I Hear of Sherlock Everywhere

"The Second Morning After Christmas" [BLUE]

<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6Jwr9Z2Fdf-y1YMmLQC3Kp2lGpcXfPkk9-2AF_mgMAi-rTY-6T1ViuA0vUwGvMgy9x9u4AYZpjmiruzRaYdjAqg9HeCasLALMEctcdT3PFVE_RhSLEjL5y95fgJKCiQOhHoqcAa-_87N-/s1600-h/blue-05.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5013328828577409250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6Jwr9Z2Fdf-y1YMmLQC3Kp2lGpcXfPkk9-2AF_mgMAi-rTY-6T1ViuA0vUwGvMgy9x9u4AYZpjmiruzRaYdjAqg9HeCasLALMEctcdT3PFVE_RhSLEjL5y95fgJKCiQOhHoqcAa-_87N-/s200/blue-05.jpg" style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">This is a repost of an entry from 12/27/2006. I've decided to make it a regular annual feature here.</span><br /><br />In 1995 I penned a seasonal ode to <a href="http://camdenhouse.ignisart.com/canon/blue.htm">The Blue Carbuncle</a> in the style of Clement Moore's <a href="http://iment.com/maida//familytree/henry/xmas/poemvariants/troysentinel1823.htm">A Visit from St. Nick</a>.  Since then, it has been an annual tradition to share this gem (sorry, I couldn't help myself) in my Sherlockian circles.<br /><br />Enjoy. Please note that you are free to use this at your own society meetings; according to the Creative Commons license below, you just have to give attribution for for it.<br /><br />And allow me to wish you "compliments of the season."  May all your carbuncles be blue.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Two Days After Christmas</span></span><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:11;"  ></span></p></div><div style="text-align: center;">'Twas two days after Christmas and in one part of town,<br />Sherlock Holmes was lounging in his purple dressing gown.<br />A felt hat was hung on the wood chair with care,<br />Looking seedy and cracked and much worse for the wear.<br />The forceps and lens were an arm’s length away,<br />So Sherlock Holmes was engaged well today.<br />Peterson was the giver, Holmes was the taker<br />Of the hat and goose, "For Mrs. Henry Baker."<br />Holmes began to infer from the battered old hat<br />Grizzled hair, self-respect, and odd things like that.<br /><br />Then Peterson entered, astonished and dazed,<br />And showed us upon what the goose must have grazed.<br />When what to my wondering eyes should appear,<br />But a bonny blue thing in the shape of a tear.<br />With facets that twinkled, sparkled, and shone,<br />I knew in a moment it was the Countess’ stone. <br /><br />Holmes sprang to the Times to review all the history<br />Of the Hotel Cosmopolitan jewel thief mystery.<br />The crime was fixed on a plumber named Horner.<br />No Christmas pie, no plumb; for him, a corner.<br />More rapid than lightening, Holmes’s orders now came,<br />As he wrote an advert and called the papers by name:<br />"<span style="font-style: italic;">Evening News</span>, the <span style="font-style: italic;">Star</span>, <span style="font-style: italic;">Globe</span>, and <span style="font-style: italic;">Pall Mall</span>!<span style="font-style: italic;"><br />St. James’s Gazette</span>, <span style="font-style: italic;">Standard</span>, <span style="font-style: italic;">Echo</span>, et al."<br /><br />The stone which Holmes held was the devil’s pet bait,<br />With a sinister history for a forty-grain weight.<br />Robberies, vitriol, three people now dead;<br />And all for a stone which should have been red. <br /><br />Henry Baker called on the street with his name,<br />Wearing a tam o’shanter, much to his shame.<br />Holmes gave him his hat and then the bad news:<br />That we were compelled to eat his fine goose.    <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:11;"  ></span></p>"To eat it!" said he, as he rose from his chair,<br /><div style="text-align: center;">"Do not fret, Mr. Baker, we have one more there."<br />Holmes offered to him the <span style="font-style: italic;">disjecta membra</span>,<br />Relics of an adventure he still could remember.<br /><br />And taking his items, Baker turned with a jerk,<br />As Holmes and I set straight to work.<br />To the Alpha we went, then on to Covent Garden<br />Where Breckinridge against our pleas seemed to harden.<br />But finally we found the origin of the geese,<br />From one Mrs. Oakshott of Brixton Road, east.<br />We overheard Ryder, who was hot on the trail,<br /><br />So as a four-wheeler passed, we decided to hail.<br />Riding to Baker Street, of the mystery, no mention,<br />But all the way there, we could sense Ryder’s tension.<br />As he saw the truth, our guest stifled a howl:<br />The stone had been rescued from his bar-tailed fowl.<br />At Holmes’s request, I helped the small imp,<br />To whom Holmes referred as simply "a shrimp."<br />The little man clutched at the detective’s knees,<br />Shrieking and begging and putting forth pleas.<br /><br />For Sherlock Holmes, the case held no glory,<br />He was simply looking for an end to the story.<br />Cusack, the maid and Maudsely, who went bad  -<br />Both wanted the stone that Holmes just now had.<br />The hotel attendant did the deed of evil,<br />Fed the stone to a goose, in the hopes of retrieval .<br />There were two that matched, but he hadn’t looked.<br />So now it seemed that Ryder’s goose was cooked. <br /><br />Holmes said "No more words," and turned to the lout,<br />Ryder opened the door and then ran straight out.<br />The crisp rattle of footfalls, up from the street,<br />Told me Ryder knew that Holmes had him beat.<br />"I am not here to perform the policeman's role,<br />But it is just possible that I’m saving a soul.<br />It’s the season of forgiveness, a time to have heart,<br />Let us begin another case, in which a bird will take part."</div><p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:11;"  ><o:p></o:p></span></p>  <div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div></div><br /><br /><a rel="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/2.5/"><img alt="Creative Commons License" src="http://i.creativecommons.org/l/by-nc-nd/2.5/88x31.png" style="border-width: 0pt;" /></a><br />This work is licensed under a <a rel="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/2.5/">Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 2.5  License</a>.

"The Second Morning After Christmas" [BLUE]

This is a repost of an entry from 12/27/2006. I've decided to make it a regular annual feature here. In 1995 I penned a seasonal ode to ...