John Smith, U.S.A. | Page 5

papers on a Jersey City route-- And then he recollected hearin' Mr.
Laflin say
That he fired a man named Whoppers fur bein' drunk one
day, Which, with more likker _underneath_ than money in his vest,
Had started on a freight train fur the great 'nd boundin' West-- But
further information or statistics he had none
Uv the man who'd
"worked with Dana on the Noo York Sun."
We dropped the matter quietly 'nd never made no fuss--
When we get
played fer suckers--why, that's a horse on us! But every now 'nd then
we Denver fellers have to laff
To hear some other paper boast uv
havin' on its staff
A man who's "worked with Dana"--'nd then we
fellers wink
And pull our hats down on our eyes 'nd set around 'nd
think. It seems like Dana couldn't be as smart as people say
If he
educates so many folks 'nd lets 'em get away;
And, as for us, in future
we'll be very apt to shun
The man who "worked with Dana on the
Noo York Sun"!
But, bless ye, Mr. Dana! may you live a thousan' years,
To sort o'
keep things lively in this vale of human tears; An' may I live a thousan',
too--a thousan', less a day,
For I shouldn't like to be on earth to hear
you'd passed away. And when it comes your time to go you'll need no
Latin chaff Nor biographic data put in your epitaph;
But one straight

line of English and of truth will let folks know The homage 'nd the
gratitude 'nd reverence they owe;
You'll need no epitaph but this:
"Here sleeps the man who run That best 'nd brightest paper, the Noo
York Sun."
A DEMOCRATIC HYMN.
Republicans of differing views
Are pro or con protection;
If that's
the issue they would choose,
Why, we have no objection.
The issue
we propose concerns
Our hearts and homes more nearly:
A wife to
whom the nation turns
And venerates so dearly.
So, confident of
what shall be,
Our gallant host advances,
Giving three cheers for
Grover C.
And three times three for Frances!
So gentle is that honored dame,
And fair beyond all telling,
The
very mention of her name
Sets every breast to swelling.
She wears
no mortal crown of gold--
No courtiers fawn around her--
But with
their love young hearts and old
In loyalty have crowned her--
And
so with Grover and his bride
We're proud to take our chances,
And
it's three times three for the twain give we--
But particularly for
Frances!
THE BLUE AND THE GRAY.
The Blue and the Gray collided one day
In the future great town of
Missouri,
And if all that we hear is the truth, 'twould appear
That
they tackled each other with fury.
While the weather waxed hot they hove and they sot,
Like the scow
in the famous old story,
And what made the fight an enjoyable sight

Was the fact that they fought con amore.
They as participants fought in such wise as was taught,
As beseemed
the old days of the dragons,
When you led to the dance and defended
with lance
The damsel you pledged in your flagons.

In their dialect way the knights of the Gray
Gave a flout at the
buckeye bandana,
And the buckeye came back with a gosh-awful
whack,
And that's what's the matter with Hannah.
This resisted attack took the Grays all a-back,
And feeling less coltish
and frisky,
They resolved to elate the cause of their state,
And also
their persons, with whisky.
Having made ample use of the treacherous juice,
Which some folks
say stings like an adder,
They went back again at the handkerchief
men,
Who slowly got madder and madder.
You can bet it was h--l in the Southern Hotel
And elsewhere, too
many to mention,
But the worst of it all was achieved in the hall

Where the President held his convention.
They ripped and they hewed and they, sweating imbrued,
Volleyed
and bellowed and thundered;
There was nothing to do until these
yawpers got through,
So the rest of us waited and wondered.
As the result of these frays it appears that the Grays,
Who once were
as chipper as daisies,
Have changed their complexion to one of
dejection,
And at present are bluer than blazes.
IT IS THE PRINTER'S FAULT.
In Mrs. Potter's latest play
The costuming is fine;
Her waist is made
decollete--
Her skirt is new design.
SUMMER HEAT.
Nay, why discuss this summer heat,
Of which vain people tell?
Oh,
sinner, rather were it meet
To fix thy thoughts on hell!
The punishment ordained for you
In that infernal spot
Is het by
Satan's impish crew
And kept forever hot.

Sumatra might be reckoned nice,
And Tophet passing cool,
And
Sodom were a cake of ice
Beside that sulphur pool.
An awful stench and dismal wail
Come from the broiling souls,

Whilst Satan with his fireproof tail
Stirs up the brimstone coals.
Oh, sinner, on this end 'tis meet
That thou shouldst ponder well,
For
what, oh, what, is worldly heat
Unto the heat of hell?
PLAINT OF THE MISSOURI 'COON IN THE BERLIN
ZOOLOGICAL GARDENS.
Friend, by the way you hump yourself you're from the States, I