# St. Nicholas/Volume 40/Number 6/Alphabet's Holiday

* related authors: George Varian.
* sister projects: Wikipedia article, Commons category, quotes, course, Wikidata item.
| NCE on a time—I won’t say when, But long before I used a pen!— The letters of the Alphabet Began with one accord to fret, Their tasks disdained, declared for play, And boldly claimed a holiday. Said O,—the spokesman, it appears,— “We ’ve worked for years and years and years, Since long before the printing-press Made all our labors more, not less. Some old Phenician, so they say, First sent us on our arduous way; And ever since that fateful day We ’ve been the most obedient crew!— Done just what we were told to do, Worked overtime, by day, by night, By sun- and gas- and candle-light, At beck and call of every wight Who chose to read or spell or write! Through all the centuries marching down, For others we have won renown, Nor broken ranks, nor—heed it well!— From spelling had one breathing-spell! With all the world it is not thus! Why then, my friends, this fate for us? | The very comet, high in space, Is free sometimes to run a race; The week-days have their Sunday out; The seasons too, beyond a doubt, Their regular vacations take, The dull routine of work to break. We only— Comrades, are we slaves! Shall we submit to scribbling knaves! Or shall we, scornful, rise” (a cheer, And cries of “Bravo!” and “Hear, hear!”). “Declare to law and order ‘Bah!’ And ‘Freedom!’ shout! ‘Hip, hip, hurrah!’ ” |
* “Hip, hip, hurrah! Break ranks!” cried A, “By laws all mortal things obey, I here proclaim a Holiday!” Then—stars and garters! what a sight! The letters flew to left and right; They danced and pranced this way and that, They stood up straight, they fell down flat. A scampered down to chat with Z, And X came skipping up to C. I stared at J, and J at I, And M and N kept asking Y. Q quarreled dreadfully with U, And H deserted W, And O made mouths—O fie!—to jeer , At U and I, his comrades dear! V proudly stood upon his head, Pretending he was A instead; And crooked S turned somersaults, And rudely hissed at others’ faults. K kicked at R, who tried to sing, F danced with L a Highland Fling; And B the banjo plucked, ping, ping! While P at leap-frog played with E, And arm in arm strolled D and G, And went and choked themselves with T! Meanwhile the world, I need not say, Was in a most distressing way! The teachers one and all resigned; The preachers were not far behind; The printers looked with streaming eye Upon their pages, full of “pi”; The authors wept by day and night Because their books they could not write; The ink in all the ink-wells dried; And all the little children cried Because (and some are crying yet!) They could not learn the Alphabet! What next had happened, no one knows, But all at once a man arose, A very wise and learned man (From Harvard or from Hindustan) Who could, with certain magic words, Turn eggs to rabbits, mice to birds, And things like that,—the kind, you know, You see each year at Barnum’s Show.
| And when that man those letters met, To that misguided Alphabet He made a dark and dreadful threat, Which caused each one from A to Zed To shiver in his shoes with dread! “If,”—terrible his booming voice! To hear or not they had no choice,— “If,” he declared, “you don’t behave, But once this little wand I ’ll wave, And turn you all, in twenty whiffs, Into Egyptian Hieroglyphs!” O fearful words! O fate unknown! Oh, better, better far their own! Those frightened letters, how they jumped! How knees and elbows banged and bumped! They ran, they flew, they leaped, they skipped, In frantic haste they turned and tripped, Till, spent and breathless with the race, Each one regained his wonted place; And in their ancient order, led | By him who always took the head, Once more they stood, from A to Zed. Then—not till then—the wizard blue His stern and awful gaze withdrew, And chuckling softly in his sleeve, Retired—to Jersey, I believe. But such the deep impress he made, The letters thus till now have stayed, And done their duty as before For all these many years, and more. Yet, even now, so teachers tell, In theme and composition,—well, Of course, we all know how to spell! And ’t is n’t fair, perhaps, to state,— But I myself, or soon or late, In strange misconduct here and there Of letters—not my fault, I swear!— I too have seen, I ’m free to say, Some traces of that fateful day When, as it cannot quite forget, In freedom roved the Alphabet! |