To the faculty of stuffing
Other folk no claim I lay;
Hence, in telling you there's nothing
Left of Hannibal Tyndall Gray,
Except a head and body,
'Tis the gospel truth I say;
For he gave in the cause of science
The rest of himself away.
And the secret of how he did it
Lies hidden in this here lay.
It was the Beautiful Cannibal,
From the far-off ocean isles,
Who drew the innocent Hannibal
Into her dangerous wiles.
Much had she travelled, this lady,
In sunshiny weather and showery,
Until she brought up for a season
At a museum in the Bowery.
And there, at the door, a painting
Of this marvelous creature hung,
Wherein she was shown to be eating
Two infants, tender and young.
Thereby attracted, young Hannibal
Cheerfully paid the price
Of admission to see the Cannibal,
At once so naughty and nice.
What cruel fate directed
Young Hannibal's feet that day,
And why, through love of science,
Should he give himself away?
Unheeding the stuffed anaconda,
The terrible figures in wax,
The Patagonian Wonder,
The blood-stained battle-axe,
The Lightning-calculator,
The man without any arms,
The Aged Alligator,
And the Brobdingnagian charms
Of the Fat Woman, guileless Hannibal
Through the museum quickly hies him,
Till he comes to the Beautiful Cannibal,
Who forthwith hungrily eyes him.
Oh, you'd never have thought, to see her,
That she'd exercised her jaw
On the sirloin of both her parents,
And the ribs of her mother-in-law!
Yet such was her record, as told by
The solicitor of the show.
(Perhaps you don't know that "solicit"
Is professional slang for "blow.")
Before this lovable creature
Susceptible Hannibal stood;
He noted her every feature,
As a student of science should;
Her liquid eyes of azure,
Her gracefully rounded figure,
Her waist of dainty measure
The fat woman's wrist was bigger!
And all the charms of her person
Were fully exposed to view,
For she cut her dresses scanty,
As cannibal ladies do.
Too much, too much for science
Did this Cannibal Hebe prove;
Too much likewise for my hero,
Who was "mashed" before he could move.
Then lost in unfeigned admiration,
He sighed and murmured: "Ah, well,
Can a belle of her seeming station
Be indeed a Cannie belle?"
(Which the same was a kind of outrage
Rarely committed by Hannibal,
And shows to what depths he had fallen,
Even then, on account of the Cannibal.)
It will ever remain a mystery
To Hannibal Tyndall Gray,
The full and authentic history
Of that most momentous day;
But at four o'clock, he remembers,
He found himself chatting away
In the very friendliest manner
With the Cannibal all so gay;
At five, some things he had told her
Which are dangerous always to say;
At six, with her head on his shoulder,
They watched the twilight linger,
And 'twas then, grown suddenly bolder,
She asked him first for a finger!
"Just one," she softly pleaded.
Quoth he, "What for, my sweet?"
At the which, with modest demeanor,
She answered shyly, "To eat!"
Oh, what could he do, soft-hearted,
Love-blinded Hannibal Gray?
Came never a sigh as he parted
With the first of his fingers that day,
Yet that was the sad beginning
Of his giving himself away!
He watched her devour the member,
Which she did with voracious haste,
And it kindled the smouldering ember
Of her cannibalistic taste.
Thus oft has a glass of cider,
Though sweet as the airs in "Martha,"
Led on to ten nights in a barroom,
According to T. S. Arthur.
At an early hour next morning
To the museum Hannibal went —
On his hand he wore a bandage,
On his face a look of content.
What cared he for one little finger,
If it satisfied her? not a cent!
But there was the rub — she wasn't
By any means satisfied!
That left-hand little finger,
Which the guileless youth had supplied,
Was merely an appetizer;
And when she pouted and cried,
And said she'd had nothing substantial
Since her Uncle Yoko died —
Why, it hardly needs to be stated
That her lover was touched to the core,
And he up and amputated
And gave her two fingers more!
Ah, would at this point there were nothing
To add to the tale of my friend;
But I've said I'm not given to stuffing,
So here goes to the bitter end.
At the close of a week young Hannibal
Had given, in varying sums,
To that soul-enslaving Cannibal,
Six fingers and both of his thumbs!
He had also declared his passion,
Which she heard with a sigh and a tear,
And her head on his shoulder reclining,
The while she chewed off his right ear.
When he sued for her hand she gave it,
With only these stipulations:
That he'd give her his when she wanted
The same for her daily rations.
So his hands they followed his fingers,
And his arms they followed his hands,
And still for more she pleaded,
That creature from cannibal lands.
Then half of a leg he gave her;
"Oh, Hannibal, this is too much!"
She cried, but she liked the flavor,
And that night he went home on a crutch.
Thus, little by little, it happened
That Hannibal Tyndall Gray,
Through love's infatuation,
Gave most of himself away.
And when he'd no more to give her
Nor finger, nor hand, nor limb —
Behold, that Beautiful Cannibal
Of a sudden soured on him!
And to make his cup more bitter,
On the day when to wed her he hoped,
He learned that with the solicitor
His Cannibal had eloped!
She left a brief note, saying
She hoped he'd forget and forgive 'er:
That indeed she'd really loved him
With all her heart and liver,
Yet she thought it her duty to leave him
In this somewhat Frenchy fashion,
Else he might be wholly devoured
By her too-devouring passion!
In a postscript she said the solicitor
Had solicited long to defend her —
That she 'd found him soft, and she'd miss it or
Hereafter she'd find him tender!
To-day, among the monstrosities,
Where of yore sat the Beautiful Cannibal,
The greatest of curiosities
Is the armless and legless Hannibal;
And forever he sets at defiance
The truth in a shocking way,
Maintaining he gave for science
The most of himself away.
