I am a-cold, and lagging lame;
Life creeps along my chilled frame;
Your love will fan it into flame.I am a-hungered, but the bread I want;
The food that e'er my thoughts doth haunt;
Is your sweet speech, for which I pant!'"[1]
"If that is all the stimulant you need, Jennie, it can easily be supplied."
We were the merriest party in the parlor. The attentions of my beaux were having their usual effect. To achieve my best success at female-impersonation, the stimulus of an appreciative and responsive audience of youthful Lotharios was necessary. Our hilarity was more and more attracting the eyes and ears of all other guests. Some recognized me as a female-impersonator. Calls began to reach me: "O you Jennie June, give us an impersonation of a prima donna!" The old-timers were remarking to new patrons of the "hostelry": "The little fellow with the red bow is a fairie!"
Hypnotized by the adulation of those whom I looked upon as demigods, as well as by the well-disposed attention of the other hundred-odd guests attracted by my unique, yet fairly modest, behavior, I broke into the "Old Oaken Bucket"—a song affording unusual opportunity to display my masculine-feminine tones: below middle A, baritone; from A upward, alto; with an occasional soprano and tenor modulation thrown in just to excite wonder. I fancy my singing voice is unusual in its variety of possible modulation
- ↑ Decades ago I read in a newspaper this imperfectly remembered lyric. Name of poet not published.
