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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=415991" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Book Agent Story</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">As we have given several humorous Scottish stories in verse we will venture to<br>trespass on your good nature by giving an American specimen. The scene is laid<br>in the suburbs of New York. It was a prose tale, and we fancy we have not<br>diminished the height, breadth or depth of the humour by grinding it in our<br>poetical mill and having it flow out in rhyme.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">There is a man, his name is Brown, <br>He lives in a suburban town <br>And has an office in the city,<br>His misfortunes you will pity.<br>His mind it was on stocks and change,<br>He cared not for things new or strange ;<br>But agent managed him to hook<br>And sold to him a costly book. <br>Brown cared not for those glorious names-<br>Died for religion in the flames; <br>Now he felt agent was a Tartar<br>For selling him a book of martyr.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The agent knew it would make strife, <br>But sold another to his wife;<br>She did not know that Brown had bought,<br>And agent on her easy wrought .<br>Approaching her with winning smile<br>He poor woman did beguile. <br>He made her believe without a doubt <br>No Christian could do without<br>This book, which would all inspire<br>With spark of celestial fire, <br>With feelings like the first martyr <br>Who had died for Christian charter.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">When Brown did home return at night<br>His wife, to add to his delight,<br>Resolved that she would, after tea,<br>Get chatting with her husband free<br>And tell him of fine book she bought ;<br>Of trouble fresh she never thought,<br>But she noticed a gloomy frown<br>On the brow of her husband Brown, <br>But thought when I my purchase tell<br>Those dark clouds they will dispel ;<br>She said, my dear, I bought martyr,<br>He looked as if he her could quarter.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And said the scoundrel sold me book ; <br>Out of the window then he did look<br>And saw the agent haste to train ; <br>He tried to stop him, but in vain ;<br>Smith then was passing in spring waggon, <br>And he had his trotting nag on ; <br>He told him to stop book agent ; <br>His escape for to prevent, <br>Smith told him Brown wanted him ; <br>But agent-nothing daunted him ;<br>Said he : He only wants to barter<br>With me for my book of Martyr.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">If thats all, said Smith, with quick dash,<br>Give me his book, and here's your cash ;<br>Book agent jumped aboard the car,<br>For he knew there would be war;<br>Smith met Brown with triumphant look-<br>Said he : I have got you the book ;<br>Brown's feelings now no one could paint,<br>He there did show he was no saint ;<br>But to big own home he now returned,<br>And fierce rage in his bosom burned ;<br>He was not fit for Knight of Garter<br>When he brought in the third martyr.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=James+McIntyre">James McIntyre</a><div class=q>
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trespass on your good nature by giving an American specimen. The scene is laid
in the suburbs of New York. It was a prose tale, and we fancy we have not
diminished the ..."></div>
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