~The Book Of Wonder Encyclopaedia~

		
	      'Twas a balmy summer evening and a goodly crowd was there
	      Which well nigh filled the bar room on the corner of the square,
	      And as songs and witty stories came through the open door
	      A vagabond crept slowly in and posed upon the floor.

	      "Where did it come from?" Someone said. "The wind has blown it in."
	      "What does it want?" another cried, "Some whisky, rum, or gin?"
	      "Here, Toby, seek him, if your stomach's equal to the work
	      I wouldn't touch him with a fork; He's as filthy as a Turk."

	      This badinage the poor wretch took in stoical good grace;
	      In fact he smiled as though he thought he'd struck the proper place.
	      "Come, boys, I know there's goodly hearts among so good a crowd
	      To be in such good company would make a deacon proud."

	      "Give me a drink - that's what I want - I'm out of funds, you know:
	      When I had cash to treat the gang this hand was never slow.
	      What? You laugh as if you thought this pocket never held a sou:
	      I once was fixed as well as any one of you."

	      "There, thanks; that's braced me nicely; God bless you one and all;
	      Next time I pass this good saloon, I'll make another call.
	      Give you a song? No, I can't do that; my singing days are passed.
	      My voice is cracked, my throat's worn out, and my lungs are going fast;

	      "Say, Give me another whisky and I'll tell you what I'll do
	      I'll tell you a funny story, and a fact I promise, too.
	      That I was ever a decent man, not one of you would think;
	      But, I was some four of five years back. Say, give me another drink.

	      Fill her up, Joe, I want to put some life into my frame
	      Such little drinks, to a bum like me, are miserably tame;
	      Five fingers there, that's the scheme and corking whisky, too.
	      Well, here's luck, boys and landlord, my best regards to you.

	      "You've treated me pretty kindly, and I'd like to tell you how
	      I came to be the dirty sot you see before you now.
	      As I told you. once I was a man with muscle, frame and health,
	      And, but for a blunder, ought to have made considerable wealth.

	      "I was a painter - not one who daubs on bricks and wood
	      But an artist -, and, for my age, was considered pretty good.
	      I worked hard at my canvas and was bidding fair to rise,
	      For gradually I saw the star of fame before my eyes.

	      "I made a picture, perhaps you've seen, 'tis called the 'Chase of fame.'
	      It brought me fifteen hundred pounds and added to my name.
	      And then I met a woman - now comes the funny part -
	      With eyes that petrified my brain, and sunk into my heart.

	      "Why don't you laugh? 'Tis funny that the vagabond you see
	      Could ever love a woman and expect her love for me;
	      But 'twas so, and for a month or two her smiles were freely given,
	      And when her loving lips met mine it carried me to heaven.

	      "Did you ever see a woman for whom your soul you'd give,
	      With a form like the Milo Venus, too beautiful to live;
	      With eyes that would beat the Koh-i-nor, and a wealth of chestnut hair?
	      If so, 'twas she, for there never was another half so fair.

	      "I was working on a portrait, one afternoon in May,
	      Of a fair haired, boy, a friend of mine, who lived across the way,
	      And Madeline admired it, and much to my surprise,
	      Said that she would like to know the man who had such dreamy eyes.

	      "It didn't take long to know him, and before the month had flown
	      My friend had stolen my darling, and I was left alone.
	      And, ere a year of misery had passed above my head,
	      The jewel that I had treasured so, had tarnished and was dead.

	      "That's why I took to drink, boys. Why, I never saw you smile,
	      I thought you'd be amused, and laughing all the while.
	      Why, what's the matter, friend? There's a teardrop in your eye,
	      Come, laugh like me, 'tis only babes and women who should cry.

	      "Say, boys, if you give me just another whisky, I'll be glad,
	      And I'll draw right here a picture of the face that drove me mad.
	      Give me that chalk with which you mark up the baseball score
	      And you shall see the lovely Madeline upon the bar room floor."

	      Another drink, and with chalk in hand the vagabond began
	      To sketch a face that  well might buy the soul of any man.
	      Then, as he placed another lock upon the shapely head,
	      With a fearful shriek, he leaped, and fell, across the picture  -- dead.