How The Village Canard Started

Tom walked into a bar-room to have a quiet beer, Odds Bodkins! Jerry saw him, white-necktied Jerry Lear.

Now Jerry was an elder, a presbyter, you see, Who prated loud ’gainst drinking, but “sneaked one” frequently.

Tom Benton was no tippler, but took one when he would, No sweeter, kinder fellow e’er lived, nor half so good.

His quiet deeds of kindness, a help now here, now there, A “candle under bushel” who always seemed to care

To help the weak and erring in unobtrusive way; To make the lowly happy, and aching hearts make gay

By quip or jest or story, by his own soulful smile, By merry rippling laughter, which heartened them awhile――

A law unto himself, then, this lovable old soul, Who treated men as humans, but couldn’t “Jordan Roll,”

A bent and crooked body, but straight and pure at heart, Who loved the young and aged, whom tears could rend apart.

Now this is how it happened that poor old Tom was damned By Puritanic gossips through length and breath of land.

“Drab” Jerry told the parson, who told his wife, you see; His wife informed Ned Nosy of Tom’s catastrophe,

Ned was a devout deacon, a long, thin-visaged wight, Who’d sneak away sub rosa to train around at night,

But Sunday sat in church pew and bawled a mighty chant, Or railed against men’s vices with Puritanic rant.

Ned buttonholed old Bowser, a wily, canny runt, Who’d beat deserving clients by doing bankrupt’s stunt.

Old Bowser told his sister, the village gossip kind Quite “confidential-like” spake to her “who speak my mind.”

Miss Bowser told the Hearts’ Club of wondrous pedigree, Who all exclaimed “how dreadful,” at poor Tom’s plight you see.

The Club then told their “hubbies,” all men of great renown, Of more or less veracity, who quickly told the “town.”

And so these old bucolics ripped poor Tom fore and aft; They sneered and jeered and pitied, and chaffed and leered and laughed.

His quiet little “night-caps” grew to a mighty stream, A riotous, raw revel, a Bacchanalian scream,

Now to the mighty truth, then, of all that canard crew, There wouldn’t be a feather left if each one had his due.