Little Tim's Revenge
"Little Tim " was the name of him
Of whom I have to tell;
And he abode on the Western road,
In the busy town of L--.
As trains went down through the little town,
He peddled through the cars
His stock in trade, — iced lemonade,
Cake, peanuts, and cigars.
Conductor Dunn was the only one
Who'd not this trade allow;
And so 'twixt him and little Tim
There always was a row.
At last one day they had a fray;
And Timothy declared
He'd "fix old Dunn, 'as sure's a gun,'"
If both their lives were spared.
So off he went with this intent,
And sold his stock in trade:
His earnings hard he spent for lard,
And started for "the grade."
(This place, you know, is where trains go
Upon the steep hillside,
And where — with lard — it isn't hard
To get up quite a slide.)
He took a stick, and spread it thick,
Remarking with a smile,
"There'll be some fun when Mr. Dunn
Commences to 'strike ile'!"
He lay in wait: the train was late,
And came a-puffing hard,
With heavy load, right up the road
To where he'd spread the lard.
They tried in vain: that fated train
Could not ascend the grade:
The wheels would spin with horrid din
Yet no advance was made.
Then little Tim — 'twas bold in him —
Cried out in accents shrill,
"Remember me, Conductor D.,
When you get up the hill!"
MORAL.
Success in trade is up a grade
That we should all ascend,
And with a will help up the hill
Our fellow-man and friend.
When "on the road," don't incommode
The seeker after pelf,
Or ten to one, like Mr. Dunn,
You'll not get up yourself.
poem by Charles Follen Adams from Yawcob Strauss and Other Poems
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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