Where Do You Live?

I knew a man, and his name was Horner, Who used to live on Grumble Corner— Grumble Corner, in Crosspatch Town; And he never was seen without a frown; He grumbled at this, he grumbled at that; He growled at the dog, he growled at the cat; He grumbled at morning, he grumbled at night, And to grumble and growl were his chief delight. He grumbled so much at his wife that she Began to grumble as well as he; And all the children, wherever they went, Reflected their parents’ discontent. If the sky was dark and betokened rain, Then Mr. Horner was sure to complain; And, if there was never a cloud about, He’d grumble because of a threatened drought. His meals were never to suit his taste; He grumbled at having to eat in haste; The bread was poor, or the meat was tough, Or else he hadn’t had half enough. No matter how hard his wife might try To please her husband, with scornful eye He’d look around, and then, with a scowl At something or other, begin to growl. One day, as I loitered along the street, My old acquaintance I chanced to meet, Whose face was without the look of care And the ugly frown that it used to wear. “I may be mistaken, perhaps,” I said, As, after saluting, I turned my head; “But it is, and it isn’t, the Mr. Horner, Who lived for so long on Grumble Corner.” I met him next day, and I met him again, In melting weather and pouring rain, When stocks were up, and when stocks were down; But a smile somehow had replaced the frown. It puzzled me much; and so one day I seized his hand in a friendly way, And said: “Mr. Horner, I’d like to know What can have happened to change you so!” He laughed a laugh that was good to hear, For it told of a conscience calm and clear, And he said, with none of the old-time drawl, “Why, I’ve changed my residence, that is all!” “Changed your residence?” “Yes,” said Horner, “It wasn’t healthy on Grumble Corner, And so I moved—’twas a change complete— And you’ll find me now on Thanksgiving Street!” Now, every day, as I move along The streets so filled with the busy throng, I watch each face, and can always tell Where men and women and children dwell; And many a discontented mourner Is spending his days on Grumble Corner, Sour and sad, whom I long to entreat To take a house on Thanksgiving Street. —Josephine Pollard.