4 
 
 A 
 
 ET OB' CHIP 
 
 A VARIED ASSORTMENT OF POEMS 
 AND SKETCHES 
 
 BY 
 
 J. B. SM ILEY, 
 
 AUTHOK OF 
 
 "MEDITITIONS OF SfiMWELL WILKINS. 
 
 KALAIMAZOO. 
 J B. SMILISY. 
 
 1888. 
 
 -^- 
 
 * 
 
■8»- 
 
 
 C<)i)yii,!j,iUt'(l by J. 1?. Sniiloy, Oi'tober, 18.S8. 
 
 KALAMAZOO PUBLISHING CO.. PRINTERS AND BINDERS. 
 
-^:- 
 
 4 
 
 MANY KIND FKIENDS 
 
 WHO KEEP ME 
 
 BOUNTIFULLY SUPPLIED WITH GKATUITOUS ADVICE, 
 
 THIS BOOK 
 
 AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED. 
 
 ■.S3>- 
 
-^:- 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 In the preface of the "Meditation;^" I expressed the 
 hope that I might escape bodily injury. Now, how- 
 ever, having hurled several thousand cojjies of that 
 volume at a long-suffering and unoffending public, I 
 express my solicitude for the said public. In publish- 
 ing this book it is my sincere hope that it may not 
 make anyone so tired as to hinder him from perform- 
 ing his daily labors, or as to impair his general health. 
 
 Respectfully, 
 
 THE AUTHOR. 
 
-=c- 
 
 ^^ Basket of (I/hips. 
 
 LITTLE CHIPS. 
 
 It has been my fate, I don't know why, 
 To miss whate'er I undertake. 
 
 I never stole a piece of pie 
 
 And didn't get the stomach-ache. 
 
 I've often tried, but tried in vain 
 To find the reason why 
 
 In the wisdom of His Providence 
 God ever made a fly. 
 
 Cash is a thing so pleasing to the sight 
 That, to be wished for, needs but to be tight. 
 Yet when too flush, inherited, perhaps. 
 It multiplies the tightness of some frisky chaps. 
 
 [The poetry after Pope, the tightness after the drink, the 
 people after the cash.] 
 
I 
 
 -(S*^ 
 
 10 
 
 ^ (§a^^^et op 6f2ip^. 
 
 Oh! iliou i>Tcut iiivigonitor, 
 Shades of tlio refrigerator ! 
 
 It were nice 
 If I were a steak for broiling, 
 Laid away, to keep from spoiling, 
 
 On the ice ! 
 
 When a man gets too much dust in his eyes 
 And grimly refuses to advertise. 
 It's not that he's stingy, or ugly, or mean,— 
 Not that he's too modest to have himself seen ; 
 It's not that he has any reason, himself. 
 To drive away business, and bury his pelf — 
 It's 'cause he don't know any better. 
 
 A burglar worked long with a pick and a screw. 
 Till he loosened the lock, and the fastenings too. 
 Then he opened the door and was just stepping through 
 AVhen he altered his plans and immediately fled ; 
 For a navy revolver was aimed at his head, 
 And the gentle proprietor quietly said — 
 '' No, you don't ! " 
 
 If 3'ou come to a time when amusements are fled, 
 
 And there's naught your attention demanding, — 
 When pleasures are resting and business is dead. 
 
 And everything sluggishly standing ; 
 When people seem waiting for time to move round. 
 
 And their greatest ambition is shirking. 
 If you Avant to advance, or to gain any ground. 
 
 Right then is the time to be working. 
 
 •■^- 
 
"^ ga^^^eh of 6l2ip5. 'i 
 
 AYhen j^ou're on a little bender, 
 
 And the town gets painted red, 
 When you're down town raising thunder 
 
 When you ought to be in bed 
 Did you ever stop to question. 
 
 As you hurry on your wa^-, 
 Does this waste of time and money, — 
 
 Dees this monkeyshining pay ? 
 
 A reporter's stovepipe hat 
 
 (Rumor faintly said) 
 Had a row with a powder fuse, 
 
 And the powder came in ahead. 
 The scribe he wore his stovepijje hat, 
 
 So shining and so high, — 
 Wore it out oh the boulevard. 
 
 All on the Fourth of July, 
 And a big fii^ecracker was laid on the rim 
 
 (At least so rumor said,) 
 And the bat and the cracker had a row, 
 
 And the cracker came in ahead. 
 
 Go learn all tongues of ancient lore, 
 That different nations spoke, of yore. 
 And learn all modern ways of speech 
 That any modern school can teach, — 
 But if 3^ou're of observing mind, 
 The more you learn, the more you'll find 
 That, of all tongues, by far the best, — 
 The lordly prince of all the rest, 
 That for all use can well suffice. 
 The one most clear, and most precise. 
 The most expressive, most sublime. 
 The one that gets there, every time. 
 Is good, plain English. 
 
-e- 
 
 ^ gaj^^ot op ei^ipij. 
 
 — A letter was received at the Kalamazoo post office a few 
 jj^ears ago, addressed to "Mr. Perrot, Calonzoo, Mich., — I 
 don't know his furst naim, but it's the one that bought the 
 nuile iiv nie." 
 
 — A Kalamazoo boy arose at the still}- hour of midnight 
 and went out with a 38-calibre revolver to kill some noisy 
 eats. It didn't do the cats any harm, but the next day the 
 young man was arrested, under the state game laws, for kill- 
 ing game out of season. He had shot the tail feathers off the 
 tin weathercock on a barn three blocks away. 
 
 — The prosecuting attorney of one of the northern coun- 
 ties of Michigan is at the present time unusually active in 
 the i^rosecution of evil doers. He always was very active in 
 behalf of the peace of the county, but is even more so at the 
 present time. He always has a number of malefactors on 
 the string, but in addition to this he now has a felon on his 
 finger. 
 
 — A Kalamazoo man set a hen one Thursday, and the next 
 Monday the same hen made her appearance with an air of 
 maternal pride and two chickens. The man assured me that 
 the fiicts were eggsactly as above narrated, and that five days 
 is the shortest time for hatching chickens he ever knew in all 
 his eggspei'ience. 
 
 — A gentleman and lady were to be married, and the lady 
 insisted upon having the cercmon}^ performed in church. The 
 church was undergoing repairs, and the wedding had to take 
 place in the Sunday School room in the basement. As the 
 prospective husband and Avife stood under the ai'chway in 
 front of the superintendent's desk, and the minister was trj^- 
 ing to find his place in the service book, the groom noticed 
 that the entire audience was in a titter about something, and 
 looking up in the direction in which the crowd was gazing, 
 he beheld, upon the arch he was standing under, the motto 
 of the Sunday School, "Suffer little children to come unto 
 
 ^«f- 
 
^ ga^^eh of 6l2i[®^. 
 
 ]3 
 
 — "Yes," said Mrs. Jinkins to her friend, "yes, 1 have a 
 perfect jewel of a girl. She has been with rae two j^ears. 
 She takes right hold, and takes an interest in things just as 
 if the}^ were her own." 
 
 "I've got one who does, too," sighed her friend, "she takes 
 an interest in things just as if they were her own. The last 
 thing I missed was a silver thimble." 
 
 A man who had just been fined thre6 dollars and costs for 
 being drunk, remarked to the justice : "S — sha}^, c — can you 
 — hie — finer man — twice for the — hie — same — ic — erfence?" 
 "No," said the justice, " of course not." "Well, — shay, — ic 
 — parder— th - thic— this is the sic — same drunk you fined 
 me for last week, — I — hie — I hain't been sober since." 
 
 — The following is credited to a Kalamazoo man who is 
 the adjuster for one of the leading insurance companies. He 
 went to see a policy-holder whose house had burned down, 
 and he enquired the cause of the fire. The house-owner had 
 no idea. After a little investigation the adjuster announced 
 that he thought he now understood the cause of the fire. 
 "Well," said the owner, "I should very much like to learn 
 the cause of the fire. What was it ? " " Friction." said the 
 adjuster. "Friction?" said the house-owner, " what's that ? " 
 "Why," exjDlained the adjuster, "friction i^ a term used some- 
 times in natural philosophy. It is an intense heat, and is pro- 
 duced by rubbing a thousand dollar insurance policy against 
 a six hundred dollar house." 
 
 — One summer afternoon a very young gentleman from 
 the i-ural precincts, accompanied by his fair lady, walked into 
 the most stylish ice cream parlor in Kalamazoo and sat down. 
 Immediately the waitress appeared with the paj)er napkins, 
 water and ice, and insinuatingly observed, — Lemon, vanilla, 
 chocolate, strawberry and jDineapple." 
 
 " We don't want none av thim,'" remarked the gallant beau, 
 vv no was evidently not of Fi"ench descent, " we doen't loike 
 thim Plaze jist bring us some oice crame, an' foive cents 
 worth av coo-kies." He was served accordina* to his desire. 
 
4- 
 
 u 
 
 ji g-A^\[ct of ei2ip5. 
 
 Died. — June IS, l.SST, of cxliaustion, starviitioii, billious- 
 ness, and hot weaiher. the Seneca, (Hi.) Daily Messenger, aged 
 seven weeks. It fell asleep as calmly, sweetly and serenely as 
 a little lamb wliich, Aveaiy of this sinful world, lies down in 
 a corner of the shecpfold, and closes its little lies. One more 
 unfortnnate, braveh' to stai-t, rashly importunate, swift to 
 depart. (>>uickly it u-ot a coiii;-h. lanny and deep, swiftly it 
 shuffled off Rock it to sleep. 
 
 — He entered the car with a sort of apologetic air, and 
 took the first empt}' seat lie came to. He put his vali.se 
 iu the rack, but the rack was rather small, and the valise 
 didn't seem very firm in its elevated ])Osition. After watch- 
 ing the valise awhile he inoved into the next seat. Presently ^ 
 another gentleman came along and to(jk the first seat, and 
 had been there but a moment when the valise tumbled down 
 and whacked him over the head. The owner of that grip 
 readied over for his property, remarking as he did so " I 
 thoiKjltt that darned thing 'ud tumble down an' hui-t some- 
 body. It didn't look as if it 'ud stav up there." 
 
 — (rrand Rapids begins every spring, before the snow is 
 off the ground, to discuss horse-races for the next fall. It is 
 too cold in March to think of horse-racing, and the way they 
 agitate the subject reminds me of a running meeting the}' 
 had in Ottawa, 111., one October while I was there. Thei-e 
 were al)Out a dozen jieople in a xavy large grand stand, everj-- 
 body looked blue, and the wind sighed among the benches. 
 The ])Ool-seller had a short storj' to tell, he buttoned his coat 
 to p)-(jtect him Avell, but his nose was so cold that he couldn't 
 yell, and the wind sighed among the benches. A little black 
 urchin that I didn't know ran down the broad track where 
 the cold wind did blow, and the people all clapped and the 
 judge hollered " do ! '" and the wind sighed among the 
 benches. 
 
 — It is pleasing to note the rapid strides which are being 
 made in the scientific line. The rapidity with which modern 
 scientists can reason from cause to effect and back again from 
 
^ (gaj^^h op &q\f^' 
 
 15 
 
 effect to cause, is truly wonderful. EspecialU' is this noticea- 
 ble in the department of anatomy and physiology. Eminent 
 scientists have discovered just how the membranes of the 
 throat are formed, both in humans and in animals. New dis- 
 coveries are constantly being made, but the most wonderful 
 one yet has just been heard from. Some deep searcher of 
 scientific problems has discovered the true philosophy of the 
 peculiar noise which a eat makes when he gets upon the 
 piazza roof and cries because he don't know enough to come 
 down. The strange sound is owing to the peculiar formation 
 of the mew-cuss membrane in the cat's throat. 
 
 — While 1 was local supernumerary on the Battle Creek 
 Moon, the city marshal was a man named WiUiam Flagg, a 
 very courteous gentleman and efficient officer. One day I 
 stepped into his office after news, and there was no one in. 
 Lying on the table was an open note, and as my eye wan- 
 dered over it I became interested in its contents. I pulled 
 out my book .and copied it. The copy has lain among my 
 scraps and curiosities for three or four years, and here it iS) 
 simple, cqmplete, and self-explanatory : 
 
 bAttle creek, June 4. 
 Mister Wilm flag. Marshal, 
 
 dier Sir, 
 please Do not Send this man to Jale he is the father of Nine 
 children an they must hav Bred, he is Willing to Work out 
 a fine he is industrus an wants too Support his family, dont 
 send him to Jale — dont do it but if you must why G-it him \ 
 Pound of chewing tobacco and i will pay for it. 
 
 respecfully . 
 
 — Girls are always doing something which exposes them, 
 and are taking cold. Is it not a point for wonder that more 
 young ladies do not die with consumption ? The latest and 
 most wanton act of this sort is credited to a Vassar girl. She 
 took a terrible cold, from which serious results were feared. 
 She was exceedingly imprudent. She had been taught to 
 keep herself warm and comfortable, but in direct disobedi- 
 ence to all parental instruction she exposed herself to the bit- 
 
 -t 
 
4- 
 
 — .3*=- 
 
 10 
 
 ^ (gsvj^^^h op 6f2ip^. 
 
 ing blast of a cold winter evening in a most extraordinary 
 manner. She committed a great act of foolhardy indiscretion, 
 and has a serious cold. She acted in utter disregard of all 
 common sense, not taking the most ordinary precautions for 
 her own warmth and comfort. From a hygenic and sanitary 
 point of view, her act was most indiscreet, and sure to impair 
 her health and give her the consumption, or at least a terrible 
 cold. She went sleigh-riding with her brother. 
 
 OF COURSE NOT. 
 
 It was such a pretty slipper, — 
 
 (Was that tiny little slipper,) 
 
 There so gracetully protruding from beneath 
 
 the ruffled dress. 
 And a ribbon held the slipper, — 
 (It was such a pretty slipper,) 
 As it rested on a footstool with an easy 
 
 carelessness. 
 
 If I'd write about that slipper, — 
 ('Bout that very dainty slipper,) 
 Some quite savage impi-ecations at my muses 
 
 would be hurled. 
 So about that little slipper, — 
 ( 'Twas a \Qrj pretty slipper,) 
 I would never think of writing — 'course I 
 
 wouldn't, for the world. 
 
 r 
 
^ gaj^^t op &q\f<^. 1'^ 
 
 A PLEDGE. 
 
 While at Ottawa, 111., a friend who was solicitous for my 
 welfare sent me the following pledge, with the friendly 
 request that I sign it. I have done so and can most heartily 
 recommend it to my friends. It is specially designed for 
 newspaper men and printers. 
 
 PLEDGE : 
 
 I, the undersigned, recognizing the duty I owe to the 
 human race and to posterity, do hereby solemnly swear and 
 promise that T will abstain from the use of all intoxicating 
 liquors (except as beverages,) and from cider, ex'-ept three 
 times a week, and from profanit}', except as prescribed by a 
 physician. (Signed.) . 
 
 IT WASNT. 
 
 I often think about the way 
 That poor Maud Miller raked the hay ; 
 And of that sorry phrase of tears 
 That has been quoted all these years, 
 That " Of all words of tongue or pen 
 The saddest are these, 'It might have been.' " 
 But did you notice that when Maud stopped 
 To dream about it, the hay-rake dropped ? 
 And while she reflected, and grew quite pained 
 About that "might have," the fact remained 
 That it wasn't. 
 
 I think it's a good deal better, instead. 
 To look and to think about what's ahead ; 
 To keep on working and never forget 
 There are several things that may be yet. 
 It is better to work with a zeal and a vim. 
 Than to meditate over what might have been 
 And wasn't. 
 
 ■:^#- 
 
IH 
 
 ^ igs^^'^^t Op 6l2ip^. 
 
 ADVICE TO MOTHERS. 
 
 Between a household journal's eover^j, 
 I one day found, among some others, 
 This brief, concise "Advice to Mothers,' 
 Reverse and spank. 
 
 When some new kink the kidlet ails, 
 
 And mournful song of grief prevails, 
 
 This brief prescription never fails, — 
 
 Reverse and sj^ank. 
 
 Oh, great relief! Oh, speedy cui-e 
 For children small, for children pure, 
 Its benefits are quick and sure, — 
 Reverse and spank. 
 
 HELLO ! 
 
 I'm a lady operator, — 
 
 Hello! 
 Fair}' peg-manipulator, — 
 
 Hello! 
 As the numbers keep on falling 
 With persistence most appalling, 
 I must always keep on calling 
 
 Hello ! 
 
 Three or four have called together. 
 
 Hello ! 
 Accents dim and thick as leather. 
 
 Hello ! 
 Several calls together beckoned, 
 All delay's to my blame reckoned, 
 No one Avants to wait a second. 
 
 Hello ! 
 
fi ga^^^et op ei^ip^. 
 
 19 
 
 WHAT TROUBLED HIM. 
 
 " Live within your income," 
 
 He said to the j^oor young man, 
 '' Live within your income 
 
 And save every cent you can ; 
 Jjive within your income 
 
 Nor lowly work despise ; 
 That is the way to get wealth}-, — 
 
 That is the way to rise." 
 
 The young man slowly pondered 
 
 And sadly shook his head. 
 Then he looked at the rich old skinflint 
 
 And ruefully he said : 
 '• Live within my income ? 
 
 Well, I've got to learn, you see, 
 To live ivithout an income, 
 
 That's what's the matter with vie.'" 
 
 ON THE FENCE. 
 
 Upon every point that arises 
 
 Which may m}^ opinion refute, 
 Upon every political issue 
 
 And on every local dispute, 
 In fact, upon every question 
 
 Where the interest is strong and intense, 
 My position is always the right one, 
 
 I invariably straddle the fence. 
 
 The position is not very easj', 
 
 And it doesn't look pretty at all, 
 If I lean to one side or the other, 
 
 I believe 1 am certain to fall ; 
 And I think that I merit distinction, 
 
 And a credit mark, long and immense, 
 If on every question that cometh, 
 
 I can gracefully straddle the fence. 
 
-m>- 
 
 20 
 
 ^ gs^^k^t op e\i\f<^. 
 
 DON'T GET EXCITED. 
 
 Always keep your temper cool, 
 
 Don't get excited. 
 Always mind the Golden Rule, 
 
 Don't get excited. 
 All along the path of life 
 Stormy winds are always rife, 
 So amid the noise and strife, 
 
 Don't get excited. 
 
 Never let your temper ejDilo, 
 
 Don't get excited. 
 Never let your feelings rile, 
 
 Don't get excited. 
 When you're vexed by summer's heat, 
 Keep your temper pure and sweet, 
 Fan yourself and bathe your feet, 
 
 Don't get excited. 
 
 A FISH STORY. 
 
 (illustrated.) 
 
 A man went fishing one bright day, 
 To fishing grounds some miles away; 
 His luck was not what he could wish, — 
 He only caught one little fish. — 
 
 'Bout so long. 
 
 But when he started home to go. 
 That little fish began to grow ; 
 And when his friends ho came to see, 
 That little fish had grown to be 
 
 So long. 
 
^ gsv^'^^t op 6l2i[®5- ^^ 
 
 That man was quite a hero then 
 And told the story o'er again, 
 And as he played the sportsman's role, 
 This is the smile his friends all smole. 
 
 o o o o o o oo oo oo oo oo oo oo 
 -}-y -^ ^ ^ ^ I I I I , I 
 
 The smile. 
 
 o o o o 
 
 YE LIGHT FANTASTIC. 
 
 His vest was low, — his spirits high, 
 He heard his carriage drawing nigh. 
 And murmured, as he fixed his tie, — 
 " Ye light fantastic." 
 
 He basked in sweet Elysiums rare. 
 He saw fine dames and maidens fair 
 With glowing cheeks and dazzling hair, — 
 " Ye light fantastic." 
 
 He warmed his heart within the beam 
 Of eyes that danced with merry gleam. 
 Then cooled himself with cake and cream,- 
 " Ye light fantastic." 
 
 At morning's dawn, from downy bed. 
 He roused him with an aching head, 
 And drew a weary sigh and said, 
 " Ye light fantastic." 
 
 And as a morning's yawn he took, 
 He saw his empty pocket-book, 
 And gasped, with wild, despairmg look, — 
 "Ye light fantastic." 
 
 ^ 
 
4 
 
 -B>- 
 
 ^ (ga^^^et of t\]\f^. 
 
 CORK IT UP. 
 
 AVhen yoiu' joj'ous soul within, 
 Seekiiii^ someone's praise to win, 
 Would a little song begin, — 
 
 Cork it up. 
 When in tunc 3'our voice would play, 
 Leave it till some other day — 
 Do not give yourself away, — 
 
 Cork it up. 
 
 When young love, within your heart. 
 Fooling with sweet Cupid's dart, 
 AYould some gushing verses start, 
 
 Cork it up. 
 Other men, in days of yore, 
 Other ninnies, less or more. 
 Have tried that same thing before, — 
 
 Cork it up. 
 
 When your soul would like to ring 
 
 Welcome to the lovely spring. 
 
 And your muse in verse Avould sing, — 
 
 Cork it up. 
 Other men, in other times, 
 Other fools, in other climes 
 Have been killed for just such crimes.— 
 
 Cork it up. 
 
^ gaj^^h op ei2ip^. 23 
 
 LAMENT OF THE DYING RED MAN. 
 
 Never again Avill 1 course o'er the prairie, 
 
 Never, Oh, never again. 
 On a poor Httle pony that's wind-broken, very, 
 
 Nevei', Oh, never again. 
 Never again will I feel young and frisky, 
 Eager for hunting and fights that are risky, 
 Hot for a scalp or a gallon of whisky, — 
 
 Never, Oh, never again. 
 
 Never again will I loaf i-ound the stations, 
 
 Never, Oh, never again. 
 Living on plunder and government rations, 
 
 Never, Oh, never again. 
 Never again will my fair Indian roses 
 Dance in the thinnest of barbarous clotheses — 
 Paint on their faces and rings in their noses, 
 
 Never, Oh, never again. 
 
 Never again will I glide o'er the watei. 
 
 Never, Oh, never again. 
 And make Meechee paddle the way that I 
 taught 'er, 
 
 Never, Oh, never again. 
 Never again will my spirit of honor 
 Proudly exult at the work heaped upon her, 
 The G-reat Spirit whispers that I am a goner — 
 
 Never, Oh, never again. 
 
 -m^ 
 
4- 
 
 ■B*- 
 
 24 
 
 ^ ^Bif{^\. op 6l2ip5. 
 
 THE TRAIN BOY. 
 
 He is eas^' in bearing, 
 And usually wearing 
 
 A very soiled calico shirt. 
 He is leering and brassy, 
 Exceed! ngl}^ sassy. 
 
 His hands are discolored with dirt. 
 He has books filled with wonder, 
 And bloodshed, and thunder. 
 
 His voice has a cheerful refrain. 
 And for very small selling, 
 He does lots of yelling, — 
 
 The boy that sells news on the train. 
 
 He has varied collections. 
 Of fruit and confections, 
 
 And little pine boxes he rigs, 
 So that after you've got 'em, 
 They're principally bottom, 
 
 'Cause timber is cheaper than figs. 
 He has apples the meanest. 
 And peaches the greenest, 
 
 To give all his patrons a pain. 
 And the buyer entices 
 At very high prices, — 
 
 The boy that sells news on the train. 
 
 PIE. 
 
 Pie is a matter in which man becomes interested from 
 earliest infancy. He is interested in pie from the first time 
 that his mamma first gives her baby boy a little thin strip for 
 desert, until, as an old man, he sticks his finger into some red- 
 hot political pie and gets burnt. When a kid he cries for pie, 
 
^ ^^fx^l op 6l2i[s^. 
 
 25 
 
 when a youth he loves pie, when a printer's devil he sorts pi, 
 when a mathematical student he hates pi, and all through the 
 rest of his life he wants to have a finger in every pie that is 
 cooking in his locality. Pie covers a multitude of difficulties. 
 The only consolation 1 ever found in the study of geometiy 
 was the facility with which one may there learn of pi. In ge- 
 ometry you learn all about pi, and one-half pi, and one-fourth 
 pi, and about given sjDaces in connection with pi, and all that. 
 Geometry appeals to a man's finer sensibilities in just that it 
 treats of pi. Then when you get into trigonometry you learn 
 about sines, and secants, and triangles, and cotangents, but 
 you have pi in most of the examples, and you may as well 
 put down as the boss equation of the whole business that a 
 thing of beauty is one-sixth of the secant terminating in the 
 concave arc of mince meat, and the sine of pi is a joy forever. 
 
 PANHANDLE. 
 
 A synopsis of the big steal by the employes of the " Pan- 
 handle" Kailroad in April, 1887.] 
 
 They all were eager on some scheme, 
 And from appearance it would seem 
 They had a scheme they thought they'd try, 
 And murmured, as they closed one eye, 
 " Panhandle." 
 
 Their thoughts were acts, their acts success. 
 Their gain grew more, their fear grew less. 
 Then smiled these noble, honest men. 
 And gentl}^ whispered, once again, 
 " Panhandle." 
 
 And Fortune smiled, so wondrous fair, 
 Like balmy breezt *n summer air. 
 
26 ^ (§5V^'^^t op 6l2ip^. 
 
 Their bobtail flush grow bii^ and strong, 
 And swelled the grand triumphant song, 
 " Panhandle." 
 
 Their spirits soared so wondrous high 
 Till, after months had hurried by, 
 They felt a little something drap 
 And heard a murmur through the ga]),— 
 •' Panhandle." 
 
 The prison walls were clean and white 
 And 'mid the gentle, softened light, 
 They faintly sighed, but sighed in vain. 
 For softly came the sweet refrain, — 
 " Panhandle." 
 
 IT RAINED. 
 
 There was a httle rainfall in Kalamazoo one summer 
 afternoon that was very wonderful. A prominent merchant 
 of this city was sitting out in front of his store with some 
 fifteen or twenty of his friends, sunning themselves and dis- 
 cussing the probability of rain. The merchant was very sure 
 it would rain and another citizen in the circle was very sure 
 it wouldn't. Finally the merchant offered to bet the citizen 
 the cigars for the crowd that it would rain in less than half 
 an hour. The wager was accepted and the crowd all slipped 
 down a little lower in their chairs to await nature's decision 
 of the wager. The time was nearly up when there came a 
 gentle sprinkle of rain on the sidewalk. The merchant 
 jumped up and demanded the cigars, which the citizen imme- 
 diately went and bought. As soon as the party were all 
 engaged in smoking the cigars which were the fruit of the 
 wao-er, the enterprising son of the merchant came down from 
 a lawyer 8 otfice over the store, and put away the sprinkling- 
 pot, and it didn't rain any more that day. 
 
f\ ^Bi^k'^t of ©l^ip^. 
 
 BARBED WIRE FENCE. 
 
 Some men were born lower, and others more great, 
 As their predestinations were marked out by fate; 
 There are men who have done some great good 
 
 for mankind, 
 Have developed a treasure the rest couldn't find : 
 There are very great heros of different kinds, 
 Who have done the world good by the fruit 
 
 of their minds. 
 But of all mighty heroes, the one most immense 
 Is the man who invented the barbed wire fence. 
 
 As onward we journey, we find that life hath 
 Sundry tumbles and pitch-holes besetting 
 
 our path; 
 There are humiliations, and failings, and strife, 
 That come to each one as ho journeys 
 
 through life ; 
 There are perilous tumbles in store for us all, 
 But I think that the average man feels his fall 
 With a humiliation most deep and intense 
 When he first comes to sit on a barbed 
 
 wire fence. 
 
 Perhaps, in the future, there may be a place 
 Where a soul can be sent for eternal disgrace; 
 Where a spirit too wicked to join in the song 
 Of the angels who live where the ani^-els belonir 
 Can be put in a pit, full of sulphur and flame, 
 To be purged of its wickedness, folly and shame, — 
 I say, if there be such a hell of disgrace, 
 A barbed wire railing would there be in place ; 
 And right in the middle of all of the fire, 
 Securely fenced in by his heathenish wire. 
 Where the smoke is most foul, and the heat 
 
 most intense. 
 Put the man who invented the barbed wire fence. 
 
+ 
 
 •r#- 
 
 VERY POLITE. 
 
 A Kulu.nazuo mercbant tells a story of Low polite he was 
 one dav in a crowded passenger coach. A young man 
 occupied a whole seat, and all the other seats in the car were 
 full The Kalamazoo man asked if the seat was occupied, 
 and received a very tart reply that it was, and that the man 
 had gone into the smoker. "Well, said he, "I'll sit down 
 here'till the gentleman leturns." "No, you wont," retorted 
 the other, " keep out of here ! " The Kalamazoo man, who 
 i^ very large, took the youth by the collar and chucked hnn 
 into the corner of the seat, while he himself occupied the 
 other sittinu-. After a fhort time the train stopped, and a lady 
 entered thenar. She was a very large lady, with bandboxes 
 ■uid packages, three or four small children following in her 
 wake, and^a screaming infant in her arms. The Kalamazoo 
 man immediately arose and offered his place to the lady. He 
 ushered her into the scat with the smart young man, and as- 
 sisted her to arrange her parcels and her progeny, and then 
 that fleshy gentleman from Kalamazoo stood up all the rest 
 of the journey, and congratulated himself upon his courteous, 
 self-denying politeness. 
 
 NEVER. 
 
 Daddy, if I'm calm and meek. 
 
 And go where people shove me ; 
 If I bottle up my cheek, 
 
 And kneel to those above me, 
 And do as people say I should, 
 
 Will I be happy, ever? 
 Will they love me 'cause I'm good? 
 
 Never, Johnnj-, never! 
 
 Daddy, if 1 shun all strife. 
 
 And show a sweet submission, 
 
 t- 
 
^ ga^^^et op ei^ip^. 29 
 
 If I live a noble life, 
 
 Suppressing rude ambition, 
 With all the world in sweet accord, 
 
 So meek, and good, and clever. 
 Will I reap a rich reward ? 
 
 Never, Johnny, never! 
 
 Daddy, if I'm bad and mean, 
 
 And haven't any feeling. 
 If I'm tricky, sly and keen, 
 
 And crooked in my dealing. 
 If I cheat my fellow men. 
 
 And dodge and lie forever, 
 Will 1 e'er be happy then ? 
 
 Never, Johnny, never. 
 
 Daddy, if life's race I run. 
 
 For honor, love and station, 
 If I work for Number One, 
 
 But with consideration. 
 If I use my ears and eyes, 
 
 And watch and labor ever, 
 Will I ever fail to rise? 
 
 Never, Johnny, never. 
 
 DEEAMING. 
 
 One morning I sat in an old arm-chair 
 
 Where the sunbeams came in slanting — 
 It was very warm and comfortable there. 
 
 And the view was quite enchanting ; 
 And I thought of the truth that was bright and fair, 
 
 Over earth like a sunbeam streaming. 
 How it blossomed, and ripened, and grew more fair ! 
 
 But then, I was sick, and was dreaming. 
 
4- 
 
 ■ .s^ 
 
 1 thought about all of the honest men, 
 
 The ones who are governed l)y I'eeling. 
 The ones who live up to the (iolden Eule, 
 
 The ones who are straight in their dealing, 
 J saw this host, and my heart beat light 
 
 As the truth from their eyes was gleaming. 
 There were many of these examples bright, 
 
 But then, 1 was sick, and was dreaming. 
 
 I thought how this sunny and cheerful world. 
 
 This valley of joy and gladness, 
 Is run by a seraph with wings unfurled, 
 
 Who drives awa}^ grief and sadness. 
 1 thought how these beautiful fairies with wings. 
 And hovering angels and that sort of things 
 Will surelj^ protect us and keep us warm. 
 Preserve and defend us from storm and harm. 
 And keep us from care and from trouble free — 
 But, when I thought of all this, you see, 
 
 I was sick, and was only dreaming. 
 
 HE DIDiN'T. 
 
 I knew a man who said he\i pay 
 That little bill that very day, — 
 He'd just collect a little more, 
 And come right up and fork it o'er. 
 I heard him say the sum he'd till, 
 And walk right in and pay his bill, — 
 But he didn't. 
 
 1 knew a man who was in love, 
 And called on all the saints above, 
 To witness that his heart was true, 
 And what he was about to do. 
 I heard him heave a deep-di^awn sigh, 
 And say he'd win her hand or die. 
 But he didn't. 
 
^ gaj^et op 6l2ip5. 
 
 i heard a man come in and jaw, — 
 The maddest man I ever saw ; 
 He'd teach us what to write about, 
 Or turn the office inside out. 
 1 heard him say he'd spoil the face 
 Of every man about the place, — 
 But he didn't. 
 
 1 knew a chap who had a plan 
 To make himself a wealthy man ; 
 He'd haul the money in so fast 
 He'd own a state or two at last. 
 1 heard him say, with smile so bland 
 He soon would drive his four-in-hand, 
 But he didn't. 
 
 Oh, lively time ! Oh, busy day 
 If these intentions all Avould stay! 
 What marvelous and unreal thing 
 Would not this queer arrangement bring ? 
 What lively times if they'd come true. 
 These things that men have said they'd do. 
 And didn't. 
 
 31 
 
 A ROOSTER. 
 
 Somebody has delivered himself of the following conun- 
 drum; "Why does a rooster invariably flap his wings before 
 he crows ? Because he wants to assure himself that he is 
 there before he goes to the trouble of crowing." 
 
 That reminds me of a rooster that lived next door to me 
 when 1 attended school at Ann Arbor. Two medical students 
 had rooms in the same house with me, and this rooster, a 
 large, red game cock, resided in the back yard of the premises 
 adjoining. This rooster was an earlj riser. He was in the 
 habit of leaving his secluded wigwam at about three o'clock 
 every morning. He would then come and sit on the fence 
 
4- 
 
 -s^ 
 
 ^ (ga^J^^t op t\l\f^. 
 
 next to our house antl crow until breakfast time. After 
 awhile this grew monotonous, and the two medics said they 
 thought the}^ could fix our friend the rooster. One morning 
 they caught him, and performed a surgical operation upon 
 his throat in such a manner that he could not utter a sound. 
 They then named him Oscar AYilde, because he had formerly 
 been too utter, but he wasn't very profuse in his utterances 
 now. The operation was entirely successful. It did not im- 
 pair the general health of the rooster in the least, but it fixed 
 his crow. Then we three boys lost more sleep getting up to 
 deride that rooster in his helplessness than we had ever lost 
 before by his crowing. 
 
 That rooster arose in the early morn, and he strutted 
 quite proud as he walked along, and he mounted the fence 
 with an effort strong, and the wind blew through his whisk- 
 ers. Then he seemed quite thoughtful and walked real slow, 
 and he flapped his wings, and he tried to crow, but somehow 
 or other it wouldn't go, and the wind blew through his 
 whiskei's. He crew with a stillness so deep and profound 
 that the silence, just from the absence of sound, was heard 
 for a couple of blocks around, and the wind blew through his 
 whiskers. 
 
 IN THE LINE. 
 
 Thei'e is something ver}^ peaceful 
 
 In the patient sort of way 
 People wait to get their letters 
 
 On a legal holiday; 
 Standing one behind the other, 
 Everyone a-pushing 'tother. 
 Till the small men almost smother 
 In the line. 
 
 Carrier stands behind the window, 
 Hurrying the best he can ; 
 
 r 
 
^ ga^^et op ei2ipj. 
 
 33 
 
 Calling off minute directions 
 Of the mail for every man. 
 As the names he's loudly singing, 
 While the mail he's swiftly flinging, 
 Clearly come his accents ringing 
 Down the line. 
 
 There are faces quite contented, 
 There are faces cross and sour, 
 Thei-e are faces grim and stolid. 
 
 There are brows that darkly lower. 
 Some are fooling, laughing, joking. 
 Some old puns are dryly poking. 
 Others sulky, sour and croaking 
 In the line. 
 
 Yes, it is quite interesting, — 
 The contented sort of way 
 
 People wait to get their letters 
 On a legal holiday. 
 
 Crowding, one against the other, 
 
 Everyone a pushing 'tother, 
 
 Cracking jokes at one another, 
 In the line. 
 
 IT MIGHT HAVE BEEN. 
 
 While I was at work at Ottawa, Illinois, the plans were 
 perfected for a grand boat race. This great contest was to 
 have taken place at 7 o'clock p. m., of Saturday, July 2, 1887, 
 on the Illinois river, from Most Anywhere to the Graveyard 
 and return. The contest was to have been carried on by the 
 local editors of four of the Ottawa papers, as "x^llows • 
 
 Ex-IIon. E. S. Sapp, of the Republican. 
 
 Clentle Willie Dumphey, of the Times. 
 
 Frisky Harry Barton, of the Journal. 
 
 Sam well J. B. Smiley, of the Free Trader. 
 

 ^ gSi<^\{^t op Q\i\f<^. 
 
 TIk' liiiiulbilKs announcing the " Great and Only "' were 
 all but on the press. They announced that " The solemnites 
 will begin at 7 p. m, sharp. Doors open at 6:30. Admission 
 free. Children under ten years of age, half price. The par- 
 ticipants being well-behaved young gentlemen, and having 
 enjoj'ed the advantages of early moral and religious training 
 there will be no stakes put up, and no bets allowed, but the 
 gentleman coming in last will feel it iijcumbent upon himself 
 to purchase the ice cream, cake, lemonade and peanuts for the 
 crew, and the other gentlemen of the crew will feel it their 
 dut}^ to eat as much as they can at that gentleman's expense. 
 P^verybody invited (to the race, not the refi'eshments.) Spec- 
 tators may hang over the bridge railing. JSTo flowers." 
 
 We had it all decided — this little rowing bout — the hand- 
 bills all but printed, and Sapp backed out. The details were 
 decided and it would have been, no doubt, the picnic of the 
 season, but Sapp backed out. 
 
 THANY-GKAB-SIS. 
 
 To him who, in the search for shekels, gets 
 Possession of their tangible forms, they speak 
 Precarious language. For his bankrupt hours 
 They have the voice of gladness, and a smile, 
 And elegance of beauty, and they glide 
 Into his trousers pocket with a sat- 
 isfying sympathy that steals away 
 His troubles ere he is aware. When thoughts 
 Of the bill that's due come like a blight 
 Over thy spirit, and dark images 
 Of the long accounts, the bills, the duns. 
 The awful gone-ness, and the empty purse, 
 Make thee say cuss-words and gi^ow sore at heart, 
 Go forth on thy collection tour, while from all around. 
 Office, and store-room, and e'en from the air 
 Comes a loud voice, " Yet a few days 
 
 -^'- 
 
^ gaj^^h op Q\]\f^. 
 
 35 
 
 "And I will pay thee all." And then they'll wink 
 
 When thou art gone, the wild and reckless waste 
 
 Goes on, and each one, as before, shall cheat 
 
 His guileless creditor. As the long train 
 
 Of ages whistle by, the sons of men. 
 
 From youths in life's pin-feathers to him who goes 
 
 In the full strength of years, boy and dad, 
 
 Shall, one by one, be pushed to Canada, 
 
 By those who, in their turn, shall follow them. 
 
 So live that when thy day shall come 
 
 To join the retreating caravan that moves 
 
 Across the border, into Johnny Bull's demean 
 
 Where weary souls are resting with the boodles 
 
 They adore, thou go not hke the bank cashier at 
 
 Night, fleeing from his shortage, but having sweetly 
 
 Gobbled a momentous pile of tin, approach thy cave 
 
 Like Kissane, who with the mantle of respect 
 
 About him, sits down to sumptuous joys. 
 
 MY LITTLE SISTEK. 
 
 Who comes to meet me, running out 
 To smile away all care and doubt. 
 And takes me by the hand, and talks 
 Her childish prattle as she walks. 
 And makes me feel as if life's yoke 
 Were really nothing but a joke ? 
 My little sister. 
 
 Whose deepest griefs can pass away 
 As quick as darkness yields to day, 
 And leaves the little face as bright 
 As sunbeams in the morning light ? 
 She leaves me nothing else to do 
 But just to be light-hearted too. — 
 My little sister. 
 
:5i; 
 
 ^ ^a^^^eh op Gl^ip^. 
 
 And when I'm tired, and feeling blue, 
 And ugly, and disgusted, too, 
 And when 1 even doubt if I 
 Can claim a friend by any tie, 
 I know, though others distant be. 
 There's one small girl sticks up for me, — 
 My little sister. 
 
 And sometimes, when 1 may have slipped. 
 Some wrong have done, some good have skipped, 
 When I some bitter pill must take 
 In jsayment for my own mistake. 
 
 When others slight, and others blame, , 
 
 Who comes to kiss me, just the same? *^ 
 
 My little sister. 
 
 I see her oft when I'm not there, 
 And offer up a silent jjrayer ; 
 May grief and soitow never chase 
 The sunshine from that little face. 
 May she ne'er grow to love mo less — 
 May heaven keep, and guard, and bless 
 My little sister. 
 
 ONLY AVIND. 
 
 A windbag said to itself one day, 
 " Now I will be frisky, and light and gay, 
 "And I'll make men think I am firm and sound 
 " Because I am nois}-, and big and round. 
 "And I'll make them think I'm a thing 
 
 of brains 
 " With moi'al feelings and lofty aims, 
 But /know I'm only wind." 
 
^ ga^^^^h op t\i\f^. 
 
 So the windbag went and it blew its horn, 
 And the world thought there was a genius born ; 
 And it looked so substantial, and big and grand. 
 That loudest praises it could comniaqd. 
 And as it was flourishing day bj day . 
 Men thought it was sound and had come to stay, 
 Whereas, it was only wind. 
 
 It blew its trumpet long and loud 
 Till it gained the respect of the vulgar crowd ; 
 And it placed its boom on the upper shelf, 
 And bragged, and boasted, and spread itself, 
 And laid all good at its own front dooi". 
 As it pi"anced along with a rush and a roar — 
 But the roar was only wind. 
 
 And the windbag smiled as it onward sped, 
 And it chuckled and laughed as it boomed ahead, 
 And it said : " What fools these mortals be 
 " To bow and to take off their hats to me ; 
 •' But 1 just holler for JSTuniber One 
 "And they think I'm a terrible Fee Faw Fum, 
 " But there's nothing to me but wind." 
 
 There's a motto that came from some fairy elf, 
 " Give a calf enough rope and he'll hang himself 
 So the windbag went, as the cyclones go, 
 With a terrible bluster, and howl, and blow. 
 Till there came some sudden, though slight 
 
 - mishaps. 
 And the windbag fell in a great collapse, 
 And they saw it was only wind. 
 
4- 
 
 m- 
 
 :{S 
 
 JI ^gsv'^^^t of Cl2ip^. 
 
 l^EAUTIFUL SPRING. 
 
 Xotp:: — Before publishing this poem I have given partic- 
 ular direction for the administration of my estate, and for llie 
 distribution of my worldly etfects. 
 
 The birds are appearing, the trees grow green, 
 
 All in the beautiful spring. 
 The timid, frail bladelets ot grass are seen. 
 
 All in the beautiful spring. 
 Then man putteth on thinner underclothes, 
 And goeth forth where the cold wind blows, 
 And getteth a terrible cold in the nose, — 
 
 All in the beautiful spring. 
 
 The north winds are still, and the blizzards at i-est, 
 
 All in the beautiful spring. 
 The dear little robins are building their nests, 
 
 All in the beautiful spring. 
 The ti-amp appears and for lodging begs, 
 The old hen setteth on turkey eggs, 
 And the horse has the scratches in all four legs, 
 
 All in the beautiful spring. 
 
 The sweet little flowei'ets are peeping out. 
 
 All in the beautiful sjjri ng. 
 And the little lambkins gambol about, 
 
 All in the beautiful spring. 
 The kid for new marbles begins a rush. 
 The chicken subsisteth on corn-meal mush, 
 And the wise man draws for a bobtail tiush. 
 
 All in the beautiful spring. 
 
 -m- 
 
-U 
 
 ^ (ga^^eh op Q\i\f<^. 
 
 A HARD ROAD. 
 
 As on I plod my varied way, 
 
 'Mid troubles dark, and pleasures gay, 
 
 I feel more certain every day 
 
 That Jordan's a hard road to travel. 
 
 When very small, one morning when 
 I was caught whispering again, 
 My loving teacher showed me then 
 
 That Jordan's a hard road to travel. 
 
 When some good teachings I'd abjure, 
 My mother's slipper found a cure, 
 And made me very, very sure 
 
 That Jordan's a hard road to travel 
 
 Once when I failed to stand aloof 
 
 From where smooth ice entwined its woof, 
 
 I found a very solid proof 
 
 That Jordan's a hard road to travel. 
 
 And oft some new thing, coming hence, 
 Some new and strange experience 
 Brings fresh and startling evidence, 
 
 That Jordan's a hard road to travel. 
 
 So now the fact is nothing new, 
 And when a lot of bills come due 
 I smile, because I know it's true 
 
 That Jordan's a hard road to travel. 
 
 So, as I plod my varied way, 
 
 'Mid troubles dark, and pleasures gay, 
 
 I feel more certain, every day 
 
 That Jordan's a hard road to travel. 
 
 -1^ 
 
4- 
 
 ■•»- 
 
 4U 
 
 gf ^§^5^^^ ^^" ^t'P5- 
 
 THE DENTIST. 
 
 Who puts mo in a patent chair, 
 And tips nie back, to keep nie there, 
 And rubs his coatsleevo in my hair? 
 The dentist. 
 
 Who has a little patent thing, 
 That he makes hum, and buzz, and sing,- 
 It's run with treadles and a string? 
 The dentist. 
 
 Who with dr}' punk creates a drouth, 
 Then aims this buzzer east by south, 
 And starts out to enlarge my mouth? 
 The dentist. 
 
 Who pokes around in holes and caves 
 Till all my soul in anguish raves, — 
 My path to the asylum paves ? 
 The dentist. 
 
 Who brings a rubber that, foresooth. 
 Is rightly named, in very truth, 
 And forces it around my tooth ? 
 The dentist. 
 
 Who brings a clamp, my mouth to draw 
 Most fiendish thing I ever saw. 
 And tiies to paralyze my jaw ? 
 The dentist. 
 
 Who brings some gold, rolled very thin, 
 And then proceeds to jam it in 
 With a wicked little javalin ? 
 
 The dentist. 
 
Who then a little sledge doth take, 
 And pounds until my teeth all ache ? 
 Who, as a hetchel, takes the cake ? 
 The dentist. 
 
 41 
 
 THE BOSS SNAKE STORY. 
 
 The following is not original with me. I do not know 
 where it came from, or who wrote it. It came to my notice 
 when 1 was a little boy, and I fondly adopted it. It is the 
 best snake story I ever heard, and if anybody has a better 
 one I should like to have him send it to me. I think this one 
 is good enough to frame. 
 
 ■ SNAKES. 
 
 There was once a blue snake, and 
 there was once a black snake. The blue 
 snake came up the garden walk, and 
 the black snake came down the garden 
 walk, and the blue snake met the black 
 snake, and the black snake met the 
 blue snake, and they both met each 
 other. The blue snake eyed the black 
 snake, and the black snake eyed 
 the blue snake, and the blue snake dis- 
 agreed with the black snake, and the 
 black snake disagreed with the blue 
 snake, and they both disagreed with 
 each other. The bbie snake attacked 
 the black snake, and the black snake 
 attacked the blue snake, and they both 
 attacked each other. Now the blue 
 snake fought, after the manner of 
 snakes, and began to swallow the black 
 snake, beginning at the tail, and the 
 black snake fought, after the manner 
 of snakes, and began to swallow the 
 blue snake, beginning with the tail, and 
 they both swallowed each other com- 
 pletely, leaving no snakes at all. 
 
 n 
 
4- 
 
 42 
 
 ^ ^a^^^ct op (^\j\^<^. 
 
 KEEP STILL. 
 
 1 have Boen many men who, in talking, 
 
 Know every tinie just what to say. 
 And men who to lead conversation 
 
 Knew just the most po])ular way, — 
 Men who always could speak opportunely. 
 
 Some brief, awkward crisis to fill, 
 But 1 think I have met only one man 
 
 Who always knew when to keep still. 
 
 It will help a man up life's steej) footpath. 
 
 As over the rough road we climb, 
 To be able to speak his mind freely, 
 
 Putting ni the right word every time. 
 Still I think it will helj) him full better, 
 
 And will boost him up over the hill, 
 If he knows, with his other great knowings. 
 
 The most fitting time to keep still. 
 
 It will help any man's reputation. 
 
 It M-ill make him a host of good friends. 
 For a great many ugly short-comings 
 
 It will make the most ample amends. 
 It will help him to rise to distinction, 
 
 And a lofty position to fill, 
 If he carries it always right with him, — 
 
 This knowledge of when to keep still. 
 
 Yet, as I remarked in beginning, 
 
 I have run across only one man 
 Who had this accomplishment perfect, — 
 
 Down fine as a jDOor mortal can. 
 Only one, and he knew all about it. 
 
 He worked in my grandfather's mill. 
 He was dumb as a leather-back turtle. 
 
 So he always knew when to keep still. 
 
^ ^^f{^Z o? ei^ipj. 43 
 
 u 
 
 A SMART TRAMP. 
 
 A tramp showed up at the Jinking mansion some time 
 ago in search of cold victuals. Mr. Jinkins, clad in rags and 
 sackcloth, was out in the yard, washing his buggy. The 
 tramp asked him if he supposed anything to eat could be had 
 in there, pointing to the house. Mr. Jinkins said that he 
 didn't know,— that they didn't feed any body very Avell there, 
 and added that this was a tough world for a poor fellow any- 
 ' way. "Don't they feed you well in there?" inquired the 
 tramp. "No," said Mr. Jinkins, "and they don't pay any- 
 thing either." "How much do you get?" "Only fifty cents a 
 day and board— awful poor board, too," sighed Mr. Jinkins, 
 "they're hard on a feller here." "Say, won't you please work 
 them to give me something to eat?" "Me? Oh, no, I haven't 
 any influence there. You'll have to tackle them yourself I 
 don't think you'll get anything though." The tramp went to 
 the back door and presently returned with his mouth, hands 
 and pockets full. "Well," said Mr. Jinkins, "you got some?" 
 "Y-yes," muttered the tramp, "got enough to keep soul and 
 body together for a little while." When Mr. Jinkins went 
 into the house he said to the kitchen maid: " So you fed that 
 tramp, did you ?" "Yes, sir," said the maid-servant, " he came 
 here and said that the gentleman of the house, out there, said 
 for me to give him a good big lunch. I saw him talking with 
 you, so I supposed it was all right, wasn't itf Mr. Jinkins 
 said he believed it was, and was heard to say something about 
 " Wasn't he onto me, though ?" 
 
 FOURTH OF JULY REFLECTIONS. 
 
 The eagle is screaming. The great day is here 
 For pistols and firecrackers, whiskey and beer. 
 
 Torpedoes are plentiful. Banners wave high 
 
 And we take off our hat* to the Fourth of July. 
 
►^ 
 
 -s*- 
 
 44 ^ (g^^'^^t op ei^ip^. 
 
 The eaglo is screaming. Some peo})le will go 
 Where a big celebration makes bluster and blow, 
 And thej^'ll feed upon gingerbread, peanuts and pie, 
 And they'll have a big time for the Fourth of July. 
 
 Full many small imps will have pistols and guns, 
 And they'll singe otf their eyebrows and blow off 
 
 their thumbs. 
 And some will rejoice, the while others will cry. 
 And so they'll get through with the Fourth of July. 
 
 Some people go to a glade, where it's cool. 
 And some will drink milk till they get pretty fall. 
 And" they'll lie in the shade while the world jDrances by 
 xVnd they'll 'Eah for the darlin'— hie— Fourth of Zhuly. 
 
 Now perhaps it's a suitable way to invoke 
 The good will of fate with this powder and smoke. 
 But it does seem to me that it costs pretty high 
 To make a big racket the Fourth of July. 
 
 And then, in the evening, the rockets' red glare 
 Will light up the heat of the midsummer air, 
 And millions of dollars will melt out of eight 
 In the smoke that floats over the Union that night. 
 And people who toil for their morsel of bread 
 Will spend their last dollar to paint the town red, 
 And then starve for a week, 'neath our free Union sky 
 'Cause they blowed in their dust for the Fourth of 
 July. 
 
 GALL. 
 
 All gall is divided into three parts. Of these the lip in- 
 habits one, the cheek another, and the third is inhabited by 
 that which in their language is called bravery, in ours, impu- 
 dence. 
 
^ (ga^^®t op 6l2ip^. 45 
 
 There is the gall that helps a niau through this vale of 
 tears and stands by him like a beautiful guardian angel when 
 he is oppressed ; and then there is the gall that makes a man 
 a shame to his friends, a joy to his enemies, and a terrible 
 nuisance to himself There is the gall that teaches a man to 
 be an easy, self-assured gentleman, and there is the gall that 
 teaches a man to overstep everything, and make a fool of 
 himself It is in the ability to distinguish between these 
 kinds of gall that lies the difference between a successful 
 phaiisee and Balaam's ass. To cultivate an insurmountable 
 gall, without loosing one's sensitiveness, or one's appreciation 
 of the finer and more delicate things of human character — 
 that is the great end we should strive for — that is the kind of 
 gall to cultivate. A man who never gets embarrassed or dis- 
 turbed anywhere, and yet is always considerate of the fin est 
 points of delicacy, that man has my deepest and most pro- 
 found respect. 
 
 Gall is a great thing. It is a noble, good thing. A lot 
 of good, clean, polished gall is better property to a young 
 man than many tufers. It will admit him to any society he 
 has the backing to stay in. It will be as a guardian angel to 
 him in business; it will shield his more sensitive nature 
 from the pain of hard knocks ; it will be to him a comfort, 
 a pleasure, and a sword and shield. If I had the choice of 
 the possession of four town lots or a smooth, clear, unmitigat- 
 ed gall, I would take the gall, every time. Young man, hang 
 on to your delicacy, cherish your finer sensibilities, but culti- 
 vate your gall. It is a great thing. 
 
 IT'S A PITY ABOUT THEM. 
 
 " It's a terrible pity," a gentleman said 
 
 " That so many young folks of ambition 
 
 " Must labor so hard for their morsel of bread, 
 " And to better their humble condition, 
 
4- 
 
 ^^ ef ^^J^^'^ °^ 6l2if5. 
 
 " It is hard that they haA'e to keep working away 
 " While the pathways of jsleasure are shining and gay, 
 " 1 pity them." 
 
 Sometimes we feel sure that this idea is right, 
 And wo grumble, and sizzle, and splutter. 
 
 But I think wc don't loose such a terrible siffht 
 By earning our own bread and butter. 
 
 And I'll say to that kindly old man " ISTever fret, 
 
 " If a boy earns his living, and keeps out of debt 
 Don't pit}'' Am." 
 
 Don't pity the girl who can earn her own bread 
 
 In any refined occuj)ation, 
 If she has but the requisite brains in her head 
 
 To hold a responsible station. 
 If she has the ambition, and courage, and nerve 
 To stick right to business, and never to swerve, 
 Don't jDity her." 
 
 But pity the girl who has only one thought 
 
 And that's fashion, and dressing, and gadding. 
 
 Who imagines that beauty's a thing to be bought 
 With powder, and painting, and padding. 
 
 Who has never known anything noble and high 
 
 And who lives just because she's too lazy to die. 
 Pity her. 
 
 Don't pity the boy who has something to do 
 
 And the courage and strength to go through it, 
 
 He'll prosper in time, and in little time, too. 
 His spunk will compel him to do it. 
 
 If he knows how to work, and to lay up his pelf, 
 
 He'll get along and take care of himself 
 Don't pity him. 
 
 But pity the youth with a big lot of pelf, 
 Who is bulky, conceited and lazy. 
 
 r 
 
-^- 
 
 ^ ^^\^\. op SfZ'P^- ' ^^ 
 
 Who is just most terrifically stuck on himself, 
 
 And who thinks he's a veritable daisy. 
 Who has only got beef where there ought to be brains, 
 And who don't knov^ enough to go in when it rains. 
 Pity him. 
 
 A VASSAR GIRL. 
 
 There was once a very beautiful Vassar girl. She was 
 the possessor of all the usual feminine charms, and one 
 more which surpassed all the rest, — the Vassar girl was brave. 
 One day, in vacation time, this Vassar girl went sketching 
 with a party in the Eocky Mountains, While there the Vas- 
 sar girl wandered away from the rest of the party and came 
 to a beautiful, secluded glen in the heart of the Eockies, and 
 there did the Vassar girl pitch her camp-stool, and sit down 
 to sketch the beauties of nature. The picture was made per- 
 fect by the Vassar girl's presence as a part of it. The little 
 birds stopped their blithe songs to gaze with rapture upon 
 the Vassar girl. But how quickly are the fairest pictures 
 broken ! A huge black grizly bear came along the glen, 
 making straight for the Vassar girl. Horrors ! She cannot 
 escape ! Behind is a deiep precipice, and on either side tall 
 cliffs, and still the horrible grizly advanced. Any other than 
 a Vassar girl would have fainted, or thrown herself over the 
 precipice,. but the Vassar girl was brave. Still the grizly 
 came. Slowly he raised upon his haunches. He took the 
 Vassar girl in his deadly embrace! Horror of Horrors! 
 But the Vassar girl did not faint, or scream, or cry out. She 
 threw her fair arms around the terrible grizly, took a 
 last look at the clear blue sky, and then with a heavenly 
 smile upon her angelic features, she gave that grizly just one 
 convulsive hug, and dropj)ed him,— dead as a canned mack- 
 erel ! 
 
 Haecfahula docet. — Practice makes perfect, and a grizly 
 wants to be careful how he tackles a Vassar girl. 
 
4 
 
 -;-*^ 
 
 4S 
 
 ^ ^ga^'^^h op &^\f><^. 
 
 PIG-ENZI TO THE PORKERS. 
 
 Hogs, 
 
 I came not here to grunt. Ye know too well ' 
 
 The story of our slaughter. We are hogs. 
 
 The bright sun rises to his course and lights 
 
 A pen of hogs; be sets, and bis last beam 
 
 Falls on a hog. Not such as, swept along 
 
 Upon a frisk}' steed, the hunter spears 
 
 With sharpened lance, by skillful thrust, — 
 
 But base, ignoble bogs. Hogs that a lot 
 
 Of petty butchers into sausage grind. 
 
 Hogs that are domoli'^hed, and are melted 
 
 Into grease, — the same that makes 
 
 A corner when Phil. Armour gets 
 
 His work in at Chicago. 'Twas but yesterday 
 
 An honest hog, my neighbor — there he lies — 
 
 Was stuck — stuck like a hog, by one who wore 
 
 The butcher's garb, because, forsooth, 
 
 He wallowed in a corner, j'ct, iu truth, 
 
 Phil. Armour has a corner all he likes. 
 
 And that on pork. Now hear ye, hogs, 
 
 I had a brother once, — a fleshy hog 
 
 Full of sour buttermilk and calmest joy ; 
 
 Of cornstalks also, and of broth. There was 
 
 The look of peace upon his face. His eyes 
 
 Swelled nearly shut with fat. His cheeks 
 
 Puffed out like roasting apples. 
 
 A smirch of mud upon his nose. 
 
 His legs could scarcely hold the weight 
 
 Of bacon, sausage, lard, and ham 
 
 That he contained. In one short hour, 
 
 This pretty, harmless hog was slain. I saw 
 
 The jjork, the salted pork, then did I grunt 
 
 For fodder. Eouse ye porkers ! Eouse ye hogs ! 
 
 Have ye small shoats? Look in yon smokehouse 
 
 For their bacon. Have ye small pigs? Look 
 
 -«:■ 
 
T' 
 
 
 For -i.^ iLiO^ter. Yet — r ^ i*^ Ji^ -anse 
 l%at tinned Cfaieago i^: :o& 
 
 H-ir r_T 1 ~ r _ - I- "- as. o"»e a^d sdL 
 
 (^^- - 7^: 1-— corns' ^r OHEselveft- 
 
 AS SHE SAYS. 
 
 
 \X ^ TOs,. i.-? i 
 
 Tfeerl: 
 
 - — ~t: ai~ *^«f =«*■» s. 
 
 And 
 
 ^ 
 
-;s»- 
 
 '){) 
 
 ^ ^a^j^eh op 6l2ipJ. 
 
 'I'liiil suit-same scale, he'll surely find 
 
 His brightest hopes are weighed in, 
 For when he's tired of single life, 
 And thinks he'd better take a wife, 
 That's just as she says. 
 
 Xo matter how you kick and rare, 
 With ravings and objections, 
 
 By winsome smiles, or by the hair, 
 By force or by affections, 
 
 You'll learn by trial, and toil, and strife, 
 
 This motto will hold good through life : 
 It's just as she says. 
 
 SINKING. 
 
 Sometimes, amid pleasures the brightest 
 
 And scenes most surpassingly gay. 
 Sometimes, when our hearts should be lightest. 
 
 Our thoughts are the farthest away. 
 Sometimes, amid pastimes and pleasures most fair 
 Comes a strange, inward sinking^ we know not where. 
 
 I think it must be the same feeling 
 
 That came over every man, 
 When the rebels first fired on Fort Sumpter, 
 
 And the War of Eebellion beeran. 
 It's a sense of a terrible burden to bear. 
 This strange, inward sinking, we know not where. 
 
 Yet in that, every man was a brother. 
 
 And national pride was a goad, 
 And citizens helped one another 
 
 To carry the burdensome load. 
 But in private and secret its harder to bear, — 
 This strange, inward sinking, m'c know not where. 
 
 -^- 
 
^ (ga^^^t op &]\f<^. 
 
 51 
 
 If in our life's history we carry 
 
 Some record of trouble or pain, 
 That dark recollection will tarry, 
 
 And when we are merry again 
 Some incident surely will lead our thoughts there 
 And then comes this sinking, we know not where. 
 
 Oh, for the power to repel it ! 
 
 Oh, for the courage and strength 
 To keep up our hope and our labor, 
 
 And to come out in triumph at length ! 
 For there's nothing but failure and foolish despair 
 In this feeling of sinking, we know not where. 
 
 Still oft, amid pleasures the brightest, 
 
 And scenes most surpassing]}^ gay, 
 Sometimes, when our hearts should be lightest, 
 
 Our thoughts are the farthest away. 
 And in our gay moments it's harder to bear, — 
 This sickening sinking, we know not where. 
 
 A CONUNDRUM. 
 
 A man in northern Michigan was married some time 
 ago, and the bride's brother married the groom's daughter. 
 Ej this arrangement the first bride became the second bride's 
 mother, and the second bride became the first bride's sister. 
 The first groom became the second groom's father, and the 
 second groom became the first groom's brother. The first 
 bride became her own brother's mother, and the second bride 
 became her own father's sister, and her own husband's neice. 
 The first groom became his own wife's father, and his own 
 daughter's brother. The two gentlemen became at the same 
 time uncle and nephew, father and son, and brothers. The 
 two ladies became at once sisters, aunt and niece, and mother 
 
-,&$--- 
 
 ^- ^ ^^f^""^ ^f" &q\^<^. 
 
 ;iml tlaiightei', yet neither had been married before. Now if, 
 in the fullness of time, there should come a son unto the first 
 couple, that unfortunate young gentleman would be his 
 fathers grandson, his mother's grand-nephew, his sister's 
 nephew, and his uncle's cousin. He would also be his own 
 uncle. Now, furthermore, if the second bride should be 
 blest with a daughter, that benighted little maiden would be 
 her mother's niece, her father's grand-daughter, her grand- 
 lather's grand-niece, and her little cousin's great-aunt. Now, 
 if the gentleman first mentioned in this item should die with- 
 out making a will, and should leave property, how should 
 that property be divided among the heirs, and how long 
 would it be before the probate judge would be in the lunatic 
 asylum ? 
 
 GUM. 
 
 When we re in the theatre. 
 
 When we're on the street. 
 In the church or in the school, 
 
 Where'er we chance to meet, 
 Our jaws are always working fast. 
 
 Best that we can do. 
 Folks can see clear down our throat 
 
 As we blithely chew. 
 And we chew, chew, chew. 
 
 And we chaw, chaw, chaw. 
 Till our lips get blue. 
 
 And our tongues get raw. 
 And we're patiently a-waiting, 
 
 Till the time shall come, 
 When people won't amount to much 
 
 Who don't chew gum. 
 
^ ga^^eh op ei^ip^. 53 
 
 Tutti-frutti we have used, 
 
 Black-jack we have had, 
 Ordinary rubber gum 
 
 Isn't very bad. 
 Spruce gum we have labored on, — 
 
 Little strong 'tis true : 
 So our chin goes up and down 
 
 As we blithely chew. 
 So we chew, chew, chew, 
 
 And we chaw, chaw, chaw, 
 Till our lips get blue. 
 
 And our tongue gets raw. 
 And we live in expectation 
 
 That the time will come. 
 When people won't amount to much 
 
 Who don't chew gum. 
 
 At every time, in every place. 
 
 In motion is our jaw 
 We can't stop for anything, 
 
 'Cause we have to chaw. 
 Our jaws are always working fast. — 
 
 Best that we can do, 
 And folks can see clear down our throat. 
 
 As we blithely chew. 
 Yes, we chew, chew, chew, 
 
 And we chaw, chaw, chaw. 
 Till our lips get blue. 
 
 And our tongue gets raw. 
 And we'er feeling pretty certain 
 
 That the time will come 
 When people won't amount to much 
 
 Who don't chew gum. 
 
^ 
 
 ■B^ 
 
 i)4 
 
 3 W^f^^''- ^^^ ^fz'P5- 
 
 ON THE STAIR. 
 
 It was luiz}', dreamy twilight 
 
 In the shadows of the hall, 
 When a stylish-dressed young courtier 
 
 On an errand chanced to call. 
 He was waiting by the hat-rack 
 
 With a smile serene and bland, 
 And he held a silk umbrella 
 
 In his gloved and jewelled hand. 
 
 Silently the washer-woman, 
 
 When she heard him ring the bell, 
 Had departed from her labors, 
 
 And had swiftly gone to tell 
 The young lady of the presence, 
 
 Of the young man waiting there, 
 And, departing, left a mop-pail 
 
 Full of soap-suds, on the stair. 
 
 Calmly stood the solemn mop-pail 
 
 In the gloaming, dark and deep, 
 Sweetly simmered then the soap-suds 
 
 On the stairs, so soft and steep. 
 Quietly did float the perfume, 
 
 While the twilight gathered thei*e, 
 And the mop-pail sat in silence, 
 
 Modestly, upon the stair. 
 
 Swiftly came the blithe Matilda 
 
 From the fairy realms above. 
 With a face all fresh with powder. 
 
 And a smile all fresh with love, 
 Hurried to her brave Augustus, 
 
 Who was calmly waiting there, 
 And meanwhile the timid mop-pail 
 
 Was reposing on the stair. 
 
 -=^> 
 
^ ga^^^et of ei^ip^. -^5 
 
 Swiftly came the fair Matilda, 
 As the swallow wings its flight, 
 
 Started down the dusky staircase 
 In the dim, uncertain light. 
 
 Stepped upon the bashful mop-pail, 
 Silently reposing there. 
 
 And Matilda, suds, and mojs-pail 
 
 Came together down the stair. 
 
 Came, as jjeople aance the galop, 
 
 With a wild and reckless haste, 
 Came as come the Kansas zephers 
 
 When from o'er the plain they're chased. 
 Telescoped the brave Augustus. 
 
 Was there ever zeal so rare 
 As this greeting of Augustus 
 
 By his own Matilda fair? 
 
 LET US SMILE. 
 
 They were standing in the corner 
 
 Of a concert-hall one night, 
 And the curtain hadn't risen. 
 
 And uncertain was the light. 
 They were waiting for the concert 
 
 And one gentleman, meanwhile. 
 Buttonholed the rest and whispered 
 
 Quite profoundly " Let us smile." 
 
 Solemnly beyond the portals 
 
 Of the building's outer door. 
 Passing on into the darkness 
 
 Went this staid and solemn four. 
 'Eound the corner of the alley 
 
 On they went, in Injun-file — 
 'Cause they felt so sad and gloomy 
 
 That they thought they'd better smile. 
 
a- 
 
 •:-*- 
 
 ^ ga<5<^ct op ei^ip^. 
 
 Back tlicy cuinc, to see iho couccrl. 
 
 Lip.s were quite a rosy red. 
 Felt u little bit moi-e cheerful, 
 
 Miuiy tunny things they said. 
 Talked and laughed quite bright and sunny 
 
 Then, in just a little while, 
 One said something 'oery funny, 
 
 And the}" had to go and smile. 
 
 Then they got real sharp and witty, 
 • And quite often some good joke 
 Ej one gentleman or other 
 
 Would much merriment provoke. 
 And whenever dropped the curtain, 
 
 And the music paused awhde. 
 Then they'd sally 'round the corner 
 
 Of the alley, and would smile. 
 
 As the concert was progressing. 
 
 As the evening wore along, 
 As the town-clock struck eleven 
 
 They were smiling pretty strong. 
 Still, once more, the concert over. 
 
 Went this four in Injun file. 
 Shakily ai'ound the corner, 
 
 And they took another smile. 
 
 Homeward, then, with steps unsteady, 
 
 Accents dim, and faces red. 
 Home to hearths already darkened, 
 
 Sacred vows already dead. 
 Home, to where pure wives, awaking. 
 
 Seeing their condition vile, 
 Sickening with humiliation. 
 
 Could do anything but smile. 
 

 55t 
 
 THE RAIN. 
 
 Yes, the vapors must have gathered, bigger than a 
 dairy vat, 
 
 I think there must have been some such phenom- 
 enon as that. 
 
 For I woke at silent midnight, and at once be- 
 gan to see, 
 
 That the little sparkling raindrops were a-drip- 
 ping onto me. 
 
 Every tinkle on the shingle brought a drop onto 
 
 my nose, 
 And a thousand little raindrops kept a-soaking 
 
 in the clothes, 
 And a thousand imprecations would have failed 
 
 my mind to free, 
 AVhile those pesky little raindrops kept a-dripping 
 
 onto rae. 
 
 Plainly, that old rotten shanty had a very leaky 
 roof, 
 
 Plainly, several broken shingles wove their splint- 
 ers into woof 
 
 Plainly there was something open, and the summer 
 rain, so free, 
 
 Crept serenely through the roof-boards, and kept 
 dripping onto me. 
 
 Loudly rattled then the thunder. Fiercely gleamed 
 
 the lighting's ray, 
 Howled the wind around the cottage, with the 
 
 whirling leaves at play. 
 Wildly raged the rampant tempest, as with denio- 
 
 naic glee, 
 Those bewitched little raindrops kept a-dripping 
 
 onto me. 
 
 i: 
 
4 
 
 ;)() 
 
 j1 ^gajj^ch op 6l2iK. 
 
 WIk'11 iIk'sc piciiyuiit recollections, \ve:i\e their 
 
 bright hues into woof, 
 1 guess I'd better just repair that busted sluuity 
 
 roof. 
 W the rain has got to patter, then I'd much ])refer, 
 
 you see, 
 It would patter on the shingle than to i)atter 
 
 onto ine. 
 
 THE TEST. 
 
 A monster could be pure and good 
 
 When winds are blowing fair, 
 When stars all shine with rays benign, 
 
 And music fills the air. 
 It is no test to do our best 
 
 'Mid all fair nature's smile, 
 When all that's sweet we're sure to meet. 
 
 And kindness all the while. 
 
 The test that's true for me, for }' ou. 
 
 The test most sure and strong. 
 Is, can we fight for truth and right 
 
 When everything goes wrong ? 
 Can we maintain the lofty plain, 
 
 ( So eas}' in the light) 
 In dark and hail, and sullen gale, 
 
 When hopes seem black as night ? 
 
 When angel eyes appear to rise 
 
 Opposing; in the way, 
 When even Fate would close the gate 
 
 That opens toward the day, 
 Let us not turn and fiercely spurn 
 
 The good we might attain, 
 But rise clear past our temper s blast — 
 
 Be noble, just the same ! 
 
;^ ^ajj^^K©!: ©P Q\i\f<^. 
 
 0( 
 
 Sometime.'^ 'we feel as hard as steel 
 
 And don't care what we do, 
 I'm sure it's then, if e'er, that men 
 
 Turn from the high and true. 
 But let us Iteep on up the steep, 
 
 And work with might and main, 
 And when we're crossed, and hope seems lost, 
 
 Be noble, just the same ! 
 
 Perhaps the day be far awa}', 
 
 But come it surely must, 
 When truth accords the just rewards 
 
 Of patience, hope, and trust. 
 For Avho can tell what things are well, 
 
 Our judgement is so lame ? 
 So when set back on life's rough track 
 
 Be noble, just the same ! 
 
 A monster could be pure and good 
 
 When winds are blowing fair, 
 When stars all shine with rays benign, 
 
 And music fills the air. 
 But it's a test, the strongest, best. 
 
 If we are true and strong 
 When we are crossed, success seems lost, 
 
 And everything goes wrong. 
 
 ^ 
 
-^ • 
 
 58 ^ gsv^'^^h op ei^ip^. 
 
 KAPIOLANI. ■ 
 
 The Sandwich Island's fuiiy queen, 
 
 The beautiful Ivapiohmi, 
 Is the lovliest lady that ever was seen, 
 
 Oh, beautiful Ivapiolani! 
 This Queen was surely a lovely sight. 
 Her face was black as starless night, 
 Her hair was wool, and curling tight, — 
 
 Oh, beautiful Ivapiolani ! 
 
 But Kapiolani has gone from our shore, 
 
 Oh, beautiful Kapiolani! 
 Her eloquent features will cheer us no more, 
 
 Oh, beautiful Kapiolani! 
 Over the sea has our butterfly gone. 
 Charming young fairy as ever was known. 
 Blacker than Egypt when daylight has flown, — 
 
 Oh, beautiful Kapiolani ! 
 
 Kapiolani was lovely to see, — 
 
 Oh, beautiful Kapiolani! 
 But far from our gaze she is destined to be, — 
 
 Oh, beautiful Kapiolani ! 
 She's gone to Great Britain, to learn how to dress, 
 Learn how with adornment her beauty to bless. 
 But ah ! her complexion will never be less. 
 
 Oh, beautiful Kapiolani ! 
 
 Ko small imperfections can injure the face 
 
 Of the beautiful Kapiolani, 
 Of tan or of freckles there's never a trace 
 
 On the beautiful Kapiolani! 
 JSo spot or no blemish disfigures her skin, 
 No little black court-plaster shines on her chin, 
 But her whole physiognomy's blacker than sin, — 
 
 Oh, beautiful Kapiolani ! 
 
 t^ 
 
^ ga^^^e': cf 6l2ir®^. 
 
 59 
 
 How sad that the momeBt of partin^^ is o'er, 
 
 Oh, beautiful Kapiolani ! 
 bur heart is all breaking — we'll see thee no more, 
 
 Oh, beautiful Kapiolani ! 
 In grim desolation our spirit now steeps, 
 While the angel of sorrow our night vigil keeps. 
 And we weep the most terrible, heart-rending weeps. 
 
 For the beautiful Kapiolani ! 
 
 A FEW DEFINITIONS. 
 
 During my brief journalistic experience I learned the 
 names of several articles which are used in a printing office, 
 and I have connoiled the following definitions for the benefit 
 of my readers, who may be interested in printing: 
 
 Cases: — This term is equally applicable to the "jour" 
 printer, and to the little wonder boxes he sets type from. 
 
 Devil: — The individual who removes the dirt and debris 
 from the office twice each month by means of a hoe, and who 
 cleans the press rollers with gasoline and sprmg poetry. 
 
 Type : — Little pieces of lead with a letter on one end and 
 a lot of dirt on the other. They are the greatest invention 
 of the nineteenth centmy, and the greatest nuisance I ever 
 came in personal contact with. They are the only thing in 
 existence at the present wi'iting that are not governed by the 
 laws of gravitation. A row of type will jump out of a stick 
 if you look at them obliquely. 
 
 Stick: — The stick is what a printer sets type in. The 
 printer becomes very much attached to the stick. It is owing 
 to this fact that a printer, when he quenches his thirst, always 
 takes a stick in it. He is very much attached to the stick. 
 
 Lye: — A preparation distilled from ashes and used to 
 wash the type with. If not subsequently thoroughly rinsed 
 off with water it sometimes adheres to the type and gets into 
 the paper. 
 
■m" 
 
 GO ^ (g^5^*^t Op 6l2«P5- 
 
 Editor: — Two pointed and sharpened pieces of steel, 
 fastened together with a rivet so as to cut freel}'. The term 
 is also frequently applied to the gentleman who handles these 
 instruments. 
 
 Soap: — xV. substance used in a printing office to remove 
 the real estate from the hands and faces of the printers. It 
 is applied Avith a rag every Saturday night, and sometimes on 
 special occasions during the week. It is also an article which 
 is usually short on pay day. 
 
 A BAD FIX. 
 
 On the Niagara river there is a place where the Michi- 
 gan Central railroad runs right along by the bank of the 
 stream for several miles. At one place there is a little bayou, 
 or arm of water, which runs up into the shore a few rods, 
 in the form of nearly a half circle. This the railroad crosses 
 on a trestle. The bayou is free from any current, has a very 
 fine sandy beach, and is surrounded on three sides by heavy 
 timber. It is a secluded spot, and quite removed from the 
 habitations of men. Here, to this secluded nook, came a 
 middle-aged gentleman one summer afternoon, to Avash his 
 carriage, and at the same time to enjoy a good swim. He drove 
 into the water about up to the carriage hubs, and then, dis- 
 robing himself, he left his clothes in the carriage, and took a 
 swim. He was just swimming, quietly, a few rods away 
 from his carriage, and was thinking what a lovely, calm, se- 
 cure place it was, when he noticed a passenger train entering 
 very slowly upon the trestle-work across the bayou. The 
 horse noticed the train at about the same time, and the 
 people looking out of the car windows, noticed the gen- 
 tleman in the water. The horse began to snort, and rear, and 
 plunge, and the gentleman, realizing that his clothes were in 
 the carriage, and that he might need them before he got 
 home, made a desperate grab at the reins, and finally succeed- 
 
n 
 
 ^ ga^^^et of Q\j\^<^. 
 
 61 
 
 ed ill climbing- into the cain-iage. He stood uj) in the carriage, 
 held the reins in one hand, and seized an article of his rai- 
 ment with the other hand, and frantically endeavored to stop 
 the horse and to robe himself at the same time. Meanwhile 
 the train was rumbling slowly over the trestle, and the people 
 in the cars were becoming very much interested in the pro- 
 ceedings. The gentleman succeeded in getting his undergar- 
 ment over his head, and just so that he could see out at the 
 uj)per end thereof, but there it stuck, and there he stood, first 
 yanking the horse and then the undergarment, and the horse 
 plunging and snorting for all he was worrh, while the people 
 in the car windows, entering into the spirit of the occasion, 
 furnished the gentleman with excellent advice, such as, "Push 
 on the tie strajj ! " "Lower away the main topsail ! " "Look 
 him in the. eye!" "Take a reef in your collar button!" 
 " Whoa, Emiline ! " " Steady on the guy ropes ! " " Haul in the 
 jib ! " " Catch a-hold of his tail ! " — etc. 
 
 KALAMAZOO. 
 
 ' I'm a bold, western poet— just hear my bazoo. 
 
 'I'm a rip-roaring rhymer from Kalamazoo. 
 
 ' I was born up in Deadwond, and reared iu Sbostione, 
 
 ' My pa was a whirlwind, my ma a cyclone. 
 
 'I have drunk of the fount that pernetuates youth, 
 
 'Nourishes liars and keeps away truth. 
 
 'Oh, I am a howler, a Kig Kangaroo, 
 
 ' I'm a rip-roaring rhymer from Kalamazoo. 
 
 " I'm a terror, and don't you lorget it!" 
 
 This touching and eloquent tribute 
 
 I recently happened to see 
 From the hand of an ardent admirer. 
 
 I presume it has reference to me, 
 And although I don't wish to resent it. 
 
 Yet I would like to tell you what's true 
 Of that formerly famous Big Village, 
 
 The City of Kalamazoo. 
 
^ 
 
 ■;■:#=- 
 
 G2 
 
 ^ ^ajJ-^ch cp ei^ip^. 
 
 There's a town in a neat little valle}', 
 
 The handsomest town ever seen, 
 Where the trees border all of the hit^hwaj^s 
 
 With their dark waving branches of green. 
 It's the best little town in the country, 
 
 The neatest and prettiest, too, 
 And its name is as fair as its visage, 
 
 That city is Kalamazoo. 
 
 The Michigan Insane Asylum 
 
 Is up on the top of the hill. 
 And some irresponsible crazies 
 
 Meander around at their will, 
 And they frequently talk to a stranger, 
 
 And they sometimes escape, it is true, 
 But the folks are not all of them crazy 
 
 Who hail from fair Kalamazoo. 
 
 On the outskirts are celery marshes 
 
 Which only a few years ago. 
 Were as wet as a drugstore in Kansas 
 
 And as worthless as marshes could grow. 
 Till some genius bethought him to drain them 
 
 And to add in a short year or two. 
 About eighty-five thousand dollars 
 
 To the income of Kalamazoo. 
 
 If you seek for a beautiful city 
 
 For pleasure, and comfort, and health, 
 If you seek for a fast-growing city 
 
 For business, and hustle, and wealth. 
 If you seek for refinement and culture. 
 
 And style, and for elegance, too. 
 You don't have to go an 3^ farther — 
 
 That citv is Kalamazoo. 
 
-c ^ 
 
 G3 
 
 ^ ga^^^^h op ©l^ip^. 
 
 xlnd the prayer that my spirit would utter 
 
 Is that she may ever be blest. 
 This town of asylums and celery, 
 
 This city, of cities the best, 
 And her streets, as with leaves in the autumn 
 
 May Heaven's best blessings bestrew 
 While the stars keep a bright, zealous vigil 
 
 O'er my beautiful Kalamazoo. 
 
 MRS. JINKINS ATTENDS THE RACES. 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Jinkins had been to the races. When they 
 had been home some little time and were sitting down to 
 supper Mr. Jinkins said : 
 
 "Well, my dear, how do you like the races? Aren't 
 those fast horses pretty?" 
 
 "Yes," said Mrs. Jinkins, " they are very pretty — a great 
 deal prettier than the fast men. 
 
 " If there's anything I do like to see, it's those fine, high- 
 bred horses, with their shiny coats and their clean, strong 
 limbs, and their intelligent faces. Do you know, Mary, I 
 thought when I saw them being led around the yard there 
 that they seemed almost human." 
 
 "Do you know what /thought when I saw them being 
 led around the yard ? I thought what a pity it V(^a8 that the 
 horses couldn't lead the men around by a halter instead of it's 
 being the other way. The horses seemed a great deal more 
 human than the men." 
 
 " Mary Jane Jinkins ! you are certainly out of your head 
 to talk so ! Those horses have the very best of care. They 
 enjoy the racing as much as the men do." 
 
 "Oh, I haven't anything against the horses, or the way 
 they are taken care of, but what is the good of it all ? They 
 have a big track up there, and everybody goes up, and they 
 get some horses out and make them trot, and the men all 
 
 ■'■P- 
 
4- 
 
 (14 ^ ~ 
 
 ^ (gcv^'^^h op 6l2i[s^. 
 
 stand iu'duikI ami spit., and bet, siiid duinii, and damn and l)et. 
 and spit, and /don't see what it's good for at all." 
 
 "There are a g-reat nianj'- things in this world that women 
 cannot be expected to understand, my dear." 
 
 ''• W — well, John, what do all the men go down under the 
 grand stand for, between the heats?" 
 
 "Why, they — a — that is — they get the i-e])orts of the 
 races down there." 
 
 " Oh, do they ? " 
 
 " Yes, Mary." 
 
 '•AY — well, John, there's one thing I don't understand. 
 I don't understand it at all." 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 " Why do all the men come up with such very red faces 
 when they go down to get the reports of the races, under the 
 grand stand?" 
 
 " My dear, you cannot be expected to understand all 
 about these things, so let us not attempt to discuss them." 
 
 " Well, I don't like horse races one hit. No sir, 1 don't. 
 Thej can't bring any money except as someone looses it, and 
 the people it brings to town are most all toughs and rowdies, 
 and it's a loaferish mess anyhow, and I don't like it at all." 
 
 AN INTRODUCTION 
 
 It was the first of May and there v/as not a bit of air to 
 disturb the ninety-eight degrees of tangled and concentrated 
 hotness that sat down over the earth like a tin can over a 
 toad. I was introduced to the gentleman who was to rule 
 over nie in my capacity of local ''sup." The door opened, 
 the hero advanced, and I was presented to " Mr. Smith, the 
 city editor." We both bowed. Then Mr. Smith oi:)ened the 
 ball by inquiring if I was the same Smiley who owned the 
 jumping frog that Mark Twain tells about. I bowed again. 
 Thun 1 intimated that I had Icnown a man in 3Iinnesota, some 
 
 -=C 1— > 
 
-5^;- 
 
 ^ ^aj^et of gl^ip)^. 65 
 
 ten years ago by the name of Smith, and I wondered if the 
 gentleman before me was any relative of his. Mr. Smith ex- 
 hibited some signs of surprise and aslied me eagerly where I 
 had met this other Mr. Smith, and what his business was. I 
 said 1 wasn't very certain about the particulars, it being some 
 time ago, but that I believed the gentleman resided near St. 
 Cloud, and was by j^rofession a horse thief Mr. Smith then 
 asked my first name, age, etc., saying that he had had the 
 guidance of little children before, and he presumed we would 
 get along. I begged that he would tell me his initials, so 
 ' that i might not get him in any way confused with the other 
 gentleman of the same name, whom I had known. " Certain- 
 ly,"^ said he "my name is E. J. Smith —^wr^j9icZes Jerusalem 
 Smith. Mr. father was with the immortal Washington in the 
 Battle of Marathon, where he repulsed Napoleon To decisive- 
 ly, you remember that ?'] Then he added "Are you thorough- 
 ly posted on history, my boy?" 1 humbly admitted that' I 
 was not as well posted as I could wish, but that i knew about 
 the Duke of Wellington's campaign in Kansas in 1812, and 
 that I was also familiar with the particulars of how Louis 
 Xiy crossed the Deleware in our late war, and chased Sitting 
 Bull through Georgia into the sea. " Young nia:i," said M^. 
 Smith, impressively, "you will become a good reporter, bo- 
 cause you confine yourself so conscientiously to the truth. 
 I guess you and I will get along together." And wo did. 
 
 ME. JINKINS AND THE COW. 
 
 Mr. John Hemy Jinkins, Senior, is a lawyer. Among Mr. 
 Jinkins' personal property is a young Jersey cow. Lawyer 
 Jmkins always milks the cow himself His younger son 
 Jimmy takes care of the horse, and John Henry, jr., ''shovels 
 the snow off the walks in winter, but Lawyer Jinkins milks 
 the cow himself Lawyer Jinkins' yellow cow is exceedingly 
 fond of exercise. One summer evening Lawyer Jinkins went 
 
-tS»- 
 
 GG 
 
 jq g8^^\{ot of 6l2i[^5. 
 
 home, and boforc tea he went to leed the cow as was his cus- 
 tom. As Lawyer Jinkins opened the d(jor of the stable the 
 cow jumped, and broke the rope with which she was tied to 
 tlie maug-er. Lawyer Jinkins was surprised, and the cow 
 was 8urprise<i, and the cow managed to dodge Lawyer Jin- 
 kins on some legal quibble and to sachet up the street. Law- 
 ycv Jinkins immediately issued a writ of subpoena, and went 
 after the cow in due form of law, but when he came pretty 
 near, Mrs. Cow suddenly took a change of venue, and the case 
 was continued one block farther. Lawyer Jinkins then issued 
 a writ of injunction, to prevent the cow from proceeding far- 
 ther without an order from the court, and he hastened for- 
 ward to serve tho writ of injunction upon the cow, but just 
 as court Avas called, the cow asked for a continuance of the 
 case on the grounds of black clay, and Lawyer Jinkins wa-s 
 not in a position to object to the motion. The motion was 
 about eight miles an hour. 
 
 The weather was very warm, and Lawyer Jenkins be- 
 came rather heated in the course of the argument, indulging 
 in some rather violent denunciations of the defendant, — i. e. — 
 the said cow. The defendant aforesaid, as heieinab >ve speci- 
 fied, again moved a continuance of the case, and the plain- 
 tiff, iu>; Lawyer Jinkins, demurred, but the said demurrer 
 was overruled, and the said cow, as aforesaid, adjjarned court 
 for a recess. Lawyer Jinkins again became heated in the 
 course of the argument and denounce;! the defendant (the 
 cow aforesaid) in manner as above stipulated, while his collar 
 rose up over his ears, his eyes protruded, and his socks turn- 
 ed tlown over the tops of bi-i shoes. Presently the wily 
 defen '.ant, — namely, the said cow — tiring of the case, waived 
 further continuance, and Lawyer Jinkins served the said writ 
 of injunction, also the subpffina aforesaid, in the form of a rope 
 halter, and the closing argument took place in the barn. 
 
~^- 
 
 ^ (ga^^^h op 6l2i[®^. 
 
 THE POET'S EEWAED. 
 
 Some strange, unaccountable creature, 
 
 Some jDerson whose mind is a blanis, 
 Some gushing deciple of Mammon, 
 
 Some poor, irresponsible crank, 
 Some curious, innocent gilly, 
 
 Whose brain is in fearful discord, 
 Wants someone to give him some pointers 
 
 For a poem, " The Poet's Eeward." 
 
 Let this innocent, wants-to-be poet 
 
 Look in editors' waste baskets deep. 
 Let him there see the bushels of poems 
 
 That in calm, silent restfulness sleep ! 
 Let him see the back room, where the devil. 
 
 Smug-faced, and with sulky accord 
 Cleans press-rollers with those same poems, 
 
 Then think of " The Poet's Eeward." 
 
 And then if this innocent creature 
 
 Wasn't satisfied there by that sight. 
 If he still had a terrible longing, 
 
 If his spirit still hankered to write, 
 He would probably fix up a poem 
 
 By labor confining and hard. 
 Describing the loftier bearings 
 
 Of the subject, " The Poet's Eeward." 
 
 Then he'd go to some newspaper office 
 
 And there to the scribes he would hint, 
 That the height of his youthful ambition 
 
 Was to see that same poem in print. 
 If he noticed the smile of compassion 
 
 That they smole with one common accord 
 He wouldn't need any more pointers 
 
 For a poem, "The Poet's Eeward." 
 
-m^ 
 
 •■•8 ^ i}^$¥^ ^P" 6l2ip^. 
 
 And then if ho gently insisted 
 
 And inanely refused to go away, 
 If his lunacy went any farther 
 
 And he actually wanted t^oiue pay, 
 They would take him, in tendcrcst ])ity 
 
 With their sympathies all in accord. 
 And would care for him in the as-\ lum 
 
 Where he'd think of "The I'oet's Reward. 
 
 But if he began to revile 'em, 
 
 If he got sort of funny and queer, 
 If he happened in some way to rile 'em, 
 
 And the editor got on his ear. 
 He'd be apt to have plenty of leisure 
 
 In the hospital's accident ward, 
 With his head bundled up in a poultice 
 
 To think of "The Poet's Eeward !" 
 
 A GOOD PLAN. 
 
 I saw by one of our daily newspapers, some time ago, 
 that in Japan no poet can get his work published until after 
 he is dead, or that no poetry is publi^hed until after the poet 
 i-i dead, or words to that effect. iSIow it isn't possible that a 
 daily newspaper could lie, so I accept this statement as truth 
 and law. In Japan, if a man writes poetry ho has got to 
 wait till he is dead before he can get his poetry into print. I 
 like that law, and I think it is for the greatest good of the 
 greatest number. In Japan, if a youth writes a poem on 
 ^' Beautiful Spring," he lakes it to the edtiorial office, and the 
 I'ditor merely la^'S it away to await the decease of the au- 
 thor. When the news of that auspicious event reaches his 
 ears, he takes the poem out of the drawer, examines its merits 
 and demerits, and either publishes it or consigns it to a peace- 
 ful rest in the waste basket. 
 
 The advantages of this method or j^rocedure over the 
 

 ^ ^aj^et of 6l2ip^. 
 
 69 
 
 one now in vogue in America are evident and manifold. In 
 the first place the author is spared the anxiety of waiting 
 and watching to see his first poem in print, and rcj)oses in the 
 sweet certainty that he never will see it. Then it saves the 
 editor a great deal of abuse from the author. If the poem be 
 rejected, the author cannot rise from his grave to enquire 
 what was the matter with the poem, and why it wasn't just 
 as good as some other fellow's poem, that was published 
 last week. Again, if the poem wasn't any good at 
 all, and the author is a person of standing, whom it will 
 not do to offend, then that author's absence from this valley 
 of sin and sorrow saves the editor the trouble of getting off 
 that very stale lie about "lack of space," and "the press of 
 matter in that department." Then, on the other hand, if the 
 poem be a good one, and is published, the author's previous 
 demise saves him the torture of reading his own poem with 
 typographical errors enough to warp it out of all recogniza- 
 ble shape, and which mangle the meter in such a manner 
 that were the author alive, it would hasten his journey to the 
 grave by giving him the lockjaw or the billions colic. 
 
 Yes, the Japanese plan is a good one, and it has my ap- 
 proval. It saves the editor from giving attention to the 
 aspiring poet, who always calls just as the paper is going to 
 press. It saves him the nervous inquiries of the disappointed 
 poet, and it saves both editor and author a great amount of 
 trouble. I wish it were in vogue in this country. 
 
 SWIMMING. 
 
 Swimming is one of the most healthful of exercises, I am. 
 told, and I presume it must be so. There are moments in a 
 man's earthly career when he finds it pleasant to be able to 
 swim. If any gentleman is riding m a boat, and the boat, for 
 any reason, suddenly assumes an inverted position, it is then 
 highly desirable to be a swimmer. I once became inspired 
 with an intense desire to learn to swim. I tried it in Lake 
 
4- 
 
 -B^ 
 
 ^ ^a^^^ch op ei2i[^5. 
 
 Michig'iui, at Charlevoix. All tlic olhcr l> )ys could swim, and 
 tlu'v ortercd to leach lue. I went in with them one day and 
 thej^ held 1113' head under water for about fifteen minutes to 
 i^et me used to it. A-i soon as they lei me up I expressed my 
 thanks and went away. Then I thought I would learn to 
 swim by a niethod of my own. I procured a cork life- 
 ])reserver with eight slal»s to it, and I said to myself, "Now, 
 with this business hitched onto me I can't sink. I will prac- 
 tice with this till I get the motions down fine; then I will 
 cu*: otf one slab of the cork, and when I can work it that 
 way all right, I will cut otf another, and thus 1 will reduce 
 my support until I can plow the mighty deep unassisted.'" 
 I have sometimes thought that this was a little like the good 
 man's cure for cannibalism. His scheme was to import mut- 
 ton into the cannibal districts, and to feed the festive heathen 
 a little mutton along with his missionary, and gradually feed 
 him a little more mutton, and a little less missionary until he 
 could run that heathen on an exclusively mutton diet. This 
 scheme was all right, but the heathen wasn't built that w^ay. 
 Neither was the cork life-preserver. 
 
 ' The first time 1 tried it I almost walked on the water. 
 The cork held me up so that I didn't get more than half of 
 me into the water at all, so I cut off two slabs the first thing. 
 That let the support weaken so that I was clear down into 
 the water, but the machine didn't fit quite as well then, and 
 the first I knew the shoulder-strap slipped oft\ When I pull- 
 ed the shoulder-stra^) on again the life-j)reserver reared up 
 and knocked me over, and slipped down and became securel}' 
 fastened around my ankles. The navigation committee didn't 
 report on time. I was as an inverted interrogation point. 
 One can not swim as well when he is wrong end up in the 
 water, with a life-jDreserver fastened to his ankles. When I 
 got out of there I went home. I didn't try that any more. 
 1 subsequently went in again with the boys, but so much of 
 the lake got inside of me that I was afraid some capitalist 
 might pick me up for watered stock, so I gave up swimming 
 entirely. 
 
-<?;- 
 
 ^ ga^^^^t op Q\j\^<^. 71 
 
 TOBOGGANING. 
 
 From Canada's hills where the cold blizzard blows, 
 From Canada's thistles, and Canada's snows. 
 Where Johnny Bull reigns and extorts all he can 
 From the kettle of fish, where his trouble began, 
 Where a laughing hj^ena would die of the blues. 
 From that land of wild Injuns, and j^ines, and snowshoes 
 Came the crooked-necked, dizzy toboggan. 
 
 And it slid to the southward, across the great lakes 
 And it left germs of growth in its various wake<, 
 And it took many cai^tives as onward it sped. 
 Yet nobody saw it, or heard its light tread 
 Till it scattered its mystical spell far and near. 
 Of a sudden the great epidemic is here 
 
 And we all have to have a toboo-^'an. 
 
 ^CJti'- 
 
 Some little thin lath, sort of warped at the end 
 And tied down with wire at the rear of the bend 
 And a place to sit down on, — a cushion so low 
 There is scarcely an inch between rider and snow. 
 A sort of light stoneboat, but not very wide. 
 With a curve at the front, and a rail at the side — 
 Is what constitutes a toboggan. 
 
 I don't know wny everyone raves so, just now. 
 About this tobogganing, but anyhow 
 They do all go frantic, and everyone slides. 
 And the more a man's mangled, the longer he rides. 
 You must go up and try it, for everyone goes, 
 So put on a suit of your last winter's clothes, 
 Eenew your insurance, then go the slide. 
 Bid farewell to relatives, take your first ride 
 And see how you like a toboggan. 
 
 ;^ 
 
^ 
 
 -,?»- 
 
 ^ ^ga^^^eh of t\]\f^. 
 
 When you start from :he huKliug, you hardly eau wait, 
 AtiJ you sit yourself down on tho board very straight, 
 And you start down the slide with your foct out in front, 
 And maybe you get there, and maybe you don't. 
 Perhaps you go down just as str-aight as a line 
 And perhaps you whirl round like a big barber-sign, 
 For of all great uncertainties licensed by law, 
 The greatest uncertainty man ever saw 
 Is a very uncertain toboggan. 
 
 For you sit on the cushion, take hold of the rail, 
 And you go like a comet bereft of its tail, 
 And you think you are sent for and never can stop 
 When you get a good start on a forty foot drop. 
 And the earth sinks from under you, onward you fly 
 Like the prow of an avalanche — trees hurry by, 
 You bound over hollows, — still onward you go, 
 And your coat-sleeves and pant-le'.^s get chuck full of snow. 
 And that's why I like a toboggan. 
 
 Now tho sliding is fine and doth pleasure atford. 
 But I don't soe tlie good of the little thin board. 
 I've a much fiaor scheme for the slider, I think, 
 Cfet the sag of liis raiment embellished with zinc, 
 Get a sort of stout rear-guard to seat himself in. 
 Have the seat of bis trousei's upholstei'ed with tin, 
 And he won't need to have a toboggan. 
 
 RATHER MIXED. 
 
 Mrs. Jinkins had a little experience one day last summer 
 that slightly lessened her admiration fov the telephone and 
 excited her wrath to a very high pitch. There were two 
 young gentlemen in the case, and in order to let the method 
 of the tanglement be known, I must explain the progress and 
 
-c 
 
 consummation of the scheme as put up by the two young gen- 
 tlemen. Young Mr. Wiggins was to call up the "central" and 
 order them to connect with the Jinkins mansion, and also, at 
 the same time, with the office of young Mr. Bodkin. Wio-- 
 gins was then to call for Miss Jaunie Jinkins, and hold con- 
 versation with her, and while they were so engaged, Mr. 
 Bodkin, listening to what was being said, was to put in a 
 word now and then, to the b3wildjrment of Miss Jennie 
 Jinkins. This was to be a joke. The above is the way it 
 was planned. Now this is the way it was worked. 
 
 Wiggins called up the central and obtained the three- 
 cornered connection, as desired, when the following exhilerat- 
 . ing conversation occurred. 
 
 "Is that Miss Jinkins?" said Wiggins. 
 
 "How?" said the lady. 
 
 "Is that Miss Jinkins ?" 
 
 "Yes, sir. What do you want ?"' 
 
 "We!l,-ah-d-do you feci pretty well, after your expedition 
 of last evening?" simpered Wiggins. 
 
 "How?" said the lady. "Please explain your remarks, sir." 
 
 "Hold on, Wiggins," interrupted Bodkin, "that's Mrs. 
 Jinkins you're talking to. Ask for Miss Jennie." 
 
 "How?" said the lady. 
 
 "Hush." said Wiggins. 
 
 "That's so, I tell you." said Bodkin. 
 
 "How?" said the lady. 
 
 ''Shut up, Bodkin." yelled Wiggins. 
 
 "How?" said the lady. 
 
 "Dry up your gas-mill ! " shrieked Wiggins. 
 
 "Sir ! " said the lady. 
 
 ''Shut up yourself! said Bodkin. 
 
 "How ?" said the lady, "who is it talking to me in that 
 manner? Shut up, indeed ! I should like to know how you 
 dare talk so to me and tell me to shut up ! Who are you, 
 sir?" 
 
 "Who-huh-what-I-why 'm sure I, I didn't tell you to 
 shut up," expostulated Wiggins. 
 
<> 
 
 ^ ga^^^ch op 6l2ip^. 
 
 "Wouldn't for the woi'kl nay uiiyihiuy; iinpolitc to you, 
 indeed 1 wouldn't, nuidam." sc^ueiiled Bodkin, llei'e the cen- 
 tral closed the connection, and put a sudden (juietus to the 
 gentlenien'H remarks. Mrs. Jinkius says that two young 
 gentlemen called on her that e\^oning and e.^plaihed matters, 
 and talked real nice, and she don't think they meant to be 
 saucy at all. 
 
 JOHN HENRY, JR'S, HORSE. 
 
 "Yes, sir,"' said my friend John Henry Jinkins, Junior, 
 " I owned a horse once, and I never want to own another. I 
 bought a colt from a farmer, and paid $110 for it. The farmer 
 said it was a real good colt, but needed a little more training. 
 I drove it one day and it kicked the upper right hand corner 
 off the dashboard, and I thought it did need a little more 
 training, so I took it to a horseman, and paid him S14 a 
 mouth to keej) the colt and train it. Then a man offered me 
 $125. for the colt, and I sent him up to the barn to get it. 
 The horseman told him it would kick, and then he wouldn't 
 buy it. I expect the horseman wanted to keep the colt lor 
 the $14 a month. Then I took the colt away from there and 
 paid another man $20 to keep it awhile and train it ; then 1 
 tried to drive it, and it balked, and kicked, too. It had one 
 mere accomplishment than it had before. Then I took it to 
 a professional horse-trainer who had just come to town and 
 was making considerable stir. He was to train the animal 
 completely for $27. After he had had the horse for about a 
 week he said there was a man down at Mendon who wanted 
 to buy the colt, and he asked me if he ( the horse-trainer ) 
 should take the colt down to Mendon and try to sell it. I 
 told him to go ahead, and he went. I didn't hear anything 
 more of him for a long time. When I went to his office I 
 learned that he had gone — they knew not whither. After a 
 while I heard he was in Grand Eapids, so I went up there and 
 found my professional horse-trainer officiating in the capacit}' 
 
-«■ 
 
 ^ ^^f^^l cp ei^irs^. 75 
 
 of third groom in a livery stable. I asked him what he had 
 done with the horse, and he said he had sold it. I asked 
 him for the monej^, and he said he hadn't any money at all, 
 was dead broke. 1 was going to have him arrested for a 
 horse-thief, but a lawyer told me that as I had sent the man 
 as my agent to sell the horse, it was simply a case of debt, 
 and if the man was financially irresponsible, I could do noth- 
 ing at all. 
 
 "Then I went to the livery again, and asked the fellow if 
 he cold pay a ipart of the debt. He said he didn't feel very 
 much interested in the matter, but would give me six boxes 
 of cigars that he had, if I would take them. I took the 
 cigars home and smoked them, and that was the last of my 
 horse. That colt cost me, in all, $239.79, and he went up in 
 smoke. JSTo, sir, when I want to ride 'out, I hire a liveiy.'' 
 
 NEW YEAR'S POEM. 
 
 1888. 
 
 When the thought comes to my notice 
 
 That the wheel of time and fate 
 Has turned down old eighty-sevem 
 
 And turned up new eighty-eight, 
 I'm reminded of a story 
 
 Of a lone and marsh}^ bog. 
 A heart-rending, woful romance 
 
 Of a little yellow dog. 
 
 I remember quite distinctly, 
 In the days when I was young, 
 
 A most precious treasure perished, 
 A sad grief that o'er me hung. 
 
 And the darksome cloud of sorrow 
 That my light of mirth did clog 
 
Was the sudden dissolution 
 Of my little yellow dog. 
 
 Yes, this little perp was ecru, 
 
 And his teeth were very white 
 And his nose was very frigid 
 
 And his tail curled very tight, 
 And the earth and all the planets 
 
 Seemed to stop and stand agog, 
 While I lavished my affections 
 
 On that little yellow dog. 
 
 And this jDrecious little treasure 
 
 Wandered at his own sweet will. 
 And I thought no living creature 
 
 Had the heart to do him ill. 
 But one da}^ his inner workings. 
 
 Seeming in some way to clog. 
 Stopped the inside mechanism 
 
 Of my little yellow dog. 
 
 He went in a neighbor's hencoop. 
 
 And upon spring chicken fed 
 Till he got a little bullet 
 
 Fired through his little head. 
 And the sunlight, glancing through him, 
 
 In some manner seemed to clog- 
 All the physical arrangements 
 
 Of my little yellow dog. 
 
 Gently closed his little peepers, 
 
 Deeply heaved his little chest. 
 Closely curled his short appendage, 
 
 Calmly laid he down to rest; 
 And I buried him so gently 
 
 Down beside a hollow log. 
 Where no sound could mar the slumbers 
 
 Of my little yellow dog. 
 
^ gaj^^h op ei2ipj. 77 
 
 Then I wej)t with bitter weepings, 
 
 And I cried most touching cries, 
 And I took my little kerchief 
 
 And I wiped my little eyes. 
 Then I thought my heart was broken 
 
 "When I left that hollow log. 
 Which was monument and grave-stone 
 
 To my little yellow dog. 
 
 Since that day I've learned a lesson 
 
 That appears a trifle queer, — 
 That some little pet or hobby 
 
 Must be buried every year. 
 And their graves bedot, in memorj^. 
 
 Just some such a marshy bog 
 As the pasture where I buried 
 
 My first little yellow dog. 
 
 Every JSTew Year drops the curtain 
 
 Of some private drama played, 
 Every New Year marks the tombstone 
 
 Where some cherished hope is laid, 
 And we think our hearts are broken 
 
 As we roll a heavy log 
 On the grave where lies some hobby, 
 
 Like my little yellow dog. 
 
 But I found that other canines 
 
 Had teeth every bit as white, 
 Other dogs were just as yellow 
 
 And had tails curled just as tight. 
 So 1 think our little sorrows 
 
 And our griefs, as on we jog, 
 Should be laid away as calmly 
 
 As my little yellow dog. 
 
 And although there are some sorrows 
 That are never gone and past. 
 
4- 
 
 ■;:*=- 
 
 '^ (jf S^)^v^^ ""^ Gl^if^^^ 
 
 Though there are some tearful moments 
 That stay with us till the last, 
 
 Let us loolv, each happy New Year, 
 Through life's dark and misty fog, 
 
 Burying all our tribulations, 
 With that little yellow dog. 
 
 THE BALL. 
 
 When you're sitting in a corner 
 
 At a very stylish ball, 
 When you've failed to get a partner 
 
 And are tired out, withal, 
 It is pleasant to look 'round you 
 
 With a comprehensive glance, 
 And to watch the funny motions 
 
 Of the people, as they dance. 
 
 There are very many persons 
 
 Who, in stores or on the street, 
 In the church, or in a carriage, 
 
 Look attractive, handsome, neat, 
 But who, under brilliant gaslight. 
 
 Blossomed out in evening dress, 
 Do not reach the highest summit 
 
 Of artistic loveliness. 
 
 Over yonder goes a couple 
 
 Trying very hard lo waltz. 
 Lady's tightly grasping something, 
 
 Guess it must be smelling-salts. 
 Man's left Iqg has got the string-halt. 
 
 Keeps him bobbing up and down, 
 While his mouth is drawn up sideways 
 
 And his forehead wears a frown. 
 
Whizzing past me goes a fellow 
 
 With a wrinkle in his back, 
 Chin thrown uj) and shoulders forward, 
 
 Like a flying jumping-jack. 
 Hips are bent at such an angle . 
 
 That a side-view seems to me 
 Like a pair of patent clothesbars 
 
 Or a mammoth letter Z. 
 
 Then here comes another couple 
 
 Staving through with might and main. 
 Man is sweating out his collar, 
 
 Lady holding up her train. 
 Rushing, as if life depended 
 
 On their jumping far and high. 
 Shifting scenes of lacy whiteness 
 
 Startle the observing eye. 
 
 Then a very fleshy lad}^ 
 
 Goes a-prancing down the hall, 
 Like a lightly-floating elfin 
 
 At an airy fairy ball. 
 Jerks her little frightened j^artner 
 
 Till he thinks he's got to die. 
 Make-^ the window casements rattle 
 
 As her footsteps hurry by. 
 
 Yes, there are full many people 
 
 Who, in stores or on the street, 
 In the church, or in a carriage 
 
 Look attractive, handsome, neat, 
 But who, under brilliant gaslight, 
 
 Blossomed out in evening dress, 
 Do not reach the highest summit 
 
 Of artistic loveliness. 
 
 There is one great consolation 
 For such people, in the fact 
 
 -:;^ 
 
4- 
 
 •3^^ 
 
 80 
 
 ^ (ga^^^et op Q\i\f^. 
 
 That each man who's great in one tiling 
 In some other point has lacked. 
 
 And I read about one instance, 
 Where a man who put his aims 
 
 And ambition into dancing 
 Wasn't famous for his brains. 
 
 And I heard about another 
 
 Who was trim, polite, and neat, 
 But who wasn't educated 
 
 In the matter of his feet ; 
 And he couldn't dance the gallop, 
 
 Still he seemed to have, instead, 
 Something that was 'most as useful 
 
 In the attic of his head. 
 
 A AVILD HIDE. 
 
 Mr. John Henry Jinkins is an old soldier, and like most 
 old soldier.s, is proud of the fact, and justly- so. He is fond of 
 telling of his army experiences, tmd frequently tells them to 
 his son, John Henry, junior. One day Mr. Jinkins and John 
 Henry, jr., were walking down town together when the lat- 
 ter said " Father, w^hat was the wild ride you hinted at once, 
 in speaking of the march to the sea? D; 1 your wild ride in 
 any w^ay resemble Sheridan's ride to Winc'jester?" 
 
 "My wild ride?" ruminated Mr. Jinkins. " Oh, yes, my 
 son, I know now to what you refer. It was this way. You 
 see, we were in the southern part of Georgia. It was — ah — 
 very warm weather — in fact it was exceedingly warm. 
 We were encamped for the night, and it was moon-light. — as 
 bright as day. We were very hot and dusty, and some eight 
 or ten of us obtained permission from the officer to go to a 
 river some three miles distant, to — ah — indulge in a cool 
 
-<3^:- 
 
 ;7I ^a^^eh of ei^ip^. 81 
 
 bath. We rode to the bank of the river and selected a suita- 
 ble glade by the bank of the — ah — silvery tiovving stream. 
 We tied our horses to trees and removed our habilaments, 
 prei^aratory to our— ah— our bath. 1 hung my clothing upon 
 the lowest limb of a tree just within my reach. My feet 
 were very tender, and there were sharp stones on the shore, 
 so I did not remove my shoes. These shoes, with my cavalry 
 spurs attached, and a black silk skull cap, completed my— ah 
 —costume. As 1 sat upon a large stone in the shallow stream, 
 —ah — viewing the landscape, suddenly a most diabolical 
 rebel yell came from the dense woods across the river, and a 
 score or more of musket shots blazed right into us. I arose 
 in — ah — in some haste, and repaired immediately to my noble 
 steed. The noble steed became very much excited as I ap- 
 proached. He M^as entirely unaccustomed to beholding his 
 master in just that— ah— costume. His eyes protruded, his 
 nostrils dilated, and he reared, and plunged, and snorted. He 
 seemed to say 'No, sir! No, sm! No Darwinian ape in a 
 skull-cap and a pair of spurs shall mount vieT—cind then he 
 snorted again. Meanwhile the yells and the firing grew loud- 
 er. I seized my noble steed by the— ah— the latter extremi- 
 ty, and by the aid of a firm hold of his tail I succeeded in ¥ 
 mounting him. I then leaned forward and untied him, and 
 secured my wardrobe from the tree. Meanwhile my com- 
 panions had mounted and gone. I turned toward camp and 
 away we Avent, my noble steed and I. The wind blew up the 
 clothes which 1 was frantically endeavoring to— ah— retain 
 possession of My— ah— my pantaloons caught around my 
 neck, and the M^ind-filled legs thereof streamed back over 
 the horse's tail. I held the remaining articles of my ward- 
 robe in my right hand, and the reins in my left, and so 
 Ave came into camp, my noble steed and I, at break-neck 
 speed. I don't expect 1 presented as soldierly an appearance 
 there as Sheridan did at Winchester, although surely a more " 
 thrilling one. It turned out that the 'Bebs' over in the 
 bushes were some of our own boys who had gone around 
 Ihere to frighten us, by Avay of a practical joke, and they 
 
 -t- 
 
^- ,3^ 3^$¥^ ""^ 6l2i[3^. 
 
 were severely punLshed for it. Don't j'ou thiiilc my ride 
 ought to be recorded along with Shoridan'c*, my «on?" 
 •' Yes, sir," said John llenr}-. jr. 
 
 HEART. 
 
 A lady once said to me, some time ago, 
 That if I had a way I could make verses tlow 
 She wished I Avould call in the Muses' art, 
 And tell what I knew of the subject "Heart." 
 Xow of sentiment's music I've scarcely a note, 
 And the only time 7ny heart was e'er in my throat 
 Was the time I attempted to smoke a cigar 
 And the whole thing went back on me, and, — well, 
 
 as tar 
 As just at this writing I'm able to state, 
 I don't think that "Heart" is exactly my gait. 
 Yet, as it's the subject the lady assigned, 
 I'll summon my wayward and wandering mind 
 And call in the aid of the Muses' art 
 And tell what I know of the subject "Heart." 
 
 As the literal heart in each human breast, 
 As a physical organ, is never at I'cst, 
 So the figurative heart of our hopes and fears, 
 The heart of our feelings, our smiles and tears 
 Must rise and fall with each joy or ill 
 As it keeps on throbbing, and throbbing still. 
 It keeps on throbbing, yet all the time 
 Its motion varies. The step and rhyme 
 Depend on the feelings that surge or rest 
 In the deep recess of the human breast. 
 No heart can bound with a joy that's true 
 When it thinks of the rent that will soon come 
 due. 
 
^ ga^^^^h op ei7i[s^. 
 
 No heart can leap with a joyous thrill 
 
 When it mourns o'er an unpaid grocery bill. 
 
 And, on the contrary, what heart can wade 
 
 In despair with its salary promptly paid? 
 
 What heart but is beating more free and light 
 
 When all is pleasant, and things work right ? 
 
 Yet the noblest heart is the brave and strong, 
 
 That keeps on beating when things go wrong. 
 
 The heart that is flower, and leaf, and vine, 
 
 In the gladness and warmth of this life's sunshine, 
 
 But in ever trial, and every shock 
 
 Is flint, and granite, and oak. and rock. 
 
 The heart that is gentle when things go right. 
 
 But is solid and strong 'mid the waves of night. 
 
 Now as to the lovely, — the sentiment part 
 
 Of this very peculiar subject "heart," 
 
 Devoid of a pointer, or hint, or a tip, 
 
 I shall have to let this department slip. 
 
 Some poets were born with a natural gush, — 
 
 A sort of exuberant, springtime slush 
 
 That lets them sail on the wings of air. 
 
 And sing of elysiums, sweet and rare, 
 
 And write about the flowerets, and clear blue skies, 
 
 And fairy maidens, with dazzling eyes. 
 
 But if I was built on the plain below, 
 
 Where cabbages ripen, and thistles grow, 
 
 I can't write things that I know not of 
 
 And sentiment, springtime, and Heaven and love 
 
 Are things I hear of, and things I see. 
 
 And I sometimes hope they may come to me. 
 
 But they're things apart from the present time, 
 
 And the art to describe them is sure not mine. 
 
 But the principal thing that I want to do 
 Is just to distinguish the false from the true. 
 For we meet Avith people at every turn 
 
 83 
 
■m^ 
 
 84 
 
 j1 ^ga^^-l^et op Gl^ip^. 
 
 Whoso eyes can't moisten, whose cheeks can't burn, 
 
 Who are filled with deception, and fashion, and art. 
 
 And who haven't a human and lionest heart. 
 
 No heart that the feelings and soul have fed. 
 
 But a sort of chicken's gizzard, instead. 
 
 They've an organ that beats to a measured rhyme 
 
 And that circulates blood in a regular time. 
 
 But it isn't warm, and it isn't true. 
 
 And the blood it strengthens is cold and blue, 
 
 It never can glow with a joy that's real 
 
 But it's hard, and flinty, and cold as steel. 
 
 It performs its functions in physical part. 
 
 But it oughtn't to go by the name of " heart.'" 
 
 And then there's the kind that is weak and frail, — 
 
 That is always expecting to sink, or fail. 
 
 It's the heart that is good to the last degree 
 
 But which faints in the toss of a heavy sea. 
 
 Now we cannot change the Divine behest 
 Of the kind of heart that's within our breast. 
 But we all can aim at the high and true, 
 Yes, that is a thing that we all can do. 
 As 'mid the struggle, and work, and strife, 
 We study our parts for the play of life. 
 We can all of us carry a strong, true part 
 If we have the courage, and have the heart. 
 The heart to do, and the heart to bear, 
 The heart to wrestle with grief and care. 
 The heart that can quiver with joy or pain. 
 The heart that can sutfer and not be slain, 
 The heart to work with an honest zest. 
 And the heart to do what we know is best. 
 
-U 
 
 ^ (gaj^eh op ei^ip^. 85 
 
 VERY LOVELY. 
 
 When you walk and sweetly talk 
 
 Oh, whisper, gently whisper, 
 Yov fairies hear from far and near 
 
 So whisper, softly whisper. 
 Oh, when thou thinkest thou art free. 
 And when thou'd sentimental be. 
 Thou canst not tell who's watching thee. 
 
 So whisper, gently whisper. 
 
 Now every tree can hear and see. 
 
 So whisper, gently whisper. 
 And every stone hath ears its own. 
 
 Oh whisper, gently whisper. 
 When summer warmth i-i pretty steep 
 Some people do not go to sleep, 
 But sit and silent vigil keep. 
 
 So whisper, gently whisper. 
 
 Moral in Advance. 
 
 Suppose thou art making an ass of thyself, Harry War- 
 rington, of Virginia! Are there not people in England who 
 hee-haw too? Kick and abuse him, you who have nevei" 
 brayed, but bear with him all honest fellow-feeling; long-eared 
 messmates, recognize a brother donkey. — Thackeray . 
 
 They stood in the moonlight, under a large, spreading elm. 
 The elm stood near a corner, and its broad branches com- 
 pletely hid the window of a second-story room in the corner 
 house. The weather was excessively warm, and the windows 
 were all open. The moon was up, and it was a beautiful, 
 balmy, hundred-and-ten-in-the-shade sort of an evening. They 
 came along on the sidewalk and stopped under the large elm 
 tree. It was very late, and the porches in the neighborhood 
 were all deserted. They stood under the elm tree and leaned 
 up au^ainst tho fence. They were talking very earnestly. If 
 
4- 
 
 ■ 1^ 
 
 80 
 
 jl ^gajj^^ch op 6l2ip^. 
 
 they liiul known that there was a bad, wieked repoi'ter sitting 
 in that ii])per wintlow, they would not have talke«l so earn- 
 estly. The yoiitli was speaking of the way that the whole 
 worki would be a blank to him without her beside him, and 
 how glorious would be everything if she would only consent 
 to become his wife. 
 
 "George," said she tenderlj^, "George, will you allers 
 love me this way? Won't you never git sick of me and go to 
 lovin' somebody else?" 
 
 " No, Mary, 1 won't never love nobody else but you." 
 
 " Well, then I'm yourn," she exclaimed, and there was a 
 noise as of a five-cent fire-crackei', as they fell into each 
 other's arms. Pretty soon she straightened up and stood a 
 few feet away from him, eyeing him intently. Then she said — 
 
 " George, are you sure you'll allers love me ? " George 
 protested that he always would. 
 
 " Well, then I'm yourn ! " said the maiden, and there was 
 another embrace. After a moment she backed away again 
 and said — 
 
 " George, there's lots purtier'n I be, and don't you think 
 that some day you'll love somebody else more'n 3'ou do me?" 
 George protested vehementlj'' that he never would. 
 
 " Well, then I'm yourn ! " she said, emphaticall}^, and 
 there was another tableau. Pretty soon she stepped back 
 and said — 
 
 " George, I don't s'pose I'll allers be as purty as I be now. 
 When I get old, there'll be wrinkles on my forehead, George, 
 and maybe I'll look 7'eal ugly. Do you s'pose that you'll love 
 me then just the same, George?" His solemn protestations 
 were renewed. 
 
 " Well, then I'm 3'ourn ! " said the maiden, and then fol- 
 lowed another explosion, followed hy a grizzly-bear embrace. 
 In a moment she was struck with another thought. Her 
 soul was harrassed with another doubt. 
 
 " George," said she, " when I get old T 'spect I'll look 
 aioful. There'll be wrinkles in my fore'd, an' maybe I won't 
 have no hair, an' I'll haveter wear store hair, George, an' 
 
^ 
 
 ^ gaj^^t ^P ei2ip5. ^7 
 
 switches. Do you. think you will love me then, George ? " 
 George answered her that he would. 
 
 "Well, then I'm yourn ! " she said with determination 
 and there was another very loud osculation, and a tableau' 
 with blue lights. In a moment she said— 
 
 " George, I— I— I don't know but maybe when I get old 
 I may loose my teeth. And 1 think I'll be very horrid' 
 George. Just only think. There'll bo wrinkles on my fore'd,' 
 and I won't have no hair, and won't have no teeth, and I'll 
 haveter wear store hai.r, an' false teeth, and— and— and— " 
 
 " What's the matter with a glass eye, and a wooden le^r ■?•' 
 observed the reporter in the window, by way of as8istin<Mhe 
 fair damsel. Then there loai a tableau ! There was a stiffled 
 scream, a big oath, and the way that couple moved down the 
 street would have bankrupted a camel race. 
 
 MOUNT HOLYOKE. 
 
 How THE Seminary Girls at Kalamazoo held the Fort 
 AND Whipped a Burglah. 
 
 Kalamazoo has a seminary. 
 
 Lot of little maids in school. 
 These little maids are spunky, very. 
 
 Lot of little maids in school. 
 Once a burglar, all unwary, 
 Tackled this same seminary. 
 Maids became excited, very 
 
 Lot of httle maids in school. 
 Wrapped their heads up in the bedding, 
 
 Lot of little maids in school. 
 Bitter tears of terror sheddino- 
 
 Lot of little maids in school. 
 One maid shrieked— (no threats deterred hej-)— 
 
^ 
 
 -,?^ 
 
 88 
 
 J{ gs.<^\{<^t op (3\i\f<^. 
 
 Till the ollu'r iiiaiileiis licanl lur. 
 Then they all Bcreamed bloody imirdor. 
 Lot of little maids in school. 
 
 The night it avus dark as the shadows of Hades 
 
 And all in the city was etill. 
 Serenely reposed the petite little ladies 
 
 In the school building up on the hill. 
 When stealthily stealing to where they were sleeping, 
 
 On plunder and profit intent, 
 Up through the dark shadows so quietly creeping. 
 
 The midnight thief quietly went. 
 He was not a tall Spaniard, the romantic figure 
 
 Of dramatized villain so bold. 
 He was simply a common, 200 pound (colored man) 
 
 Who was deaf, and had eyeballs that rolled. 
 
 The Grand Rapids girl was waked up by the squeak- 
 ing 
 
 Of a door and a draft of cold air, 
 That to her little ears told as plainly as speaking. 
 
 That a graceless intruder was there. 
 So then, with the unerring instinct of woman 
 
 She pulled the clothes over her head, 
 And screamed with a vigor that proved she was 
 human, 
 
 Then all of them jumped out of bed, 
 
 And they gathered around where the bui-glar Avas 
 standing, 
 
 Like little white angels with wings. 
 His presence denouncing, his purpose demanding, 
 
 And they hit him with different things. 
 One walloped his head with a wooden fire-bucket 
 
 That hung on the casement close by ; 
 One pulled at his coat till she jerked off a button, 
 
 One hit him a crack in the eye. 
 
J\ ^gaJ^et op ©Izif^. 
 
 They all crowded 'round him, and everyone rapped 
 him, 
 
 And seldom had anyone missed. [him. 
 
 And one little maid swears in court that she slapped 
 
 Then hit him real hard with her fist. 
 
 :^ ^ ^ -^ ^ ^ ^ 
 
 That Little Fist. 
 
 Oh that great and mighty fist ! 
 Awful fist ! 
 
 Terrorizing weapon of a heavy pugilist ! 
 
 How that burglar must have wilted. 
 
 When it smote him on the ear ! 
 
 How it must have stung and tingled 
 
 When, with rising wrath commingled, 
 
 It defied all thought of fear ! 
 
 How the fist, fist, fist, 
 
 Of that mighty pugilist 
 
 Must have terrorized that burglar when it 
 smote him on the ear ! 
 
 Oh, 'that tightly-clenched, that fierce, un- 
 daunted, terrorizing fist ! 
 
 That awful, heavy, great and mighty fist ! 
 ******* 
 
 They hit him and smashed him, the scene growing 
 richer. 
 
 No courage or vim did they lack. 
 And one little maiden, full armed with a pitcher 
 
 Came very near breaking his back. 
 I'd like to have witnessed the little reception, — 
 
 That little melee that they had : 
 When the broomsticks were flying in every direction. 
 
 And the maidens all screaming Lke mad. 
 Methinks I imagine that burglar's reflections 
 
 As, making a dash with his knife. 
 
— $ — 
 
 90 
 
 ^ ^gajj^^ch of 6l2ip^. 
 
 He struggled so hard to get free from these maidens, 
 And tried to escape with his life. 
 
 First he looked at the maidens, all furiousl}- raging, 
 
 On vengeance so fiei'cely intent. 
 Then he looked at the wide-open, fourlh-story window 
 
 And out there, head-foremost, he WLMit. 
 Down through a shed roof, with a ci-ush that was 
 higger 
 
 Than Mars with his thunders, he sj)ed, 
 But there's an old saying, you can't hurt a (colored 
 man) 
 
 If only he li^'hts on his head. 
 
 Now the lesson that this little anecdote teaches 
 
 Is very apparent to all, 
 When a girl, in real earnest, industriousl}' screeches 
 
 The enemy's certain to fall. 
 Though a man may have fought, and may bravely 
 have battled 
 
 On the red field of carnage and strife — 
 Before feminine shrieking he always gets rattled 
 
 And is glad to escape with his life. 
 We learn about Caesar's immortal tenth legion 
 
 Of whom all our histories tell. 
 Don't you think they'd have wilted and died w^ith 
 the ague 
 
 At the sound of a feminine yell ? 
 
 Napoleon, too, had a squad of picked soldiers 
 
 Who never were conquered or fled. 
 But I think if they'd tackled a school full of ladies 
 They'd have thought that they'd got to the borders 
 of Hades, 
 
 And the screams would have killed them all dead. 
 So, although I bow low to the great fascination 
 
 Of the fair ladies' feminine charm, 
 
-^ •■ 1-> 
 
 ^ (ga^^^ej: op ei^ip^. 91 
 
 Still I think that for fear of bold burglars, in future, 
 
 They need not take any alarm. 
 For the same little ladies who charm in a parlor 
 
 By their beauty and sweet-scented breath, 
 "When they really and truly get started to holler 
 
 Can scare any burglar to death. 
 
 Just carefully glance through this very same struggle, 
 
 And reason it out as you go. 
 What was it that seemed that big burglar to juggle 
 
 But the fact that they all hollered so ? 
 It was not the small fist that the Grand Rapids 
 maiden 
 
 Eapped him with, as she tells us in court. 
 It was not in the way that they pulled at his coat-tail 
 
 Till they left it with oue button short, 
 It was not the sharp rap that he got from the bucket 
 
 That wolloped him over the head, 
 It was not that they 'most broke his back with a 
 pitcher, 
 
 No. That wasn't why the man tied. 
 
 It was not from a sight of the shadowy whiteness 
 
 That shone in that gathering host, 
 It was not the long tresses of dazzling brightness, 
 
 It was not from his fear of a ghost. 
 It was not from a thought of that fabled revolver 
 
 He made up his mind not to stay. 
 It was not any thought of the dignified teacher 
 
 Induced him to quit and go 'way. 
 I say 'twas no reason like these 1 am speaking 
 
 Convinced him it wasn't nice there : 
 It was just the continued and unearthly shrieking 
 
 That loosened the roots of his hair! 
 
 A headforemost leap from a fourth-story casement 
 Seemed welcome indeed to his mind. 
 
^ 
 
 92 
 
 ■B>- 
 
 ^ ^Si^^^t op ^t'[®5- 
 
 He had rather go downward headfirst to tlio basement 
 
 Than to face all the music behind. 
 What chance had one burglar to cut any figure 
 
 Before all those small, shrieking ghosts ? 
 "Why, before he got out he'd have been a dead (color- 
 ed man) 
 
 If he hadn't been deaf as a post I 
 
 EMINENT MEN OF NEW YORK.- 
 
 [Given In response to the above toast at a Banquet of New Yorkers in 
 Kalamazoo, Mich., Feb. 3, 188S.] 
 
 When I came to look up history 
 
 On which my mind was dim, 
 About our great New York state, 
 
 And what it's done, and been, 
 And when I found on history's page 
 
 A great illustrious host 
 Of heroes, when I looked them uj). 
 
 To answer to this toast, 
 The great array of intellect 
 
 That from those pages gazed. 
 Left me all excited, 
 
 And delighted, and amazed. 
 I don't believe I ever fully 
 
 Realized, till then, 
 That this state of our forefathers 
 
 Had so many famous men ! 
 
 When glancing over history's page, 
 
 I rather would infer 
 That among the first JSTew Yorkers 
 
 Came Mr. Aaron Burr. 
 He was quite a famous statesman 
 
^ (§aj^©h of ei^ip^. 93 
 
 And, judging from report, 
 He was just a trifle sociable 
 
 And something of a sport. 
 He served his country earnestly, 
 
 And zealously, and well, 
 And why they never pensioned him 
 
 I cannot really tell, 
 Unless it be because his brave 
 
 And patriotic acts. 
 When sifted down to xiaked truth, 
 
 Reveal the curious fact 
 That, after killing Hamilton, 
 
 He showed his loyal heart 
 In a little insurrection row, 
 
 In which he took some part. 
 And Congress would have jjensioned him 
 
 In case he had applied, 
 If ho hadn't sort of led the forces 
 
 On the other side. 
 Now isn't it remarkable ? 
 
 I marvel, once again. 
 That this great and grand JSTew York state 
 
 Should have such famous men i 
 
 Then Mr. Monroe Edwards, 
 
 Another JSTew Yoi'k man, 
 In fame's great marching army 
 
 Is stationed near the van. 
 He made a few slight errors, 
 
 Which rather seemed to vex 
 The gentlemen whose names he signed 
 
 On several heavy checks. 
 Then, tiring of the city, 
 
 He went and lived awhile 
 In the little town of Sing Sing, 
 
 Where he did the time beguile 
 In stan<1ing by a nice machine 
 
4- 
 
 -.?*- 
 
 04 
 
 ^ ^a^i;^!: of eizif^. 
 
 With littlo knives and wheels 
 That cut the soles of cowhide boots 
 
 And hanuncrcd on the heels. 
 He must have liked the boarding there, 
 
 For surely it appears 
 That he didn't change his residence 
 
 For quite a term of years. 
 In fact, he died in Sing Sing, 
 
 And I have to pause again,^ 
 To marvel that New York possessed 
 
 So many famous men ! 
 
 In this historic narrative 
 
 'Twould never, never do 
 To skijj the fact that Jim Fiske 
 
 Was a great New Yorker, too. 
 There was nothing slow 'bout Jimmy, 
 
 No. His ways were very brisk. 
 He was quite a railroad magnate, — 
 
 Was this same Jimmy Fiske. 
 He started as a poor boy, 
 
 But such a fund possessed 
 Of talent, vim, and fortitude, 
 
 He soon was with the best. 
 
 He dealt in bonded railroad stocks 
 
 And though he started low, 
 He soon had lots of solid rocks, 
 
 'Cause Jimmy wasn't slow. 
 Yet, like so many great men 
 
 Of whom this same is true, 
 Ho wasn't qidte immaculate 
 
 From a moral point -of view. 
 But, as I have remarked before, 
 
 And as you all must know, 
 That if this Jimmy wasn't /asi 
 
 He wasn't very slow. 
 
^ ga^^^h op ©l^ip^. 95 
 
 He fell in love when quite a youth, 
 
 And when he'd once begun, 
 He did it up in a wholesale way, 
 
 A la Brigham Young. 
 He ran across one Edward Stokes, 
 
 Another smart man who. 
 To speak in gentle, moderate terms, 
 
 Was a little rapid, too. 
 And these two men, in some resj^ects, 
 
 AVith one another vied. 
 And their loves conflicted just a bit 
 
 And one day Jimmy died. 
 He was lamented far and wide. 
 
 And I have to pause again. 
 To marvel that New York possessed 
 
 So many famous men ! 
 
 Now, Mr. Stokes, who, I have said, 
 
 Was something of a swell, 
 Was, and is now, in point of fact, 
 
 A New York man as well. 
 He felt so bad 'bout Jimmy's death, — ^ 
 
 (A friend of his, you know,) 
 That his sorrow well-nigh used him up. 
 
 He was consumed with woe. 
 He went into a slow decline. 
 
 Because he felt so sad. 
 And it seemed that something must be done. 
 
 His case was getting bad. 
 So his medical advisor 
 
 Said he hadn't any doubt, 
 That a little vocal music 
 
 Would be apt to help him out. 
 So he went to Sing-Sing, and he sang-sang, 
 
 And his health improved again. 
 And I marvel that New York possessed 
 
 So many famous men ! 
 
4- 
 
 ■I*- 
 
 96 
 
 ^ ^B^f{^\. op 6l2ip^. 
 
 And then there came, as rolled the years 
 
 With ever-hasting speed, 
 Another famous gentleman, 
 
 Whose name was William Tweed. 
 Who, if his own biographers 
 
 Speak true, it would appear 
 Was most completely famous 
 
 As a brilliant financier. 
 His talents and accomplishments 
 
 So valuable were they. 
 That, soon as people found them out, 
 
 They wanted him to stay. 
 But business called him elsewhere 
 
 And he sailed away to Spain, 
 Where, after due reflection, 
 
 He concluded to remain. 
 But the fame of his accomplishments 
 
 Sped swift along his track, 
 Till New York sent an embassy 
 
 To Spain, and brought him back. 
 Then all the count}^ officers, 
 
 The city fathers, too, 
 And all the supervisors, 
 
 And Tammany, tried and true. 
 All stood around when Willie came. 
 
 Returning from afar. 
 And wh6n he passed the city gates, 
 
 (The beautiful gates ajar,) 
 A song went up, in wild refrain 
 
 From men whose hearts he'd wrung, 
 And as the mighty chorus rose, 
 
 This is the song they sung. 
 
 THE SONG. 
 
 Oh, Willie, is it you, dear, safe, safe, at home ? 
 They did'nt tell us true, dear, they said you wouldn't 
 come. 
 
"7 
 
 ^ gaj^et op ei^ip^. 97 
 
 Long nights we've wept and ^watched by the moon- 
 light's cheerless ray, 
 
 Till we thought we heard you coming, then we wiped 
 the tears away. 
 
 But our hearts were sad again when we thought j^ou 
 Avouldn't come, 
 
 Oh Willie, we have missed you. Welcome, wel- 
 come home ! 
 
 >f« * * H« >t: * * 
 
 And while this song is wafted home 
 
 I have to pause again, 
 To marvel that New York possessed 
 
 So many famous men ! 
 
 And still another mighty man 
 
 Immortalized our state, 
 When William Kissane rose to be 
 
 So noted, and so great. 
 One day he drew a bank check, 
 
 And when he signed the same, 
 He made a slight mistake and wrote 
 
 Another fellows' name ! 
 And matters wei^e in such a sha])j 
 
 That this slight error made 
 Some difference in the promptitude 
 
 With which that check was paid. 
 Then he moved to California, 
 
 And rested from his toil, 
 And lived in peace and plenty 
 
 In that land of wine and oil. 
 Yet so modest and retiring 
 
 This gentleman became, 
 That when he changed his residence 
 
 He also changed his name. 
 He lived in calm contentment there 
 
 Like flowerets bloom alone. 
 
-m>- 
 
 !»>; 
 
 ^ (gs^5^®t °P 6f2i[3^. 
 
 Until one day his talents 
 
 And his greatness became known. 
 Now, in the course of my remarks 
 
 I have to pause again 
 To marvel that New York possessed 
 
 So man}' famous men ! 
 
 Among the lanious legal lights 
 
 Who to our Congress went. 
 Conspicuous was John Morrissey 
 
 Who from New York was sent. 
 lie must have 1 een, it seems to me. 
 
 In truth a kgal star. 
 He ran a big saloon and ^o 
 
 Was a member of the bar ! 
 He went to Congress from New Y^ork 
 
 And it cannot be denied 
 That for our country's council halls 
 
 Were none more qualified. 
 For when the speeches grew quite hot 
 
 And fists began to roam 
 'Twas then that Johnny Morrissey 
 
 Felt perfectly at home. 
 I sometimes think it would be best 
 
 To send him there again, 
 And I marvel that New York possessed 
 
 So many famous men ! 
 
 There's still another you will love 
 
 With one grand sweet accord. 
 His given name Avas Ferdinand, 
 
 His other name was Ward. 
 He owned a bank with U. S. Grant, 
 
 And the way he carried sail 
 Was what 3'ou might call running things 
 
 On a pretty heavy scale. 
 The whole Grant family drifted in 
 
 -=S- 
 
 ii. 
 
J^ (ga^'^^t of Qliifj. 
 
 Through Ward's stupendous plan. 
 Yes, Ferdinand appears, in truth, 
 
 A great and mighty man. 
 He now resides in Sing Sing, 
 
 And I have to pause again 
 To marvel that New York possessed 
 
 So many famous men ! 
 
 But 1 cannot even mention 
 A quarter of the throng 
 Of ]^ew York's mighty heroes 
 
 For the list would be too long. 
 They crowd upon my vision, 
 
 Like leaves in autumn fly, 
 They come as thick as winter 
 
 Brings snowflakes in the sky. 
 There was one O. B. Mattison, 
 
 A congressman so bold 
 Who was excused from congress 
 
 And left out in the cold. 
 Then there was Bishop Onderdonk, 
 
 Who, I am grieved to tell. 
 Although a bishojj in the church 
 
 Loved pretty girls too well, 
 There also was Fernando Wood, 
 
 A noted copperhead ; 
 I don't know where he's gone to now, 
 
 I sort of guess he's dead. 
 Then, later, came one Jacob Sharp, 
 
 An alderman who made . 
 Some money from some railroad men 
 
 Who for his good will paid. 
 There are many, many, many more 
 
 Of men renouned and great, 
 Who look to ISTew York for their home, 
 
 The glorious Empire State. 
 But space forbids the mention here 
 
 99 
 
I 
 
 ■'i>p- 
 
 100 ^ ga^l^et op e\i\f<^. 
 
 < 'f each illusti'ious name. 
 in history they're lecoi-dcd, 
 
 And secure in lasting lame, 
 And no remarks that I could make 
 
 Could possibly increase 
 Their present, living, greatness 
 
 Or their calm, post-mortem peace. 
 The vain and feeble praises 
 
 Of my poor tongue or pen, 
 Cannot enhance the greatness 
 
 Of such illustrious men ! 
 
 Yet there's just one more, in closing, 
 
 That I want to mention here. 
 There's one more recollection 
 
 That clings 'round n.emory dear; 
 There's one more gallant hero, — 
 
 One more lofty hduI 
 Whose name is stamped forever 
 
 On New York's parchment scroll. 
 There's one more brilliant statesman 
 
 Whom I'll recall to you. 
 One more great reformer, — 
 
 One more, and I am through ! 
 It's another great New Yorker, — 
 
 And you'll recognize the name, 
 It is little Freddy Gebhardt, 
 
 Of Jersey Lilly fame ! 
 He followed Mrs. Langtry 
 
 This whole great country o'er, 
 And he made the name of Gebhardt 
 
 Illustrious, evermore ! 
 Of course, like other great men, 
 
 He had accusers vile, 
 Who calumniated and abused 
 
 His greatness, all the while. 
 And some remorseless slanderers 
 
4^ 
 
 ^ ^B^f{^\. op 6l2i[s^. 101 
 
 Became so very rude 
 As to say that little Freddy 
 
 Was a feather-headed dude ! 
 But Freddy rose above them 
 
 Upon his wings of fame, 
 And — if you will excuse the term — 
 
 He got there, just the same ! 
 For he's going to marry Langtry. 
 
 And, in closing, once again, 
 I marvel that New York possessed 
 
 So many famous men ! 
 
 GALLANTINIA. 
 
 A STORY IX TWO CHAPTEES. 
 
 DIDS'T BVEE WONDEE? 
 
 When you read of ancient castles 
 
 With their towers, and courts, and moats, 
 And the plumed knights who battled 
 
 In their polished iron coats. 
 Did you ever, ever wonder 
 
 When you read about their fights, 
 How a modern world of wisdom 
 
 Would admire these giddy knights ? 
 
 When you read of all their splendor, 
 Of their so-called gallant deeds. 
 
 How they charged at one another 
 On their fine and frisky steeds, 
 
-«— ^ 
 
 102 
 
 -l»- 
 
 ^ ^svjj^^t op 6l2ip5. 
 
 Did you ever wander downward 
 From these sentimental heights, 
 
 Question iiiii; how Uncle Sammy 
 
 Would iveeive these g'ddy knights? 
 
 Just consider for a moment. 
 
 Do you think a shining lance 
 And a boiler-iron jacket 
 
 Would in any way enhance 
 Any fellow's claim to glor}"? 
 
 Men who fought for little spites ? 
 Oh, I don't think Uncle Sammy 
 
 Would admire these giddy knights ! 
 
 SONG OF THE KNIGHT. 
 
 1 want to be a brave knight 
 
 As in the lists I stand, 
 A cheese-knife hanging at my side, 
 
 A meat-axe in my hand. 
 A kettle on my empty head, 
 
 My banner waving high. 
 Oh, tell me, was there e'er on earth 
 
 So brave a knight as I? 
 
 CHAPTEE I. 
 
 A rather too hearty supper and a slight touch of the 
 tooth-ache were what did it. I had been reading Ivanhoe that 
 afternoon, and winting some items about the wild west shows; 
 80 when, in addition to all this, I went to bed very late with 
 a dish of ice cream struggling with ni}^ deranged inwardness. 
 
^ ^'^fs{^\. op ef^ip^. 103 
 
 h 
 
 it is no wonder that, at about midnight, I found myself wan- 
 dering around in the middle of a small island in the Pacific 
 ocean, trying to discover a new entrance to Dante's Inferno- 
 I was unsuccessful for a time, and then I came to the mouth 
 of the same or a very near relative of the same, cave that 
 Dante hhnself describes. Following along down the main 
 passage of the cave, I found that I was in the outskirts of the 
 Inferno itself It has hitherto been supposed that Dante has, 
 in his "Inferno," described about all the classes and assort- 
 ments of people who reside in the lower regions, but I found 
 a new department. I found a classification of evil-doers that 
 Mr. Dante must have forgotten, or maybe he omitted it 
 purposely and deliberately. In a little glade of hotness by 
 themselves I found the principal knights of Sir Walter Scott's 
 novels. There they were, the knights, horses, armor, spears, 
 plumes and all, — a gorgeous company indeed. 
 
 Now I do not need to go on and explain, as Mr. Dante 
 does, ivhy the spirits were there. Any fair-minded person, in 
 reading of Sir Walter Scott's knights, can easily see how, in 
 the light of modern reason and justice, they would all arrive 
 in some "Inferno" in due course of time. It seemed that they 
 had been confined there several hundred years ago, and with 
 some condition, to the effect that they could materialize again 
 whenever they learned of a knight or a castle they would 
 hke to contend with, So when I came in, there was a great 
 commotion. In looking over the company, I recognized 
 many of the knights from the works I had read. There was 
 foremost and seemingly in command, the imperious Front-de- 
 Boeuf, then there were Ivanhoe, Eichard Cour de Lion, 
 Eoderick Dhu, Erian de Bois-Gilbert, Fitz-James, Cedric the 
 Saxon, Douglas, Marmion, DeBracy, and many others. Those 
 who were enemies in the books were friends in Sheol, and 
 those who never were acquainted in the books, knew each 
 other there. All these knights seemed eager to go forth to 
 the tilt. They had been confined so long in the Shades of 
 Darkness that they pined for the free air again, and for the 
 lists. They pressed me with questions as to where they could 
 
4 
 
 104 
 
 ^ gs^<^\{^t Op 6l2i[s^. 
 
 find now fields to conquer. I was silent. But as they pressed 
 very hard with their questions, I at last sarcastically sui^- 
 gested that they do as was threatened by " Captain Jack, of 
 the Modocs red," who was going to " Lift the har, an' scalp 
 the heads of the whole United States army.' I made the 
 suggestion in merest sarcasm, but they immediately grasped 
 the idea in earnest. 
 
 "Ha!" said they, "let us to the castle of which he 
 speaks ! Marry, an' 'twere a merry sight to see these base 
 swine fall beneath our good swords ! Up and away." 
 
 " Say, look here," said I, " I was only joking. Don't go 
 and make fools of yourselves. Stay right where you are, if 
 _you know what is good for you. Uncle Sam will crack 
 your iron shells in just a little less than no time. Stay Avhere 
 you are. It is a notorious fact that any army is better off in 
 Sheol than when it tries to fight Uncle Sam." 
 
 " By my good sword," said Front de Boeuf, "an' 'twere 
 a brave knight then. But let us to this proud knave and 
 storm his walls ! " 
 
 " By the light of Our Lady's brow," said Marmion, rid- 
 ing forward, "an' 'twere not for his hoary beard, the hand ot 
 Marmion had not spared to — " 
 
 " Oh give us a rest," said I, " We've heard that before. 
 But really, gentlemen, you are very much mistaken. Just 
 take the advice of one of Uncle Sam's most devoted admirers 
 and let him alone. If you go to careering around in Uncle 
 Sam's country, the first thing you know you'll get licked." 
 
 "None braver and truer than this our full band of 
 knights," said the imperious Front de Boeuf, " here's Marmi- 
 on, and Ivanhoe, and Roderick Dhu, and DeBracy. and — " 
 
 " Uncle Sam's pretty bracy, too," I ventured tci observe. 
 
 "Cease thy banterinors, fool!" said several knights in 
 concert. I considcied it probable that I was the individual 
 referred to, so I kept quiet. 
 
 " And De Bracy," continued Front do Boeuf, "and Fritz- 
 Jam-es, and many more of the brave and true. What say you. 
 gallants, can this boastful knight, Uncle Sam, conquer you all?" 
 
^ (ga^^^^t op ei^ip)^. 105 
 
 " NO ! ISrO ! " went uj) the shout. " JJp and to arms. 
 Up Gallants ! " 
 
 And 80 they started, the poor, conceited, deluded idiots, 
 to storm the castle of the great and mighty knight called 
 Uncle Sam! Started, like Johnny Bull did twice; started 
 like old Mexico did, and like the southern states started, and 
 as did the Chicago anarchists; started like every little while 
 some blasted fool does start, — to conquer Uncle Sam. The}' 
 got out their galleys and loaded them with all their baggage 
 and their outfits, put in their horses, and their slaves and at- 
 tendants and all their ancient arms, with which they had 
 conquered a few mediaeval castles, and expected to conquer 
 the earth. Alas, they never had heard of dynamite bomb 
 shells and had never made the acquaintance of Uncle Sam's 
 gattling guns ! 
 
 They landed on the Pacific coast and unloaded their 
 trains onto dry land, and as they formed their procession 1 
 stood by and asked them questions. I asked them why they 
 didn't put some pig-iron onto the hoi'ses, lest they might get 
 dizzy-headed at the sight of those gaudy plumes, and go up 
 for want of ballast, i also inquired what was the matter with 
 shipping the horses to Washington per the American Express 
 Company, and buying the whole crowd emigrant tickets for 
 the effete east, but they didn't know what I meant at all. 
 They put on their gayest equipage, and the procession pro- 
 ceeded. Presently J fell into conversation with one of the 
 knights. I said : 
 
 " Say, what is the good of having any knights anyway? 
 What's the good of all your tournaments, and tilts and all 
 that ? Why don't you fellows hitch jowy horses onto Kala- 
 mazoo spring-tooth drags and earn an honest living?" 
 
 " What ?" says he. " This to me ? " (I thought he was 
 going to cut me up, right there.) " Blaspheme not the 
 ancient and noble Order of Knighthood! We do no work. 
 That is for slaves and vassals. We are noble, free-born 
 knights." 
 
<> 
 
 io(j i\ (§^5^®t op Sl2ip^. 
 
 "Ye-e-es," said I, "but Uiiclo Sam doesn't think work is 
 low or mean. Ho thinl<s it's noble and maul}'. Ho set all 
 his slaves free a little while ago, and evcryl)0*dy that works 
 gets paid for his work." All this was way beyond the 
 knights. They couldn't understand about it at all. 
 
 The cavalcade proceeded during the day without any 
 adventures or mishaps. The country was open, and they 
 did not meet anyone. They sjDont most of their time discus- 
 sing the coming combat, and telling what awful things they 
 would do to the knight Uncle Sam when they caught him. 
 When it came evening they halted at the ranch of a cattle- 
 man, and proceeded to demand, at the point of the lance 
 the shelter and refreshment they needed. This was knightly 
 justice, and was noble, but the cowboys couldn't see it that 
 way, because they were not sufficiently cultivated. Front de 
 Boeuf rode up to the door of the hut where six or eight 
 cowboys were smoking. He shook his crested helmet, and 
 his long plume waved in the breeze. He said : 
 
 "Good brothers, here are at your gate noble guests. We 
 give ye this day opportunity to show 3'our superiors kindly 
 hospitality. Bestir ye, then, and provide refreshment for 
 these who honor you with their presence." The cowboys 
 drojDped their pipes and stared blankly at the knight for a 
 moment, then they looked at each other and commenced to 
 laugh. 
 
 "W-well, I'll be tee-totally golldarned!" said one. 
 
 "What be it?" asked another. 
 
 "Where did it come from?" inquired another. 
 
 "Guess it must be a game chicken," said another. "Look- 
 et its comb, an' spurs !" 
 
 "Must be a 0-0-ver-growed pinchbug," remarked another. 
 "Looket its shell! It's got the most blamededest beak I ever 
 seen on anything in my life !" 
 
 "Come! Haste ye, knaves I'^ said the knight, impatient- 
 ly. "Bestir ye, or by the Holy Eood, ye shall feel the point 
 of my good lance !" 
 
fi ^^fs{^\. op Q\l\f<^. 107 
 
 " Jiminy !" said one of the cowboys, " There's a man 
 there ! He be right there in that thing !" 
 
 "An' he says," ruminated another slowly and dreamily, 
 "He says that ef we do-en't git him some grub he'll poke thet 
 there ramrod of his'n inter us !" 
 
 "VY-well, by gosh!'' ejaculated two or three of the cow- 
 boys in concert, and then they all laughed uproarously. 
 
 "Come!" said the knight, angrily, "Bestir ye! Arouse 
 ye knaves! Arise, ye base swine!" With that he leaned 
 forward in his saddle and pricked one of the cowboys in the 
 leg with his lance. The cowboy rose and went into the hut. 
 All the rest remained in sullen silence. He returned in a 
 moment with a double-barrelled shotgun. 
 
 "Stranger," he said impressively, "Stranger, I reckon 
 you'll have ter move on. We hain't stuck on yer shape 
 here. We doen't like the cut of yer jib. Ef jou doen't 
 find it conwenient to move along now, I'll have ter let this 
 here two charges of buckshot inter yer hide. Savvy?" The 
 knight didn't just "savvy," but he understood the remark to 
 include the idea of a defiance, so he lowered the point of his 
 spear, and charged on the cowboj^, full tilt. The cowboy 
 stepped to one side, and bringing his shotgun to his shoulder, 
 he fired both barrels against the side of the knight's helmet. 
 
 "Stranger," said he, composedly, "Stranger, corpses 
 which are riddled with buckshot have a wery exceedingly 
 onpleasant look." Whether from realizing the sound logic of 
 this undisputable proposition, or whether from reasons of his 
 own, or from the sound of the shot against his ear, 1 know 
 not, but anyway the knight withdrew and went back to his 
 companions to hold a council of war. 
 
"^ 
 
 -0— 
 
 CHAPTER 11. 
 
 My name is Front de Boeuf, 
 And I'm all-fired rough, 
 
 When in the fray. 
 Button my visor down 
 Over my knightly croAvn, 
 
 I'll fight to-day. 
 
 Bring me my coat of mail ! 
 Pull down the iron pail, 
 
 Over my ear. 
 Hitch t' at suspender on 
 'Neath my habergeon. 
 
 Bring me my spear. 
 
 ^ad out my noble chest ! 
 Pull down my copper vest! 
 
 I'll have their gore ! 
 Don't let that gorget rear 
 Way up behind my ear ; — 
 
 Makes my neck sore ! 
 
 Now there's but one thing more, 
 Fasten my corslet o'er, 
 
 I'll paint the town ! 
 Here 1 come. See me prance, 
 Aiming my trusty lance, 
 
 I'll run them down ! 
 
 My name is Front de Boeuf, 
 And I'm all-fired rough 
 When in the fray ! 
 Bravo ! Defy nie not ! 
 My dad is Walter Scott ! 
 
 GET OUT THE WAY ! 
 
 i^ 
 
^ 
 
 ^ ga<^^eh op ©I^ip^. 1^9 
 
 When the knight went back to his comrades he was a 
 little confused, but determined. He would have charged 
 again immediately upon fifty men with spears and lances, 
 but a. blunt weapon that made such a noise stunned him. lie 
 could not describe the occurrance so that the knights could 
 understand him in the least degree. A weapon that just spit 
 fire like a little volcano w^as a novelty to them all. Still they 
 all agreed with Front-de-Boeuf that the castle must be 
 stormed. F)-ont-de-Boeuf gallantly led the advance, expecting 
 that the " vile knaves " would take shelter in their " castle. " 
 Instead of that, the aforesaid knaves sat quietly on the door- 
 step, smoking. As the band of knights approached, one or 
 two of the cowboys stood up by the door, some dodged behind 
 trees, and one or two went into the hut and soon appeared 
 at the windows. Presently a cowboy raised one of those lit- 
 tle short spears, there was another just such a noise as before, 
 a sort of whistle through the air, and the visor of Front-de- 
 Bocuf's helmet was jerked off and hurled to the ground. In 
 scarcely an instant there was another streak of fire from be- 
 hind another tree, and the brave Front-de-Boeuf fell from his 
 saddle, dead. Then there was a general rattle-te-bang , from 
 doorsteps, windows and trees; and plumes, gauntlets and 
 helmets went flying in all directions. All this happening 
 licfore the knights were near enough to begin a charge, th^ 
 leaders were confused, the horses were rendered unmanage- 
 able by the noise, and the entire army beat a hasty retreat. 
 When they c ime to a halt, De Bracy rode up to his friend 
 Buis-Giibert, t;nd said : 
 
 "111 omen it were to fig'it these men. They are be- 
 witched with the devil. Didst see how they flashed hght- 
 ning from boh i:il th).^e trees, and fought their battles Avith 
 all the thunder of t..e skies?" 
 
 "Surely," responded Bois-G-iibert, " surely they are pos- 
 sessed of evil spirts. They fought with the heavenly thun- 
 der and the lighining." And so the knights were van- 
 quished. They hilled a few cattle and ate a frugal meal of the 
 beef, which their slaves cooked for them over a camp-fire, and 
 
 ■"::.>- 
 
4- 
 
 110 
 
 ^ %Bif({^\. op (b\l\f>^. 
 
 then, lying down upon the ground, they went to sleep. At the 
 hut of the cowboys it was dirtcrent. When the knights had 
 fled the cowboys came together again, and talked it over. 
 
 " Guess they never seen a Winchester afore," said one, 
 " but what gits me is who they be, anyway, and what they 
 be a-doing of / never beared of no sech jay-bii-ds as them." 
 
 " There's one of 'em out there, kilt," said another of the 
 herders, rising, and they all went out to where Front-de- 
 Boeuf lay dead. Thoy took him back to the hut, laid him on 
 a rough bench and tried to revive him, but it was no use. 
 
 "Poor feller," they observed, " guess he have passed in 
 his pool-checks. He's a goner. " 
 
 " Yes," lamented a big tall herder, " he have throwed up 
 the sponge. But I don't see what he was a-tryin' to git to 
 do, no-way — well, he have gone now, thet's certain. He's 
 awful dead." And so these rough herders were sorry, in 
 their rude way, for a fellow creature perished, and they buried 
 him in the field next to the hut. 
 
 When the knights arose in the morning they ate what 
 they could find, without approaching the Satan-bewitched 
 cowboj'S again. They formed their line of march with Bois- 
 Gilbert at the head of the column in place of their brave 
 Front-de-Boeuf Their spirits were considerably dampened, 
 but still they were intent upon finding and capturing the 
 queer knight Uncle Sam, After they had ridden nearly all 
 day they came to a br'»ok, and stopped to let their horses 
 drink. Then they rested in the shade of some green trees 
 that grew on the bank. There was a little bridle-path leading 
 down to the creek, and off thrjuifh the woods on the other side. 
 Down this path there presently came three men, on horse- 
 back, and halted in the creek to let their horses drink. They 
 were young men, and very straight and square-shouldered. 
 They sat on their horses with particular grace and ease. 
 They wore blue coats and grey trousers with black stripes 
 down the legs. They all wore low, flat caps, with crossed 
 arms in front, and the letters " TJ, S. " in brass. One of the 
 three carried a sword, and there were stripes on his coat- 
 
 -«■ 
 
^ (ga^^eh op Sl^ip^. Ill 
 
 sleeve. They were not knights, but the one with the sword 
 must be noble-born, thought Bois-Gilbert, so he addressed him. 
 '•' Greeting, noble sir," he said, " an' canst tell us where 
 stands the castle of a sturdy knight called Uncle Sam? It 
 is he we seek, and by the light of Our Lady's brow, ' twere 
 the worse for him if we find him. " The man in the blue coat 
 sat meditating for a moment and then said : 
 
 "Somebody's been fooling you, sir. 'Uncle Sam' is the 
 government of this country. You see that fort over there? 
 Well, that is one of Uncle Sam's outposts. Your company 
 here couldn't get within a thousand miles of Uncle Sam's 
 headquarters with an}^ warlike intent. The name of his 
 big castle is Washington, but you'll never get there." 
 
 "Marry, and 'twere a brave knight could hinder. Be- 
 hold here our — " 
 
 "Oh, yes," interrupted the blue-coat, "I know all about 
 you. You are Brian-de-Bois-Gilbert, and those are others of 
 Walter Scott's knights. I've read all about your exploits, 
 but let me tell you, my friend, things have changed since 
 your ^2ij. Several things are very different now. Gun- 
 powder has been invented since you were on earth the first 
 time. You cannot go careering around the way you used to. 
 Those iron armors of yours are no good. You couldn't stand 
 the fire of one of Uncle Sam's smallest outposts. I work for 
 Uncle Sam, and I know. You don't want to interfere with 
 Uncle Sam and his Boys in Blue. They have whipped every- 
 body that has ever tackled them yet, and they can do you up 
 in short order. Why, even a half-dozen cowboys could do 
 you up." The soldier's story with the cowboy moral and 
 illustration seemed to have some effect upon the knights. 
 Presently Bois-Gilbert said: 
 
 " Aye, noble sir, but who ever conquered Fitz-James, or 
 Marmion ? 
 
 "Yes, yes, I know," persisted the blue-coat^ "but that 
 was when all of you were on earth the first time. The 
 world has improved since then. You take my advice and 
 fight shy of Uncle Sam." With that the three soldiers rode 
 
4- 
 
 112 ^ - . . 
 
 ^_fl gaj^.ct cp eizipj, 
 
 away. Tlio knights held a council and decided unanimously 
 that this outer castle of Uncle Sana must be stormed. This 
 select body of knights must conquer everything in their path 
 (except the cowboys, and they were bewitched with the 
 devil). Hero was a real, bona-fide castle, with regular de- 
 fenses, strong walls of masonry, and low, heavy battlements. 
 It would be an easy task indeed to scale those low walls. 
 The entire party of knights drew up in front of the fort and 
 sent in a demand for its surrender. Fearing that some one 
 in 'there might have one of those little spears, the knights 
 waited the Tej^ly at a respectful distance. Yet no sooner had 
 the object of their presence become known at the fort than 
 there came a puff of smoke from the top of one of the low 
 walls, and something came right over into their knightly 
 ranks and exploded, tearing up the ground and hurling 
 horses and men to the earth. Then came another, and an- 
 other, and general destruction prevailed. The slaves and 
 serving men, and most of the squires, were so terrified by 
 this awful destruction that they immediate!}" fled, but the 
 knights, aroused to their full courage, formed in battle line 
 and rushed frantically at the '-castle." But they never got 
 there. A small battery of ten or twelve guns, with solid 
 shot, shells, and grape and cannister, with a good plenty of 
 United States powder behind them, were too much for the 
 mediseval knights. They were stretched upon the ground 
 like grass before a mower, as shell after shell screeched past 
 them, or e qiloded in their midst. Again and again did the}' 
 rally, and charge at the fort with desperate coarage, but 
 Uncle Sam's artillery was too much for them, and in half 
 an hour the last squire had fled and the last knight was 
 stretched upon the field. 
 
 With the boom of the last visionary cannon, the first 
 bright light of day peeped through the window curtains, and 
 I awoke. The knights were all back in the Inferno, where it 
 is to be hoped they will s^.ay. The ice cream and the tooth- 
 ache had done their perfect work and had subsided. It was 
 morning, and all was calm. 
 
^ (ga^-k^h op gl^ip^. 
 
 lie 
 
 And as gentlj^- came the daylight through the crystal 
 window-paiie, then methought I heard the echoes of a bugle's 
 dim refrain, and the last, faint, fleeting vision of Sir Walter 
 and his'knights was a shadow in a corner, made by dim, 
 conflicting lights. As I rubbed my eyes, half-open, there 1 
 saw the figure stand, of a little knight on horseback, with his 
 lancet in his hand. But as one by one the shadows vanished 
 'neath the morning sun, as the dark of night was over, and 
 the reign of light begun, then the little knight in armor, 
 starting for some castle hall, was a pair of old susjDenders, 
 limply hanging on the wall. While we sometimes wish the 
 glory of those old days would return, still we're very much 
 more happy to enjoy what we can earn, and our wish for 
 knights and castles will be silent as a clam, while we stay, the 
 happy vassals of that great knight, Uncle Sam. 
 
DD 
 
 -\ 
 
 ■1^ 
 
^ ^Bi<fi{^\. op 6l2i[®^. 117 
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 THE DYING SALOONIST. 
 
 I don't see no honest mission 
 'Bout this much-talked prohibition. 
 It's a sour, diseased condition 
 
 Of a sick, dyspeptic mind. 
 For although my strength is falling 
 In a way that's most appalling, 
 It's my lawful, honest calling 
 
 To sell whiskey to mankind. 
 
 I pays license and high taxes — 
 I don't know what more they axes, 
 And for all mankind, the facts is, 
 
 I just do my very best. 
 "With my booze I first beguile 'em, 
 Then the tax and bond I'm filin' 
 Helps to build a fool-asylum, 
 
 Where the weary can find rest. 
 
4- 
 
 118 
 
 ^ ga^'^eh oP 6l2i[®^. 
 
 A LADIES' TEA. 
 
 A puzzlitii; and vexatious thine; 
 
 Has boon a-bothoring me. 
 Wliat can you do when the women folks 
 
 Have got a ladies' tea ? 
 The parlor's full of women 
 
 You can't go there ; 
 The kitchen's all a swimmin ' 
 
 You can't stay there ; 
 The sitting-room is occupied, 
 
 The bedroom's full of things ; 
 And every quarter minute 
 
 Some fresh arrival brings. 
 The dining-room is all fixed up 
 
 Quite handsome, it is true. 
 But this is for the ladies — 
 
 The Ladies — not for you. 
 It's all a nice arrangement, 
 
 But what's been bothering me 
 Is, " What's a feller going to do 
 
 When there comes a ladies' tea?" 
 
 Y^'ou go up in the attic, 
 
 But there you cannot stay; 
 You come into the upper hall — 
 
 You're in the ladies' way. 
 You go out in the store-room. 
 
 They're carving things out there ; 
 You knock some dishes over. 
 
 And there's music in the air; 
 You seek your own small chamber 
 
 And think that j^ou are free; 
 But there you And your chairs are gone 
 
 To seat the ladies' tea; 
 
~^: 6 0- 
 
 ^ (gaj^eh op ei^ip^. 119 
 
 Your bed is piled, with merchandise, 
 
 Your dresser piled with more. 
 If 3^on stay there you'll have to stand 
 
 Or sit u]3on the floor; 
 And so this question, great and dark, 
 
 Has been concerning me ; 
 What is a feller going to do 
 
 When there comes a ladies' tea ? 
 
 A little loft in the woodshed 
 
 There still remains for me, 
 Where I can eat a cracker 
 
 When they have a ladies' tea. 
 I reach it by a ladder 
 
 Where cobwebs line the way, 
 And calmly, then, and sadder 
 
 In solitude I stay. 
 I sit me on a rag-bag 
 
 With my elbows on my knees, 
 And while the rats play 'round me 
 
 I take my lordly ease. 
 For the parlor's full of women, 
 
 I can't go there. 
 The kitchen's all a swinnin', 
 
 I can't stay there. 
 The house is for the ladies, 
 
 But there's a loft for me 
 Where I eat a cold potato 
 
 When they have a ladies' tea 
 

 120 
 
 -B^ 
 
 ^ (gajj^^h op 6l2ip^. 
 
 A PATENT SCHEME. 
 
 To Whom it May Concern : 
 
 Be it known that I, John Henry Jinkins, junior, a citizen 
 of the City of Podunk, County of Youthfalness, State of 
 Hilarity, have invented a new and useful scheme, of which 
 the following is a specification, to-wit : 
 
 The object of my invention is to produce a new and use- 
 ful scheme to keep the hands warm on certain occasions in 
 mid-winter, the said scheme to be used b}^ the rising genera- 
 tion to prevent attacks of consumjjtion, all substantially as 
 follows, to-wit : 
 
 In the drawing which forms a part of this specification, 
 the boy (B) and the girl (G), are walking in the cold atmos- 
 
I 
 
 ^ ga^^^er op 6l7ir3^. i^-^i 
 
 phere (o) upon the walk (w). Near by is the fence (xi) and 
 the cold wind (D) which blows upon the boy (B) and upon 
 the girl (G), in manner as hereinafter stipulated, all substan- 
 tially as follows, to-wit: 
 
 The said boy (B) and the said girl (Gr) are walking with 
 their feet (ee) upon the walk (w), in manner as above men- 
 tioned, while the small-boy (S) sits upon the fence (A), w^ear- 
 ing an elongated grin (h) upon his countenance, substantially 
 as set forth, and the cat (d) sits upon the walk (w), with its 
 back (i) elevated as herein described, and its tail (t) extended 
 in a rigid manner, all substantially as hereinabove stipulated. 
 
 Now while the boy (B) and the gir-l (G) walk with their 
 feet (ee) slowly upon the said walk (w) on a very cold day, 
 (it being an extremely cold day when they do not walk 
 slowly), the atmosphere (o) and the cold wind (D) would 
 chill their hands (aa and bb) were it not for the provisions'of 
 this scheme, as hereinafter stipulated, as follows, to-wit: 
 
 The boy (B) wears an overcoat (O), which has a pocket 
 (P), and the girl (G) carries a muff (g), as herein described and 
 set forth. Now the right hand (a) of the boy (B) is carried to 
 the light and the left hand (a) of the girl (G) is carried to the 
 left, and these two hands (aa), coming in contact at a point a 
 little above the pocket (P) of the overcoat (0), are both low- 
 ered together into the said pocket (P), and are thus protected 
 from the atmosphere (o) and Irom the cold wind (D), all sub- 
 stantially as hereinabove stipulated and described. 
 
 The muff (g) carried by the girl (G) is then carried by 
 the right hand (b) of the said girl (G) to the left, and the left 
 hand (b) of the said boy (B) is carried to the right, and is 
 placed in the said muff (g), along with the said right hand (b) 
 of the said girl (G), all substantially as above stipulated, and 
 the hands (bb) being in the said muff (g), and the other hands 
 (aa) aforementioned being in the said pocket (P) as aforesaid, 
 the four hands (aa and bb) of the said boy (B) and of the said 
 girl (G) are protected from the atmosphere (o) and from the 
 cold wind (D) in manner as hereinbefore described and set 
 forth, while the governor (N") being the paternal ancestor of 
 
 ^ — S#^ 
 
4 ; ^ 
 
 122 jl ga^^^et of 6l2ip^. 
 
 the said girl (G), (on her luthor's side of the funiily), Lccoiik'^ 
 excited, and the small-boy (S) sitting upon the said fence (A), 
 enlai-ges the ii;riii aforesaid (h) so as to bisect his counten- 
 ance, and the said eat (d) emits electricity from its said tail (t) 
 in manner aforesaid, nil sulistantially as hereinbefore described 
 and set forth. 
 
 (Signed,) JOHN HENRY JINKINS,. III. 
 
 Per J. B. Smiley, his Attorney. 
 Witnessed by the said Cat and 
 by the said Small Boy as aforesaid. 
 
 JOHN HENRY, Jr., IN TEOUBLE. 
 
 Mr. John Henry Jinkins, junior, is exceedingl}' fond of 
 horseback riding. He is not a particularly good rider, but he 
 likes the exercise and rides a good deal. He also rides a 
 Texas mustang. One day John Henry, Jr., went out for a 
 horseback ride with a young lady. I^ow, John Henry, Jr., is 
 of a very bashful and retiring disposition. He has been 
 known to retire as early as seven clock. Well, as has been 
 mentioned before, John Henry, Jr., went out one day with a 
 young lady to ride horseback. 
 
 Being particularly anxious to have everything in projier 
 shape he cleaned his saddle and bridle and just befoi'e he 
 started he changed his clothes and put on some new high-top 
 boots which he had just jiurchased, and which he thought 
 would surely make an impression upon the ladies. 
 
 Well, the ride promised to be a fine success. The horses 
 felt lively, the young lady was an excellent horsewoman and 
 the first hour of the ride passed very pleasantl3^ In the 
 course of the ride a sign nailed upon a tree by the roadside 
 attracted the attention of John Henry, Jr. The sign was a 
 model of artistic elegance and bore the inspiring legend, 
 "Cider Mill." John Henry, J r., suggested that they ride in 
 and get a drink of sweet cider. The young lady accepted 
 
 ^;£- 
 
-« 
 
 123 
 
 ;^ ga^^^eh op ei^ip^. 
 
 with thanks and they galloped up the lane, and found a large 
 cider mill and some six or eight men engaged in the business 
 of sitting upon a bench chewing tobacco. 
 
 Without dismounting, John Henry, Jr., asked for some 
 new cider. After both he and the lady had drunk all they 
 wished, John Henry, Jr., asked the man in charge how much 
 he should pay him, 
 
 "Nothing ! That's all right.' 
 
 "But I'd rather pay it." 
 
 "You're. welcome to it, sir." 
 
 "But let me pay you." 
 
 "Well, if you've got a nickle with you in change, you 
 may pay me that." 
 
 John Henry, Jr.' went down in his clothes for the nickel, 
 and his chin dropped about a foot, and he said: "I — I — I 
 haven't any money with me." 
 
 Then the men on the bench laid on the ground and 
 smiled, and the young lady turned her horse around and 
 said: "Come on, John." And John Henry, Jr., didn't smile 
 all the way home. 
 
 LITTLE JIMMY JINKINS. 
 
 Little Jimmy Jinkins 
 
 Was a shameless little pimp, 
 A horrid little rascal 
 
 And a graceless little imp. 
 He kept his father fretting 
 
 At evening, noon and morn 
 He made himself a nuisance 
 
 As soon as he was born. 
 
 He had more sinftd vices 
 Than boy e'er had before. 
 
 Y 
 
♦-()— '^ 
 
 124 
 
 ^ (ga^^^eh op 6l2ip5. 
 
 And then was quite unhappy 
 
 Because he hadn't more. 
 For of the mean and vulgar 
 
 And of the low and tough, 
 For this young bud of promise 
 
 Thei'e wasn't half enough. 
 
 Little Jimmy Jinkins 
 
 Could swear and smoke and chew, 
 And call bad names and gamble 
 
 And drink bad whiskey, too. 
 For everything that's sinful 
 
 He knew just Avhere to go. 
 There wasn't much that's wicked 
 
 That Jimmy didn't know. 
 
 He cut up every caper 
 
 That naughty boy e'er tried, 
 He had all olden meanness 
 
 And found new tricks besides. 
 He had a new-found baseness 
 
 For every blessed day, 
 To him disgrace was pastime 
 
 And wickedness was play. 
 
 -^- 
 
^ ga^^^t op ef^ip^. 125 
 
 MORE RAIK 
 
 About the best case of " oldest inhabitant " that ever 
 came to my notice was in Ottawa, 111. An elderly farmer 
 named John Miller, oi Freedom, La Salle county, 111., came 
 down to Ottawa one day and went in to get a shave. I was 
 in the farther chair with a towel over my head, and had an 
 excellent chance to hear what was being said. J\£r. Miller 
 was speaking of the recent rains, and said that we had had 
 one night during the past week when two and one-half inches 
 of rain had fallen. Another gentleman said that a few years 
 ago there was a rain in which five inches of water fell in a 
 single night. Mr. Miller was thoughtful for a moment, and 
 then said : 
 
 " Y-yes, but we don't get any more such rains as we used 
 to. It seems as though when it rains now-a-days it don't half 
 rain. We haven't had a good, hard rain in ten years. I 
 remember how it used to rain, 'way back in the forties. We 
 used to set tubs and pans and j^ails out in the yard to catch 
 the water, and we'd always find them full. One night, I 
 remember, it rained very hard. I took a vinegar barrel, with 
 both heads and the bung knocked out, and put it in the j^ard, 
 placed horizontally and blocked so it couldn't roll — this was at 
 half-past ten. in the evening. When I went out there the 
 next morning that barrel was full — yes, sir, chuck full — and 
 the water was running out of both ends. We don't get any 
 such rains as we used to." 
 
 The back of one of the chairs clicked, and the barber 
 solemnly said, " Next! " 
 
 ■■:;?^ 
 
4- 
 
 ^'^ . ^ ^^^K'^t ^P (^^\f^' 
 
 PRAIRIE CHICKENS. 
 
 .Some months ago two gentlemen from Kalamazoo went 
 up into northei'n Minnesota to hunt prairie chickens, and if 
 rumor can be beleived, they had a pretty tough time hunting 
 the nimble chicken. They went out in a prairie schooner, 
 drawn by two horses. They had guns, blankets, ammunition, 
 and cooking utensils all in the wagon, and lived like theg^'p- 
 sies do. The two honorable gentlemen from Kalamazoo were 
 elderly gentlemen, and were by nature ver}- dignified. The 
 hunting expedition was very successful until the third night 
 out. Then they had trouble. They were travelling across the 
 prairie, and didn't Avant to stop that night, so they had their 
 servants drive right on, and they lay down in the wagon to 
 sleep, after divesting themselves of their day time apparel. 
 The stars were shining brightly, and tho moon looked down 
 and smiled. It had to sort of saw off the north-east corner of 
 that smile before very long, but the moon looked down and 
 smiled, just the same. How sweet is the sleep of the just, 
 when not a shadow crosses the tranquil brow, and slumber 
 soothes the weary traveler from the burdensome toils of the 
 day. Well, that's about the way it was the first half of the 
 night. Then the heavens clouded orer, the gentle winds 
 coaxed the dew out of the aerial clouds, and it rained like 
 Halifax. It thundered and lightened, the wind blew the top 
 ofi" the wagon, and the two gentlemen from Kalamazoo fell 
 out. The}^ were landed upon the cold, unfeeling earth, 
 wrapped in indignation and not much else. Their wardrobes 
 were in the wagon, and the wagon was going across the 
 prairie as fast as a pair of runaway horses could take it. 
 The two gentlemen from Kalamazoo were encircled with 
 the howding of the elements and their owni abbreviated 
 nightly w^earing apparel. These two venerable gentlemen 
 from Kalamazoo joined hands and ran. It is to be supposed 
 they were singing hymns. A lively imagination can see 
 them, hand in hand, bare-headed, running over the nrairie. 
 
^ ^sv^^^h op 6l2ip)^. 
 
 127 
 
 The rain came down in torrents and drenched the camp- 
 ini>; shirts which constituted their wardrobes, also their 
 hair, faces, and their venerable beards. The wind blew 
 against them and jostled them, while the mizzen reef, flapping 
 in the wind, sailed out behind them as they ran. Methinks I 
 can see them now, chanting that good old hymn, " Hold 
 the Fort for We Are Coming." I don't know how the 
 adventure ended, but I think they areout there yet, running 
 iicross the prairie. 
 
 ICE CREAM SODA. 
 
 One of the saddest and most embarrassing sights I ever 
 Avas a witness to was at Kalamazoo some three years ago. 
 They dished up very good ice cream soda at the " Candy 
 Kitchen," and were enterprising enough lo have a very 
 ]>retty girl to tend the soda fountain. I had just formed 
 the acquaintance of a newcomer at Kalamazoo, a young gen- 
 tleman from the effete east, and he was a rather airy youth. 
 He was a most excellent fellow, and his eccentricities were 
 not assumed, but he was peculiar. He was from the east, 
 you knovv, and he never pronounced an r, you know, and he 
 wore gold eye-glasses and dressed pretty well and was polite 
 and refined. Well, one day I met this young man on the 
 street, and ho asked me to step in and have some soda. 
 Now, in my best days of grammar school practice I never 
 was able to decline soda, so we went in. He drew one of the 
 stools up close to the marble counter and sat down. He had 
 on a pair of bran-new lavender pants and a pleasant, down- 
 east smile, and he remarked, " Chocolate and ice cream," and 
 beamed benignly upon "Rosy" behind the counter. She 
 di'ew one glass of soda and shoved it towards me as the 
 party being treated, and then drew another and shoved it 
 over the slippery marble counter in such a manner that it 
 landed bottom side up on my down-east friend's bran-new 
 
4- 
 
 ^-^ ef ^^t^""^ ""^ 6l2ip^. 
 
 liivender pants. That same young- man jumj^ed about half 
 Avay across that store and made a few brief remarks that are 
 not used in polite society, and looked up just in time to bow 
 to two young ladies who had come out of the ice cream 
 parlors at that moment. There we stood, a picture for an 
 artist, — the two young ladies staring at my friend in abject 
 astonishment, the girl behind the counter scared half to 
 death, I with a glass of soda in my hand, weeping copiously, 
 and my jjoor eastern friend as red as a lobster, with the ice 
 cream all over his new clothes, and himself completely -cov- 
 ered with confusion, embarrassment, and chocolate soda- 
 water. 
 
 A SAD CASE. 
 
 A Kalamazoo man went out the other day to prospect 
 for gold, or celery, or silver or natural gas, or something-or- 
 other. He did not take anyone into his confidence except a 
 little bottle of — well, of cold tea. He had to cross a river to 
 go where he wanted to, and it seems that in order to ford the 
 said river one must drive in a few feet, then turn sharply to 
 the right, and go down the bank several rods before cros- 
 sing over. Instead of doing this way, the Kalamazoo gentle 
 man drove straight in. The water came up and the horse 
 went down, and the Kalamazoo genteman found himself sit- 
 ting in about three inches of water, while the carriage-box 
 below the seat formed an excellent foot-bath. The horse went 
 under once or twice, but the turnout soon reached the farther 
 shore. 
 
 Then the Kalamazoo gentleman found that his lunch 
 basket was floating away down the stream. He made a rapid 
 advance upon the retreating basket, and by a skillful flraik 
 movement captured the basket, but lo, his cold tea was gone ! 
 Alas! When he drove in lie smiled; when the water floated 
 
^ gaj^^t op ei2ip^. 
 
 129 
 
 over the seat he was calm; when the lunch was gone he wiis 
 resigned; but when the cold tea departed he wept, for 
 
 !N"either the angels in heaven above, nor the demons 
 
 down under the sea, 
 Could ever return to his nourishing love, the dear 
 little flask of cold tea ! 
 Adorable flask of cold tea ! 
 And it sank at the first, without slaking his thirst. 
 And it left him discouraged. Ah, me ! 
 
 THE HANGING. 
 
 Eeporters on daily papers get in the habit of writing up 
 events a little m advance of their occurrence. It is common 
 in reporting police news to chalk down " $3 and costs " with- 
 out waiting to see what became of the drunk at all. But I 
 think the worst case on record of reporting events in advance 
 is an instance in the experience of a former Kalamazoo man, 
 now city editor of the Grand Eapids Democrat. He told me 
 of the occurrence himself A man was to be hung in a little 
 town in Tennessee where he was working at the time. The 
 hanging was to occur at five p. m., and the paper was a morn- 
 ing paper. Now there was a dance that same evening at a 
 place some tweve miles distant, and a very estimable young 
 lady could easily be persuaded to attend, so our friend, instead 
 of going to the hanging and sitting up -till twelve o'clock to 
 read proof on his own article, wrote up the hanging in ad- 
 vance, got a livery rig and the estimable young lady, and 
 attended the dance. Hangings were all the same, anyway, he 
 said, and ho could have more fun at the dance. Well, time 
 wore on. I do not know what time wore on that occasion, 
 but anyhow, time wore on and morning came. 
 
 Our reporter arose and looked the paper over and smiled. 
 Tes. The reporter smiled as he read the paper. There was- 
 
130 
 
 ^ ^a^^^^eh op ei^ipj. 
 
 the grapliic description of the last moments of the dying man, 
 how the wretch writhed in the last agonies of death, and all 
 the minutest details of the execution. The reporter pulled 
 the corner of Lis mustache and chuckled to himself: " Who 
 would ever suppose that I wav'sn't present at this business?" 
 And then he chewed a tooth pick and sauntered along down 
 town. He was soon met by overwhelming astonishment and 
 the maddest man in fourteen counties. The gentleman who 
 was to have been hung the night before stood before him, full 
 of righteous indignation, and demanded to know what sort of 
 a confounded reporter he was not to know that he had been 
 pardoned by the governor about an hour before the execution 
 was to have taken place. As Chaucer would have it " He 
 yelleden/ like ye fiendes downe in ye helle." The reporter was 
 discharged as soon as the editor learned the particulars. 
 
 OUR EXCURSION. 
 
 While I was at work at Ottawa, 111., a gentleman named 
 Hossack invited the inmates of the county house to a ride on 
 the Illinois river, on his little steam launch "Belle of Ottawa." 
 He also invited the city editois of the various jJapers to go 
 and write up the excursion. The other .reporters were busy, 
 or sick, or something, so I was the only guest on board when 
 the boat started from Ottawa for the county house. The 
 '•Belle" steamed gallantly down the I'iver, fair and balni}^ as 
 a stern-wheeled swan on the surface of a beautiful crystal 
 fountain. All was serene. But before very long there was 
 trouble. 
 
 Now "we," editorially considered, had forgotten to put 
 on our hickory shirt before we started, and we went in our 
 customary princely costume. We had our shoes blacked and 
 our silk hat placed squarely upon our head, in a dignified 
 manner. We mention this fact because we had occasion to 
 notice it afterwards. The boat's comj)any consisted of Mr. 
 
 -m- 
 
ff\ ^^fs{^\. ^P ©^ip^ 
 
 131 
 
 Hossack, two assistants, and us. We sat ealml}' viewing the 
 landscape and admiring our shoe-polish. 
 
 Pretty soon there came a rattle-te-bang back in the giz- 
 zard of the concern somewhere, and the boat stopped. The 
 county house was yet some distance ahead. A cog-wheel had 
 broken, the paddle-wheel was disabled, and the boat was help- 
 less, it was beyond repair, except by the substitution of a 
 new cog-wheel, which was on, the mineial spring grounds, a 
 mile and a quarter up stream. The boat was poled ashore, 
 and one of the boys got out on the ledge of rocks and tied 
 the boat. 
 
 The rocks on the bank of the Illinois river, at this point, 
 are of a peculiar formation. There is a ledge of 
 red sandstone, with a flat surface about four feet above 
 the water. Thence the rocks rise perpendicularly about 
 ten feet to the green fields above. The two assistant^ 
 and Mr. Hossack climbed up this rock easily enough, but 
 ice couldn't just make it. We walked along the ledge 
 to the place where the two assistants and Mr. Hossack 
 had made the ascent, and we viewed the situation and 
 hesitated. One of the boys called to us to come on, but 
 we hesitated. We didn't like the looks of things. If we were 
 going into the river we had rather go right down into it than 
 to climb half way up that rock and fall in. Plowever, the 
 necessity of getting up there was manifest, so we held up our 
 left hand, and the two boys caught hold of it and snaked us. 
 up there very suddenly. ]S"ow, there are things that may 
 happen to a man which are more enthusiastically enjoyable 
 than to be jerked by the left arm up ten feet up red sandstone 
 rock, with your feet dangling loose against the rock, to the 
 serious damage of your shoe-blacking, and the sand sifting 
 down your collar, your, best coat rubbing in the dirt, and your 
 best silk hat perched perilously on your left ear. Well, we were 
 up there, anyway. We brushed ourself off, spit out what sand 
 hadn't gone down too far, and took a geographical observa- 
 tion. ■■ We were at the southwest corner of the field next west 
 of the cemetery, and about a mile from town. There was a 
 
4- 
 
 -B^ 
 
 ^ ^§^^'^^^t op 6l2i[®J. 
 
 good ablo-bodied, barbed-wire fence between us and the field. 
 We tried to climb this fence. Now here was another real nice 
 thing- to do. To climb a barbed-wire fence with a long-tailed 
 coat on, is a gymnastic feat that would do credit to any athlete 
 in the country. "VVe gathered the skirts of our coat carefully 
 around us, put our hat on the back of our head, and stepped 
 lirnd}' upon the first wire of the fence. It swung nervously 
 back and forth, and as we let go of out coat-tail to hang onto 
 the fence, the said coat-tail caught upon the top wire of the 
 fence, and ripped particular fits out of the, to-wit, coat-tail. 
 We backed away from the fence and examined our coat. We 
 also made a few brief and appropriate remarks. Then we 
 conceived the idea o^ crawling through this fence. We took ott' 
 our silk hat and carefully hung it on a fence-post. Then we 
 lifted up our injured coat-tails and drew them carefully around 
 us. Then we put our left foot through betM'een the second 
 and thii'd wires of the fence, and tried to pass our body 
 through in a horizontal position. Now this was what might 
 be termed a touching position. In the first place, to sit on a 
 barbed-wire fence at all requires considerable caution, but to 
 bow 3'our head to fate, and pass slowly between two barbed- 
 wires, with a cemetery in front of you, and a doubtful looking 
 gentleman-cow in the field in the rear — that is one of those 
 things specially designed by divine Providence to teach man 
 how uncertain is this life. We finally did get through there 
 before the gentleman-cow made up his niind to advance, and 
 struck out for town. 
 
 THE ANT. 
 
 The ant is a small animal, with a large amount of deter, 
 mination and a number of legs. The ant is very industrious 
 — in fact, it lives in the dust all the time. The ant is held 
 up as an example to the sluggard. The ant resides in small 
 caves in the earth and selects its dwelling-place with great 
 
-<^- 
 
 ;^ gSi^k^t ^F ef^ipc^ 1-^ 
 
 care. The favorite location of the ant is under a smooth 
 ]awn, where it builds its cave and throws uj) the dirt with 
 great assiduity. 
 
 The above facts I gathered, partly from the natural his- 
 tory books and partly from observation. The little ant came 
 very numerously and located a claim in our front yard, and 
 my father requested me to see what could be done with them. 
 There were about fourteen million, eleven thousand and 
 seventy-three of them, as near as I could tell. First, I tried 
 salt, and wet it down, but that killed the grass. Then a 
 friend told me to catch the ants and cut their bills, so they 
 couldn't dig. I hadn't much faith in that scheme. I had 
 tried to cut other bills, and had never been eminently suc- 
 cessful. However, I tried it. I caught one ant and tried to 
 cut his bill, but he ran up my coat sleeve, and 1 said " Ouch! " 
 
 Then someone said that Ibne would fix the gay and indus- 
 trious little ant. So I put lime on their hills and wet it down, 
 and stamped it in, and then I felt sure I had them fixed; 
 but the next day they were all out again, fresher than ever. 
 They were throwing up earthworks in great style, and 
 seemed to pause every little while, with their thumbs on their 
 noses, as I stood watching them. 
 
 The next thing I tried was red pepper, and then I 
 thought 1 had them ; but one morning they got the remains 
 of a deceased beetle and dragged it into one of their hills, but 
 before they ate it they sent a delegation to another hill to 
 bring some of that red pepper to season that beetle with. 
 Then they all sat around and partook of the beetle with the 
 red pepper seasoning, and smacked their chops and said it 
 was good. 
 
 At last, remembering how the Lord killed the wicked, 
 away back in the time of Noah, I decided to try ram. I 
 concluded that it would undoubtedly rain in that locality 
 very often, so 1 hitched on the hose, turned on the Kalama- 
 zoo Holly water and it rained. The ants didn't like that at 
 all. They would just get out in the sun to dry off, when it 
 would commence to rain again. They sat on their hills and 
 
4- 
 
 i;u 
 
 ^ ^Bifi\^\- op ^^«[®5- 
 
 discussed tlio weather. The general oiiinion 8ecmcd to be 
 that the climate had changed. There was some talk of an 
 ark, but they couldn't agree about the tariff on the lumber, 
 and then one large, smooth ant got up and said his name was 
 Bob Ingersoll, and that he didn't believe that anybody made 
 the earth, anyway, and there was no such thing as rain. 
 Another ant in the asembly said that he could stojj all this 
 trouble by the mind cure. lie said that they only thought 
 it was wet, whereas it was not at all ; that mind Avas super- 
 ior than matter, and that he was as dry as could be. Then 
 he emptied the water out of his boots and sat down to labor 
 with Ills mind — and still it rained. Another ant got up and 
 said that in his opinion some trust company had had a corner 
 on rain, and that the corner had just busted. Finally a vote 
 was taken and they decided unanimously to move to a more 
 congenial climate, and so they went. 
 
 Terily the Kalamazoo Holly Water] "Works are mightier 
 than the ant. 
 
 -^t- 
 

 TEE-HEE. 
 
 I'm a beautiful, charming young girl 
 
 (Tee-hee.) 
 And my teeth are the whitest of pearl 
 
 (Tee-hee.) 
 And my eyes are as bright as the stars in 
 
 the night, 
 And I'm sprj^ in the waltz's swift whirl, 
 
 (Tee-hee). 
 
 I've been out without Ma once or twice, — 
 
 (Tee-hee) 
 I was awfully prim and precise, 
 
 (Tee-hee,) 
 Perhaps you don't know, but I went with a 
 
 beau, 
 And I think it was awfully nice, 
 
 (Tee-hee). 
 
 I didn't know just what to do, 
 
 (Tee-hee), 
 It all was so funny and new, 
 
 (Tee-hee), 
 I felt giddy and gay, and had nothing to 
 
 say 
 So I giggled the whole evening through, 
 
 (Tee-hee). 
 
 So now every young man that I see, 
 
 (Tee-hee), 
 I imagine he's looking at me, 
 
 (Tee-hee), 
 'Twas so funny, you know. 
 To go out with a beau, 
 And to think he was talking to me, 
 
 (Tee-hee). 
 
-^r 
 
 INDEX 
 
 rA(iE. 
 
 A Bad Pix ------- - 60 
 
 A Conundrum - - - - - - - 51 
 
 Advice to Mothers ------- 18 
 
 A Few Definitions ------ 59 
 
 A Fisli Story • - - - - - - 20 
 
 A Good Plan ------- 08 
 
 A Hard Road - - - - - - - 39 
 
 An Introduction ------ CA 
 
 A Pledge -------- 17 
 
 A Eooster - - - - - - - 31 
 
 A Smart Tramp - - - - - - - 43 
 
 As She Says - - - - - - - 49 
 
 A Yassar fiirl - - - - - - - 47 
 
 A Wild Hide ------- go 
 
 Ijarbed "Wire Pence - - - - - - 27 
 
 Beautiful Spring- - _ - - - - - 38 
 
 Cork It I^o - - - - - - - - 22 
 
 Don't Get Excited - - - - - - 20 
 
 Dreaming -------- 29 
 
 Eminent Men of Xew York ----- 92 
 
 Fourth of July EeHections - - - - 43 
 
 Gall - - - - - - - - 44 
 
 Gallantinia -------- 101 
 
 Gum - - - - - - - - o2 
 
 Heart --------- 82 
 
 t 
 
-^ : :^ 
 
 J-ACK. 
 
 He Didii'! -WO 
 
 Hello : -..--.-- IX 
 
 111 the JJue ------- ;ti 
 
 It Mii^iit Have Ueen - - - - - - 38 
 
 It Uained ------- 2)> 
 
 It's a I'ity About Theiu - - - - - 45 
 
 It AVasirt .------- 17 
 
 John Ihnry. .Ir.'s Horse ----- 74 
 
 Kalamazoo - - - - - - - - - 01 
 
 Kapiolani -------- 5H 
 
 Keep Still -------- 42 
 
 Lament of the Dying 'iknlman - - - . 2:^ 
 
 Let I's Smile ------- 55 
 
 Little Chips ------- <) 
 
 Mount Ilolyoke ------- 87 
 
 Mr. Jinkins and the Cow - - - - - <)0 
 
 Mrs. Jinkins at the Races ------ »')3 
 
 My Little Sister ------ 35 
 
 Never - - - - ' - - - - - 28 
 
 Xew Year's Poem ISSS ----- 75 
 
 Of Course Xot - - - . ■ - - - - K) 
 
 Only AVind ------- 31; 
 
 On the Fence ------- m 
 
 On the Stair ------- ,^4 
 
 Panhandle -------- 25 
 
 Pie ---------- 24 
 
 Pig-enzi to the Porkers - - - - - - 48 
 
 Rather Mixed ------- 72 
 
 Sinking - - - - - - - - 5(» 
 
 Swimming -.---.-- r/.i 
 
j2| ga^^^^t op ei^ip^. 139 
 
 I'AfJE. 
 
 Thany-grab-sis ------- 84 
 
 Tobogganing - - - - - - - 71 
 
 The Ball - - - - - - - - 78 
 
 The Boss Snake Story .- , - - - - - 41 
 
 The Dentist - - - - - - ' - 40 
 
 The I'oet's Eewarcl - - - - - - 67 
 
 The liain ---■----. 55^ 
 
 The Test - - - - - - - - 56 
 
 The Train Boy ------- 24 
 
 Very Lovely ----.'.. §5 
 
 ^'ery Pohte ----... 28 
 
 What Tronbled Ilim - - - - - - 19 
 
 Ye Light Fantastic ------ 21 
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 A Ladies' Tea ------- ng 
 
 A Patent Scheme - - - - . - - - 120 
 
 A Sad Case ------- 128 
 
 Ice Cream Soda ------- 127 
 
 John Henry, Jr., in Tronble - - - - 122 
 
 Little Jimmy Jinkins ------ 123 
 
 More Rain - - - - - - - 125 
 
 Onr Excnrsion ------- 139 
 
 Praiiie Chickens - - - - - - 126 
 
 The Ant - - - - - - - - 132 
 
 Tlie Dying Saloonist - - - - - - 117 
 
 Tlie Hanging ------- 129 
 
 Tee Ilee - - ' - - - - - - 135 
 
 ^ 
 
s