Those actors didn't know their parts; they maundered to and fro, Ejaculating platitudes that were quite _mal à propos_; And when I sought to reprimand the graceless scamps, the lot Turned fiercely on me, and denounced my charming play as rot. I might have stood their bitter taunts without a passing grunt, If I'd had a word of solace from the people out in front; But that chilly corporal's guard sat round like bumps upon a log When I played that play at Providence with designs upon the dog. We went with lots of baggage, but we didn't bring it back,-- For who would be so hampered as he walks a railway track? "Oh, ruthless muse of tragedy! what prodigies of shame, What marvels of injustice are committed in thy name!" Thus groaned I in the spirit, as I strode what stretch of ties 'Twixt Providence, Rhode Island, and my native Gotham lies; But Rae, McCambridge, and the rest kept up a steady jog,-- 'Twas not the first time they had plied their arts upon the dog. So much for my first battle with the fickle goddess, Fame,-- And I hear that some folks nowadays are faring just the same. Oh, hapless he that on the graceless Yankee dog relies! The dog fares stout and hearty, and the play it is that dies. So ye with tragedies to try, I beg of you, beware! Put not your trust in Providence, that most delusive snare; Cast, if you will, your pearls of thought before the Western hog, But never go to Providence to try it on a dog. GETTIN' ON. WHEN I wuz somewhat younger, I wuz reckoned purty gay; I had my fling at everything In a rollickin', coltish way. But times have strangely altered Since sixty years ago-- This age of steam an' things don't seem Like the age I used to know. Your modern innovations Don't suit me, I confess, As did the ways of the good ol' days,-- But I'm gettin' on, I guess. I set on the piazza, An' hitch round with the sun; Sometimes, mayhap, I take a nap, Waitin' till school is done. An' then I tell the children The things I done in youth,-- An' near as I can, as a vener'ble man, I stick to the honest truth,-- But the looks of them 'at listen Seem sometimes to express The remote idee that I'm gone--you see?-- An' I _am_ gettin' on, I guess. I get up in the mornin', An', nothin' else to do, Before the rest are up an' dressed, I read the papers through. I hang round with the women All day an' hear 'em talk; An' while they sew or knit I show The baby how to walk. An', somehow, I feel sorry When they put away his dress An' cut his curls ('cause they're like a girl's!)-- I'm gettin' on, I guess.