Volume X Part 28 (2/2)

BY EDWIN L. SABIN

This is Her brother; angel-faced,-- Barring freckles and turned-up nose,-- Demon-minded--a word well based, As nearer acquaintance will disclose.

From outward guise the most sage of men Would never guess what within lies hid!

If years we reckon, in age scant ten; If cunning, old as a pyramid.

This is Her brother, who sticks and sticks Tighter than even a brother should; Br.i.m.m.i.n.g over with teasing tricks, Hardened to bribe and ”_please_ be good”; And who, when at last afar we deem, In some sly recess but lurks in wait To note the progress of love's young dream-- And we learn of his presence too late, too late!

This is Her brother, with watchful eyes, Piercing, shameless, and indiscreet, With ears wide open for soft replies And sounds that are sibilant and sweet!

With light approach (not a lynx so still), With figure meanly invisible, With threatening voice and iron will, And shrill demands or he'll ”go and tell!”

This is Her brother--and I submit To paying out quarters and sundry dimes; This is Her brother--whose urchin wit Moves me to wrath a thousand times; This is Her brother--and hence I smile And jest and cringe at his tyranny, And call him ”smart”! But just wait a while Till he's _my_ brother--and then we'll see!

FOOTNOTES:

[6] Lippincott's Magazine.

THE JACKPOT

BY IRONQUILL

I sauntered down through Europe, I wandered up the Nile, I sought the mausoleums where the mummied Pharaohs lay; I found the sculptured tunnel Where quietly in style Imperial sarcophagi concealed the royal clay.

Above the vault was graven deep the motto of the crown: ”Who openeth a jackpot may not always rake it down.”

It's strange what deep impressions Are made by little things.

Within the granite tunneling I saw a dingy cleft; It was a cryptic chamber.

I drew, and got four kings.

But on a brief comparison I laid them down and left, Because upon the granite stood that sentence bold and brown: ”Who openeth a jackpot may not always rake it down.”

I make this observation: A man with such a hand Has psychologic feelings that perhaps he should not feel, But I was somewhat rattled And in a foreign land, And had some dim suspicions, as I had not watched the deal.

And there was that inscription, too, in words that seemed to frown: ”Who openeth a jackpot may not always rake it down.”

These letters were not graven In Anglo-Saxon tongue; Perhaps if you had seen them you had idly pa.s.sed them by.

I studied erudition When I was somewhat young; I recognized the language when it struck my cla.s.sic eye; I saw a maxim suitable for monarch or for clown: ”Who openeth a jackpot may not always rake it down.”

Detesting metaphysics, I can not help but put A philosophic moral where I think it ought to hang; I've seen a ”boom” for office Grow feeble at the root, Then change into a boomlet--then to a boomerang.

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