One Of The Saints

Big Smith is an Oakland School Board man, And he looks as good as ever he can; And he's such a cold and a chaste Big Smith That snowflakes all are his kin and kith. Wherever his eye he chances to throw The crystals of ice begin to grow; And the fruits and flowers he sees are lost By the singeing touch of a sudden frost. The women all shiver whenever he's near, And look upon _us_ with a look austere- Effect of the Smithian atmosphere. Such, in a word, is the moral plan Of the Big, Big Smith, the School Board man. When told that Madame Ferrier had taught _Hernani_ in school, his fist he brought Like a trip-hammer down on his bulbous knee, And he roared: 'Her Nanny? By gum, we'll see If the public's time she dares devote To the educatin' of any dam goat!' 'You do not entirely comprehend- _Hernani's_ a play,' said his learned friend, 'By Victor Hugo-immoral and bad. What's worse, it's French!' 'Well, well, my lad,' Said Smith, 'if he cuts a swath so wide I'll have him took re'glar up and tried!' And he smiled so sweetly the other chap Thought that himself was a Finn or Lapp Caught in a storm of his native snows, With a purple ear and an azure nose. The Smith continued: 'I never pursue Immoral readin'.' And that is true: He's a saint of remarkably high degree, With a mind as chaste as a mind can be; But read!-the devil a word can he!