UNCOLONELED
Though war-signs fail in time of peace, they say,
Two awful portents gloom the public mind:
All Mexico is arming for the fray
And Colonel Mark McDonald has resigned!
We know not by what instinct he divined
The coming trouble—may be, like the steed
Described by Job, he smelled the fight afar.
Howe'er it be, he left, and for that deed
Is an aspirant to the G.A.R.
When cannon flame along the Rio Grande
A citizen's commission will be handy.
THE GATES AJAR
The Day of Judgment spread its glare
O'er continents and seas.
The graves cracked open everywhere,
Like pods of early peas.
Up to the Court of Heaven sped
The souls of all mankind;
Republicans were at the head
And Democrats behind.
Reub. Lloyd was there before the tube
Of Gabriel could calclass="underline"
The dead in Christ rise first, and Reub.
Had risen first of all.
He sat beside the Throne of Flame
As, to the trumpet's sound,
Four statesmen of the Party Came
And ranged themselves around—
Pure spirits shining like the sun,
From taint and blemish free—
Great William Stow was there for one,
And George A. Knight for three.
Souls less indubitably white
Approached with anxious air,
Judge Blake at head of them by right
Of having been a Mayor.
His ermine he had donned again,
Long laid away in gums.
'Twas soiled a trifle by the stains
Of politicians' thumbs.
Then Knight addressed the Judge of Heaven:
"Your Honor, would it trench
On custom here if Blake were given
A seat upon the Bench?"
'Twas done. "Tom Shannon!" Peter cried.
He came, without ado,
In forma pauperis was tried,
And was acquitted, too!
Stow rose, remarking: "I concur."
Lloyd added: "That suits us.
I move Tom's nomination, sir,
Be made unanimous."
TIDINGS OF GOOD
Old Nick from his place of last resort
Came up and looked the world over.
He saw how the grass of the good was short
And the wicked lived in clover.
And he gravely said: "This is all, all wrong,
And never by me intended.
If to me the power should ever belong
I shall have this thing amended."
He looked so solemn and good and wise
As he made this observation
That the men who heard him believed their eyes
Instead of his reputation.
So they bruited the matter about, and each
Reported the words as nearly
As memory served—with additional speech
To bring out the meaning clearly.
The consequence was that none understood,
And the wildest rumors started
Of something intended to help the good
And injure the evil-hearted.
Then Robert Morrow was seen to smile
With a bright and lively joyance.
"A man," said he, "that is free from guile
Will now be free from annoyance.
"The Featherstones doubtless will now increase
And multiply like the rabbits,
While jailers, deputy sheriffs, police,
And writers will form good habits.
"The widows more easily robbed will be,
And no juror will ever heed 'em,
But open his purse to my eloquent plea
For security, gain, or freedom."
When Benson heard of the luck of the good
(He was eating his dinner) he muttered:
"It cannot help me, for 'tis understood
My bread is already buttered.
"My plats of surveys are all false, they say,
But that cannot greatly matter
To me, for I'll tell the jurors that they
May lick, if they please, my platter."
ARBORICULTURE
[Californians are asking themselves how Joaquin Miller will make the trees grow which he proposes to plant in the form of a Maltese cross on Goat Island, in San Francisco Bay.
You may say they won't grow, and say they'll decay—
Say it again till you're sick of the say,
Get up on your ear, blow your blaring bazoo
And hire a hall to proclaim it; and you
May stand on a stump with a lifted hand
As a pine may stand or a redwood stand,
And stick to your story and cheek it through.
But I point with pride to the far divide
Where the Snake from its groves is seen to glide—
To Mariposa's arboreal suit,
And the shaggy shoulders of Shasta Butte,
And the feathered firs of Siskiyou;
And I swear as I sit on my marvelous hair—
I roll my marvelous eyes and swear,
And sneer, and ask where would your forests be
To-day if it hadn't been for me!
Then I rise tip-toe, with a brow of brass,
Like a bully boy with an eye of glass;
I look at my gum sprouts, red and blue,
And I say it loud and I say it low:
"They know their man and you bet they'll grow!"
A SILURIAN HOLIDAY
'Tis Master Fitch, the editor;
He takes an holiday.
Now wherefore, venerable sir,
So resolutely gay?
He lifts his head, he laughs aloud,
Odzounds! 'tis drear to see!
"Because the Boodle-Scribbler crowd
Will soon be far from me.
"Full many a year I've striven well
To freeze the caitiffs out
By making this good town a Hell,
But still they hang about.
"They maken mouths and eke they grin
At the dollar limit game;
And they are holpen in that sin
By many a wicked dame.
"In sylvan bowers hence I'll dwell
My bruisèd mind to ease.
Farewell, ye urban scenes, farewell!
Hail, unfamiliar trees!"
Forth Master Fitch did bravely hie,
And all the country folk
Besought him that he come not nigh
The deadly poison oak!
He smiled a cheerful smile (the day
Was straightway overcast)—
The poison oak along his way
Was blighted as he passed!