Mrs. Mcnair

Misce stultitiam consiliis brevem. Horace.     Mrs. McNair     Was tall and fair;     Mrs. McNair was slim;     She had flashing black eyes and raven hair;     But a very remarkably modest air;     And her only care was for Mr. McNair;     She was exceedingly fond of him.     He sold "notions" and lace     With wonderful grace,     And kept everything neatly displayed in its place:     The red, curly hair on his head and his face     He always persisted     Should be oiled and twisted;     He was the sleekest young husband that ever existed.     Precisely at four     He would leave his store;     And Mr. McNair with his modest bride     Seated snugly and lovingly by his side,     On the rural Broadway,     Every pleasant day,     In his spick-span carriage would rattle away.     Though it must be allowed     The lady was proud,     She'd have no maid about her the dear lady vowed:     So for Mr. McNair     The wear and the fare     She made it a care of her own to prepare.     I think I may guess, being married myself,     That the cause was not solely the saving of pelf.     As for her, I'll declare,     Though raven her hair,     Though her eyes were so dark and her body so slim,     She hadn't a thought for a man but him.     From three to nine,     Invited to dine,     Oft met at the house of the pair divine:     Her husband and who, by the way, was well able     Did all the "agreeable" done at the table;     While she most remarkably loving bride     Sat snugly and modestly down by his side.     And when they went out     It was whispered about,     "She's the lovingest wife in the town beyond doubt;"     And every one swore, from pastor to clown,     They were the most affectionate couple in town.     Yes; Mrs McNair     Was modest and fair;     She never fell into a pout or a fret;     And Mr. McNair     Was her only care     And indeed her only pet.     The few short hours he spent at his store     She spent sewing or reading the romancers' lore;     And whoever came     It was always the same     With the modest lady that opened the door.     But there came to town     One Captain Brown     To spend a month or more.     Now this same Captain Brown     Was a man of renown,     And a dashing blue coat he wore;     And a bright, brass star.     And a visible scar     On his brow that he said he had got in the war     As he led the van:     (He never ran!)     In short, he was the "General's" right-hand man,     And had written his name on the pages of fame.     He was smooth as an eel,     And rode so genteel     That in less than a week every old maid and dame     Was constantly lisping the bold Captain's name.     Now Mr. McNair,     As well as the fair,     Had a "bump of reverence" as big as a pear,     And whoever like Brown     Had a little renown,     And happened to visit that rural town,     Was invited of course by McNair to "go down."     So merely by chance,     The son of the lance     Became the bold hero of quite a romance:     For Mrs. McNair thought him wonderful fair,     And that none but her husband could with him compare.     Half her timidity vanished in air     The first time he dined with herself and McNair.     Now the Captain was arch     In whiskers and starch     And preferred, now and then, a gay waltz to a march.     A man, too, he was of uncommon good taste;     Always "at home" and never in haste,     And his manners and speech were remarkably chaste.     To tell you in short     His daily resort     He made at the house of "his good friend McNair,"     Who ('twas really too bad) was so frequently out     When the Captain called in "just to see him" (no doubt)     But Mrs. McNair was so lonely too bad;     So he chatted and chattered and made her look glad.     And many a view     Of his coat of blue,     All studded with buttons gilt, spangled and new,     The dear lady took     Half askance from her book,     As she modestly sat in the opposite nook.     Familiarly he     And modestly she     Talked nonsense and sense so strangely commingled,     That the dear lady's heart was delighted and tingled.     A man of sobriety     Renown and variety     It could not be wrong to enjoy his society:     O was it a sin     For him to "drop in,"     And sometimes to pat her in sport on the chin?     Dear Ladies, beware;     Dear Ladies, take care     How you play with a lion asleep in his lair:     "Mere trifling flirtations" these arts you employ?     Flirtations once led to the siege of old Troy;     And a woman was in     For the sorrow and sin     And slaughter that fell when the Greeks tumbled in;     Nor is there a doubt, my dears, under the sun,     But they've led to the sack of more cities than one.     I would we were all     As pure as Saint Paul     That we touched not the goblet whose lees are but gall;     But if so we must know where a flirtation leads;     Beware of the fair and look out for our heads.     Remember the odious,     Frail woman, Herodias     Sent old Baptist John to a place incommodious,     And prevailed on her husband to cut off his head     For an indiscreet thing the old Nazarite said.     Day in and day out     The blue coat was about;     And the dear little lady was glad when he came     And began to be talkative, tender and tame.     Then he gave her a ring, begged a curl of her hair,     And smilingly whispered her "don't tell McNair."     She dropped her dark eyes     And with two little sighs     Sent the bold Captain's heart fluttering up to the skies.     Then alas     What a pass!     He fell at the feet of the lady so sweet,     And swore that he loved her beyond his control     With all his humanity body and soul!     The lady so frail     Turned suddenly pale,     Then sighed that his love was of little avail;     For alas, the dear Captain he must have forgot     She was tied to McNair with a conjugal knot.     But indeed     She agreed     Were she only a maid he alone could succeed;     But she prayed him by all that is sacred and fair,     Not to rouse the suspicion of Mr. McNair.     'Twas really too bad,     For the lady was sad:     And a terrible night o't the poor lady had,     While Mr. McNair wondered what was the matter,     And endeavored to coax, to console and to flatter.     Many tears she shed     That night while in bed     For she had such a terrible pain in her head!     "My dear little pet, where's the camphor?" he said;     "I'll go for the doctor you'll have to be bled;     I declare, my dear wife, you are just about dead."     "O no, my dear;     I pray you don't fear,     Though the pain, I'll admit, is exceeding severe.     I know what it is I have had it before     It's only neuralgia: please go to the store     And bring me a bottle of 'Davis's Pain-     Killer,' and I shall be better again."     He sprang out of bed     And away he sped     In his gown for the cordial to cure her head,     Not dreaming that Cupid had played her a trick     The blind little rogue with a sharpened stick.     I confess on my knees     I have had the disease;     It is worse than the bites of a thousand fleas;     And the only cure I have found for these ills     Is a double dose of "Purgative Pills."     He rubbed her head     And eased it, she said;     And he shrugged and shivered and got into bed.     He slept and he snored, but the poor lady's pain,     When her lord slept soundly, came on again.     It wore away     However by day     And when Brown called again she was smiling and gay;     But alas, he must say to the lady's dismay     In the town of his heart he had staid out his stay,     And must leave for his regiment with little delay.     Now Mrs. McNair     Was tall and fair,     Mrs. McNair was slim,     But the like of Brown was so wonderful rare     That she could not part with him.     Indeed you can see it was truly a pity,     For her husband was just going down to the city,     And Captain Brown     The man of renown     Could console her indeed were he only in town.     So McNair to the city the next Monday hied,     And left bold Captain Brown with his modest young bride.     As the serpent did Eve     Most sorely deceive     Causing old father Adam to sorrow and grieve,     And us, his frail children, tho' punished and chidden,     To hanker for things that are sweet but forbidden     The Captain so fair,     With his genius so rare,     Wound the web of enchantment round Mrs. McNair;     And alas, fickle Helen, ere three days were over,     She had sworn to elope with her brass-buttoned lover.     Like Helen, the Greek,     She was modest and meek,     And as fair as a rose, but a trifle too weak.     When a maid she had suitors as proud as Ulysses,     But she ne'er bent her neck to their arms or their kisses,     Till McNair he came in     With a brush on his chin     It was love at first sight but a trifle too thin;     For, married, the dreams of her girlhood fell short all,     And she found that her husband was only a mortal.     Dear ladies, betray us     Fast and loose play us     We'll follow you still like bereaved Menelaus,     Till the little blind god with his cruel shafts slay us.     Cold-blooded as I am,     If a son of old Priam     Should break the Mosaic commands and defy 'em,     And elope with my "pet," and moreover my riches,     I would follow the rogue if I went upon crutches     To the plains of old Troy without jacket or breeches.     But then I'm so funny     If he'd give up the money,     He might go to the dogs with himself and his "Honey."     The lovers agreed     That the hazardous deed     Should be done in the dark and with very great speed,     For Mr. McNair when the fellow came back     Might go crazy and foolishly follow their track.     So at midnight should wait     At her garden-gate     A carriage to carry the dear, precious freight     Of Mrs. McNair who should meet Captain Brown     At the Globe Hotel in a neighboring town.     A man should be hired     To convey the admired.     And keep mum as a mouse, and do what was desired.     Wearily, wearily half the night     The lady watched away;     At times in a spirit of sadness quite,     But fully resolved on her amorous flight,     She longed to be under way;     Yet with sad heaving heart and a tear, I declare,     As she sorrowfully thought of poor Mr. McNair.     "Poor fellow," she sighed,     "I wish he had died     Last spring when he had his complaint in the side     For I know I am sure it will terribly grieve him     To have me elope with the Captain and leave him.     But the Captain dear me!     I hardly can see     Why I love the brave Captain to such a degree:     But see there's the carriage, I vow, at the gate!     I must go 'tis the law of inveterate fate."     So a parting look     At her home she took,     While a terrible conflict her timid soul shook;     Then turned to the carriage heart-stricken and sore,     Stepped hastily in and closed up the door.     "Crack!" went the whip;     She bit her white lip,     And away she flew on her desperate trip.     She thought of dear Brown; and poor Mr. McNair     She knew he would hang himself straight in despair.     She sighed     And she cried     All during the ride,     And endeavored alas, but she could not decide.     Three times she prayed;     Three times she essayed     To call to the driver for pity and aid     To drive her straight     To her garden-gate,     And break the spell of her terrible fate.     But her tongue was tied     She couldn't decide,     And she only moaned at a wonderful rate.     No mortal can tell     "What might have befell,"     Had it been a mile more to the Globe Hotel;     But as they approached it she broke from her spell.     A single hair     For Mr. McNair     She vowed to herself that she did not care;     But the Captain so true     In his coat of blue     To his loving arms in her fancy she flew.     In a moment or more     They drove up to the door,     And she felt that her trials and troubles were o'er.     The landlord came hastily out in his slippers,     For late he had sat with some smokers and sippers.     As the lady stepped down     With a fret and a frown,     She sighed half aloud, "Where is dear Captain Brown?"     "This way, my dear madam," politely he said,     And straightway to the parlor the lady he led.     Now the light was dim     Where she followed him,     And the dingy old parlor looked gloomy and grim.     As she entered, behold, in contemplative mood,     In the farther corner the bold Captain stood     In his coat of blue:     To his arms she flew;     She buried her face in his bosom so true:     "Dear Captain! my Darling!" sighed Mrs. McNair;     Then she raised her dark eyes and Good Heavens'     I declare! -     Instead of the Captain 'twas Mr. McNair!     She threw up her arms she screamed and she fainted;     Such a scene! Ah the like of it never was painted.     Of repentance and pardon I need not tell;     Her vows I will not relate,     For every man must guess them well     Who knows much of the "married state."     Of the sad mischance suffice it to say     That McNair had suspected the Captain's "foul play;"     So he laid a snare     For the bold and the fair,     But he captured, alas, only Mrs. McNair;     And the brass-buttoned lover bold Captain Brown     Was nevermore seen in that rural town.     Mrs. McNair     Is tall and fair;     Mrs. McNair is slim;     And her husband again is her only care     She is wonderfully fond of him;     For now he is all the dear lady can wish he     Is a captain himself in the State militia.