, and then die away like a hot biscuit in the hands of the hired man.
In the green room of the amphitheatre a little band of gladiators were assembled. The foam of conflict yet lingered on their lips, the scowl of battle yet hung upon their brows, and the large knobs on their profiles indicated that it had been a busy day with them in the arena.
There was an embarrassing silence of about five minutes, when Spartacus, gently laying his chew of tobacco on the banister, stepped forth and addressed them:—
“Mr. Chairman, ladies and gentlemen,—Ye call me chief, and ye do well to call him chief who for twelve long years has met in the arena every shape of man or beast that the broad empire of Rome could furnish, and yet has never squealed. I do not say this egotistically, but simply to show that I am the star thumper of the entire outfit.
“If there be one among you who can say that ever in public fight, or private brawl, my actions did belie my words, let him stand forth and say it, and I will spread him around over the arena till the coroner will have to soak him out of the ground with benzine. If there be three in all your company dare face me on the bloody sands, let them come, and I will construct upon their physiognomy such cupolas and cornices and dormer-windows and Corinthian capitals and entablatures, that their own masters would pass them by in the broad light of high noon unrecognized.