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FOR want of something better I will pass a little time-- Not with Paderewski's sweetness, rather with a clumsy rhyme; Telling what a cheerful outing several Warrenites enjoyed, Out at Shumla, near Laona, in a drift, quite well decoyed. Pounding through the numerous snowdrifts, with four locomotives strong, Rushing, plowing, all the steam up, as we tried to pass along; But quite stalled, we finally waited till an hundred tons of snow Were from off the road-bed shoveled, when again we thought to go; But the black and puffing monsters simply puffed and tugged in vain, Till our good conductor, Timmons, "whistled," Supper, guests upon the train; Not the second call was needed; cake and biscuits, "Menu fine," And for each a cup of coffee--merry change and just in time. And we all, that wintry evening, through the moonlit sifting snow, Anchored in the drift at Shumla; bodies large were moving slow; There until the wee, small hours; a jovial doctor and a score Of the happy, hopeful patients, who had not forgot to snore. Merchants, clerks, and likewise shoppers, all were there upon the train, And the Smiths are always with us- "that is what some people claim" -- And with only one exception, all were happy as could be -- Walking up and down the aisle, a road-knight, such was he. Two were there 'neath "nuptial" blessings, and the knot had just been tied; In the little double harness, neither longer wept nor sighed; Though the drift was to the windows-- higher, I may safely say--- Yet this little "twain" of sweetness seemed content with- out the day. Quite one hundred railway track-men, and four locomotives strong Got us back to dear old Dunkirk; noon of next day came along. We soliloquize a moment, then the verdict seems to be: We will think of Paderewski, in the drift or on the sea, And if ever in the future we should have a concert call, Then will dawn a reminiscence, framed, snow-bound, on memory's wall. |
