- The Jackdaw of Rheims -

Crow, Cat, Bear, Snakes, Squirrel

This book was a Christmas gift to Henry and Herman, in 1901.(no last names). It is bound as all books at the time were with thread. The cover is a fiber board of some type and there is a front cover sheet of a brown paper composition. Paper quality is exceptional. Pages are numbered with roman numerals. There appears to be an error in text on page VI as the word at the bottom of the page does not correspond to the text at the top of page VII. Yet the story is continious, so the author must have made a mistake. There are xviii pages which are 26 cm. Authors were Thomas Ingoldsby and Ernest Maurice Jessop. Ingoldsby is the pseudonym for Richard Harris Barham. Copies of the book are in the following libraries: Connecticut College, Western Michigan University, SUNY at Buffalo, Dalhousie Univ in Nova Sc. and University of Western Ontario. Publisher was Eyre and Spottiswoode(London) and the date of publication is unknown.

The Jackdaw of Rheims

Jackdaw sat on the Cardinal's chair!
Bishop & abbot & prior were there,
Many a monk and many a friar,
Many a Knight & many a squire,

With a great many more of lesser degree,
In sooth a good company;
And they served the Lord Primate on bended knee.
Never, Qween, Was a prouder seen,
Read of in books, or dreamt of in dreams,
Than the Cardinal Lord Archbishop of Rheims!

In and Out Through the motley rout,
That little Jackdaw kept hopping about;
Here and there Like a gog in a fair,
Over comfits and cakes
And Dishes and plates,
Cowl & cope & rochet & pall,
Mitre & crosier! he hopp'd upon all!
With saucy air,
He perch'd on the chair
Where in state, the great Lord Cardinal sat
In the great Lord Cardinal's great red hat.

He peer'd in the face
Of his Lordship's Grace,
With a satisfied look, as if he would say,
We two are the greatest folks here to-day!
And the priest, with awe,
As such freak's they saw,
Said, "The Devil must be in that little Jackdaw!!"

The feast was over, the board was clear'd,
The flowrs & the custards had all disappear'd,
And six little Singing boys- Dear little souls!
Nice clean faces, & nice white stoles,
Came in order due,
Two by two,
Marching that grand refectory through!
A nice little boy held a golden ewer,
Emboss'd and fill'd with water, as pure
As any that flows between Rheims and Damur.
Which a nice little boy stood ready to catch
In a fine golden hound-tolsin made to match.
Two nice little boys, rather more grown,
Carried lavender-water, and
And a nice little boy Eau de Cologne;
Had a nice cake of soap,
Worthy of washing the hands of the Pope.
One little boy more
A napkin bore,
Of the best white diaper, fringed with pink,
And a Cardinal's Hat mark'd in permanent ink.

The great Lord Cardinal turns at the sight,
Of these nice little boys dress'd all in white:
From his finger he draws
His costly turquoise (ring);
And not thinking at all about little Jackdaw,
Deposits it straight
By the side of his plate
While the nice little boys on his Eminence wait;
Till, when nobody's dreaming of any such thing
That little Jackdaw hops off with the ring!


There's a cry and shout,
And a deuce of a rout,
And nobody seems to know what they're about,
But the monk's have their pockets all turn'd inside out;
The friars are kneeling,
And hunting & feeling
The carpet, the floor & walls & the ceiling.

The Cardinal drew
Off each plum-colour'd shoe,
And left his Red stockings exposed to the view;
He peeps and he feels
In the toes and the heels;

They turn up the dishes. They turn up
The plates,
They turn up the poker & poke out the grates -
They turn up the rugs,
They examine the mugs;
But no! No such thing
They can't find The Ring!
And the Abbot declaired that, when nobody twigg'd it,
Some rascal or other had popp'in and prigg'd it!

The Cardinal rose with a dignified look.
He call'd for his candle, his bell, and his book!
Holly anger, and pious grief,
He solemnly cursed that rascally thief!
He cursed him at board, he cursed him in bed,
From the sole of his foot to the crown of his head;
He cursed him in sleeping, that every night
He should dream of the Devil, & wake in a fright;
He cursed him in eating, he cursed him in drinking.
He cursed him in coughin, in sneezing, in winking;
He cursed him in sitting, in standing in lying;
He cursed him i walking, in riding, in flying,
He cursed him in living, he cursed him dying-
Never was heard such a terrible curse!!
But what gave rise
To no little surprise,
Nobody seem'd one penny the worse!

The day was gone,
The night came on,
The monks & the Friars they search'd till dawn.
When the Sacristan saw,
On crumpled claw,
Come limping a pore ittle lame Jackdaw!
No longer gay,
As on yesterday;
His feathers all seem'd to be turn'd the wrong way;
His pinions droop'd he could hardly stand,-
His head was as bald as the palm of your hand;
His evy so dim, So wasted each limb,
That heedless of grammar, they, all cried, "That's him!-
That's the scamp that has done this scandalous thing!
That's the thief that has got my Lord Cardinal's Ring!"
The poor little Jackdaw, When the monks he saw,
Feebly gavevent to the ghost of a caw;
And turn'd his bald head, as much as to say,
Pray, be so good as to walk this way!
Slower and slower
He limp'd on before,
Till they came to the back of the belfry door,
Where the first thing they saw,
Midst the sticks and the straw,
Was the Ring in the nest of that little Jackdaw!

Then the great Lord Cardinal call'd for his book,
And off that terrible curse he took
The mute expression
Served in lieu of confession,
And being thus coupled with full restitution
The Jackdaw got planary absolution!
When those words were heard
That poor little bird
Was so changed in a moment, 'twas really absurd,
He grew sleek, and fat;
In addition to that,
A fresh crop of feathers came thick as a mat!
His tail waggled more
Even than before;
But no longer it wagg'd with an impudent air.
No longer he perch'd on the Cardinal's chair.
He hopp'd now about
With a gait devout;
At Matins, at Vespers, he never was out;
And, so far from any more pilfering deeds.
He always see'd telling the Confessor's beads.
If any one lied,-or if anyone swore, -
Or slumber'd in pray'r-time & happen'd to snore,
That good Jackdaw
Would give a great "Caw".
As much as to say,"Don't do so any more!"
While many remark'd as his manners they saw,
That they "never had known such a pious Jackdaw!">
He long lived the pride
Of that country side.

And at last in the odoun of sancity died;
When as words were to faint
His merits to paint,
The Conclave determined to make him a Saint;
And on newly made Saints & Popes, as you know,
It's the custom, at Rome, new names to bestow,
So they canonized him by the name Jim Crow!
(Note: Jim Crow has a completely different meaning in England than it does in the United States. Winston Churchill used the term to describe plane spotters who were perched on rooftops during the Second World War.)

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