Part 4 (1/2)

On golden-yellow oft my fancy dwells.

'Tis almost G.o.dlike, as it sparkles through The effervescent fizz; and wondrous spells It casts o'er me when coined in dollars, too.

Hence, friend, it is I cannot specify What hues particular my joys enhance.

I like them all; their popularity At special times depends on circ.u.mstance.

_CONTENTMENT IN NATURE_

I WOULD not change my joys for those Of Emperors and Kings.

What has my gentle friend the rose Told them, if aught, do you suppose- The rose that tells me things?

What secrets have they had with trees?

What romps with gra.s.sy spears?

What know they of the mysteries Of b.u.t.terflies and honey-bees, Who whisper in my ears?

What says the sunbeam unto them?

What tales have brooklets told?

Is there within their diadem A single rival to the gem The dewy daisies hold?

What sympathy have they with birds Whose songs are songs of mine?

Do they e'er hear, as though in words 'Twas lisped, the message of the herds Of grazing, lowing kine?

Ah no! Give me no lofty throne, But just what Nature yields.

Let me but wander on, alone If need be, so that all my own Are woods and dales and fields.

_THE HEROIC GUNNER_

When the order was given to withdraw from battle for breakfast, one of the gun-captains, a privileged character, begged Commodore Dewey to let them keep on fighting until ”we've wiped 'em out.”-_War Anecdote in Daily Paper._

AT the battle of Manila, In the un-Pacific sea, Stood a gunner with his mad up Just as far as it could be- Stood a gunner brave and ready For the hated enemy.

Near the Isles of Philopena Raged the battle all the morn, And the plucky Spanish sailors By the shot and sh.e.l.l were torn; And the flag that floated o'er them To oblivion was borne.

Every cannon belched projectiles, Every cannon breathed forth h.e.l.l, Every cannon mowed the foeman From the deck into the swell, When amid the din of battle Rang the silvery breakfast-bell.

”Stop your shooting! Come to breakfast!”

Cried the gallant Commodore.

”After eating we will let them Have a rousing old encore.

Stow your lanyards, O my Jackies; Let the cannon cease to roar.”