“Dear, dear!” said the Prince Choo-Choo,
“Now here is a how-do-you-do!
Is there nothing, O Jasmine-Flower, instead? A parasol pink or blue?
A beautiful big balloon?”
But she wept to the same old tune,
“I’d rather have little Fing-Wee, papa, than anything under the moon!”
Then the prince he called for lights,
And he called for the Book of Rites,
And all of the classical literature that he loved to read o’ nights;
And he read till the dawn of day
In his very remarkable way,
From end to beginning, from bottom to top, as only a Chinaman may.
the tortoise test
“My father adopted a son,
His father the same had done;
Some thousands of years ago, it appears, the custom was thus begun.”
He stopped for a pinch of snuff;
His logic was sound, though tough;
You may rightfully follow what plan you please, if it’s only antique enough!
“A son,” he thoughtfully said,
“To serve me with rice and bread;
To burn the paper above my grave and honor my aged head!
Oh, try me the tortoise sign
With a tortoise of ancient line:
If he turns his toes straight in as he goes, the boy is certainly mine!”
Oho! but the garden rang
On that wonderful night—ting, tang!
When a banquet meet was served the élite of the city of proud Shi-Bang!
And all who passed that way
Might read in letters gay
As long as your arm: “The Prince Choo-Choo adopts a son to-day!”
There was knocking of heads galore;
There were trumpets and drums a score;
The gay pavilions were lit with millions of lamps from ceiling to floor.
And oh, but the chop-sticks flew
In the palace of Prince Choo-Choo,
And the gifts that were brought for the little Fing-Wee would fill me
a chapter or two.