Life — April 6, 1899 — page 8: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

300 The Ballad of C. C. Shayne. 97 WAS on a sunny morn in March Wo walked adown tho qua; A morry, pleasuro-seeking band, To sail across the sea. But we stayed our steps with gcim surpriso Upon the landing-atago, To seo a grizzly, savage man Within an iron cage. A wretched, melancholy man, Who sat half-naked there, And a dingy strip of ragged fur Was all that he did wear, And loud he sang a dismal song, With a monotone refrain: “Ob, dames and sirs, don’t get your furs At the store of C. C. Shayne!” “Ob, tell us why, unhappy man, You chant this sorry rhyme, And is it true that you did do Some strange, blood-curdling crime?” * Ob, no,” he cried, “no crimo has dyed My hands with crimson stain; But soon you'll know why I warble so Tho ballad of C, C. Shayne, “ For once, like you, I was happy, too, And I sailed across the brine, And back I came, as you'll do the same, On a ship of the Black Star line, And it was just here, at the end of the pier, That I sidled down the plank ; Oh! oft I've wished since that day 80 drear ‘That the Black Star ship had sank! “For I spied just hore at the ond of the pier A wild, untutored band, And with a bow! and a fearful scowl Thoy welcomed me to land. And first they grabbed my portmanteau, And then they grabbed my trunk; Oh! oft I've wished since that day so drear That the Black Star ship had sunk! “And soon my shirts and collars and cuffs Lay strewn upon the ground, And with greedy hand that robber band Seized evorything they found, And when my trunk and bag were bare They turned around to me, And the hungry look in their cruel oyes Was horrible to seo. “Thon one whipped off my hat and cried, ‘Hurrah, this comes from Locke's!’ And another pulled off my Thomas boots And my Beale and Inman socks; And a third, ho stripped my coat and vest, Though the day was damp and cool; And a fourth, as he drew my trousors off, Read the label of Henry Poolo. “GOLP LYNX.” “When I landed onco at Labrador, And once on Feejee's isles, And again on Patagonia’s shoro, I met with native smiles; Or at the worst they smacked their lips And sadly let me go; But they only deign in the land of Shayne ‘To enact such scenes of woe. “So there I stood in the wintry wind, And my fingers soon turned blue; +b, gentlemen,’ I shouted then, *What am I going to do?” Whereat they sang this dismal song, With its monotone refrain: “Ob, luckless sir, you must buy fur At the store of C. C. Shayne.’ “What olse, indeed, was I to do? So I gave what my purse did hold; Thoy did not like my foreign clothes, But they liked my foroign gold. And they chose for me this strip of skin From tho stock in the store of Shayne; Bat ‘twould be amiss to walk out liko this, So hero I must remain. “And they clapped me in this iron cago, And here I sing all day, And warn the beedless, merry crowds That wish to sail away. Oh, turn you back, you merry band, Or if you go to sca, Then no'er como back to this down trod land . And its Statue of Liberty ! But ero you go I fain would know What beast once wore this fur, And did it crawl upon all fours, And did it bark or purr? Or did it bellow, grunt or roar, Or did it only moo, Or was it a groon ourang-outang From the coast of Timbuctoo?” Wo could not tell that bapless man What beast that fur had worn, But we knew the man who skinned that beast And who skinced that man forlorn. Not one of us sot sail that day, For we heeded his wise refrain, And whate’or occurs we buy no furs At tho store of C. C. Shayne. Memnon, ou $peardwr, IN 1850, ASPER: Basser doesn’t seem to be as popular in Brooklyn as he used to be. Jumpurre: And no wonder, He has acquired the habit of singing his baby to sleep, and in that way he wakens every otber baby on the avenue,