John Smith, U.S.A. | Page 6

pedigree is noble--they used my grandsire's skin?To piece a coat for Patterson to warm himself within--?Tom Patterson of Denver; no ermine can compare?With the grizzled robe that democratic statesman loves to wear! Of such a grandsire I have come, and in the County Cole,?All up an ancient cottonwood, our family had its hole--?We envied not the liveried pomp nor proud estate of kings As we hustled around from day to day in search of bugs and things.
And when the darkness fell around, a mocking bird was nigh, Inviting pleasant, soothing dreams with his sweet lullaby; And sometimes came the yellow dog to brag around all night That nary 'coon could wollop him in a stand-up barrel fight; We simply smiled and let him howl, for all Mizzourians know That ary 'coon can beat a dog if the 'coon gets half a show! But we'd nestle close and shiver when the mellow moon had ris'n And the hungry nigger sought our lair in hopes to make us his'n!
Raised as I was, it's hardly strange I pine for those old days-- I cannot get acclimated or used to German ways;?The victuals that they give me here may all be very fine?For vulgar, common palates, but they will not do for mine! The 'coon that's been used to stanch democratic cheer?Will not put up with onion tarts and sausage steeped in beer! No; let the rest, for meat and drink, accede to slavish terms, But send _me_ back from whence I came and let me grub for worms!
They come (these gaping Teutons do) on Sunday afternoons?And wonder what I am--alas! there are no German 'coons!?For, if there were, I might still swing at home from tree to tree, A symbol of democracy that's woolly, blythe and free.?And yet for what my captors are I would not change my lot, For _I_ have tasted liberty--these others, _they_ have not! So, even caged, the democratic 'coon more glory feels?Than the conscript German puppets with their swords about their heels!
Well, give my love to Crittenden, to Clardy and O'Neill,?To Jasper Burke and Colonel Jones, and tell 'em how I feel; My compliments to Cockrill, Munford, Switzler, Hasbrook, Vest, Bill Nelson, J. West Goodwin, Jedge Broadhead and the rest; Bid them be steadfast in the faith and pay no heed at all To Joe McCullagh's badinage or Chauncy Filley's gall;?And urge them to retaliate for what I'm suffering here?By cinching all the alien class that wants its Sunday beer.
THE BIBLIOMANIAC'S BRIDE.
The women folk are like to books--?Most pleasing to the eye,?Whereon if anybody looks?He feels disposed to buy.
I hear that many are for sale--?Those that record no dates,?And such editions as regale?The view with colored plates.
Of every quality and grade?And size they may be found--?Quite often beautifully made,?As often poorly bound.
Now, as for me, had I my choice,?I'd choose no folio tall,?But some octavo to rejoice?My sight and heart withal.
As plump and pudgy as a snipe--?Well worth her weight in gold,?Of honest, clean, conspicuous type,?And just the size to hold!
With such a volume for my wife,?How should I keep and con??How like a dream should speed my life?Unto its colophon!
Her frontispiece should be more fair?Than any colored plate;?Blooming with health she would not care?To extra-illustrate.
And in her pages there should be?A wealth of prose and verse,?With now and then a jeu d'esprit--?But nothing ever worse!
Prose for me when I wished for prose,?Verse, when to verse inclined--?Forever bringing sweet repose?To body, heart, and mind.
Oh, I should bind this priceless prize?In bindings full and fine,?And keep her where no human eyes?Should see her charms, but mine!
With such a fair unique as this,?What happiness abounds!?Who--who could paint my rapturous bliss,?My joy unknown to Lowndes!
EZRA J. M'MANUS TO A SOUBRETTE.
'Tis years, soubrette, since last we met,?And yet, ah yet, how swift and tender?My thoughts go back in Time's dull track?To you, sweet pink of female gender!?I shall not say--though others may--?That time all human joy enhances;?But the same old thrill comes to me still?With memories of your songs and dances.
Soubrettish ways these latter days?Invite my praise, but never get it;?I still am true to yours and you--?My record's made--I'll not upset it!?The pranks they play, the things they say--?I'd blush to put the like on paper;?And I'll avow they don't know how?To dance, so awkwardly they caper!
I used to sit down in the pit?And see you flit like elf or fairy?Across the stage, and I'll engage?No moonbeam sprite were half so airy.?Lo! everywhere about me there?Were rivals reeking with pomatum,?And if perchance they caught a glance?In song or dance, how did I hate 'em!
At half-past ten came rapture--then?Of all those men was I most happy,?For wine and things and food for kings?And tete-a-tetes were on the tapis.?Did you forget, my fair soubrette,?Those suppers in the Cafe Rector--?The cozy nook where we