My Suburban Residence Page #2

"My Suburban Residence" is a satirical piece by Bret Harte that explores the lives of the middle-class inhabitants in a suburban setting. Through sharp wit and keen observation, Harte critiques the social norms, aspirations, and conflicts of these characters. The story highlights the contrast between their ideals and the realities of suburban life, weaving humor with social commentary to reflect on themes of identity, community, and the pursuit of the American Dream. Harte's distinctive style brings to life the quirks and intricacies of his characters, making for an engaging and thought-provoking read.

• Essay

								

my house. My children, with the charming imitativeness that belongs to
youth, have caught the spirit of these passing corteges, and reproduce
in the back yard, with creditable skill, the salient features of
the lugubrious procession. A doll, from whose features all traces of
vitality and expression have been removed, represents the deceased.
Yet unfortunately I have been obliged to promise them more active
participation in this ceremony at some future time, and I fear that
they look anxiously forward with the glowing impatience of youth to the
speedy removal of some one of my circle of friends. I am told that the
eldest, with the unsophisticated frankness that belongs to his age,
made a personal request to that effect to one of my acquaintances. One
singular result of the frequency of these funerals is the development
of a critical and fastidious taste in such matters on the part of myself
and family. If I may so express myself, without irreverence, we seldom
turn out for anything less than six carriages. Any number over this is
usually breathlessly announced by Bridget as, "Here's another, mum,--and
a good long one."

With these slight drawbacks my suburban residence is charming. To the
serious poet, and writer of elegiac verses, the aspect of Nature, viewed
from my veranda, is suggestive. I myself have experienced moments when
the "sad mechanic exercise" of verse would have been of infinite relief.
The following stanzas, by a young friend who has been stopping with me
for the benefit of his health, addressed to a duck that frequented a
small pond in the vicinity of my mansion, may be worthy of perusal. I
think I have met the idea conveyed in the first verse in some of Hood's
prose, but as my friend assures me that Hood was too conscientious to
appropriate anything not his own, I conclude I am mistaken.

LINES TO A WATER-FOWL.

(Intra Muros.)

I.

Fowl, that sing'st in yonder pool, Where the summer winds blow cool,
Are there hydropathic cures For the ills that man endures? Know'st thou
Priessnitz? What? alack Hast no other word but "Quack?"

II.

Cleopatra's barge might pale To the splendors of thy tail, Or the
stately caravel Of some "high-pooped admiral." Never yet left such a
wake E'en the navigator Drake!

III.

Dux thou art, and leader, too, Heeding not what's "falling due," Knowing
not of debt or dun,--Thou dost heed no bill but one; And, though scarce
conceivable, That's a bill Receivable, Made--that thou thy stars mightst
thank--Payable at the next bank.
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