Part 31 (1/2)

They stop: the man to lower his feet is seen And the tired beast, withdrawing from between, Mounts, as they start again, the biped's neck, And scarce the crowd can say which one's on deck.

A GROWLER

Judge Shafter, you're an aged man, I know, And learned too, I doubt not, in the law; And a head white with many a winter's snow (I wish, however that your heart would thaw) Claims reverence and honor; but the jaw That's always wagging with a word malign, Nagging and scolding every one in sight As harshly as a jaybird in a pine, And with as little sense of wrong and right As animates that irritable creature, Is not a very venerable feature.

You d.a.m.n all witnesses, all jurors too (And swear at the attorneys, I suppose, But _that's_ commendable) ”till all is blue”; And what it's all about, the good Lord knows, Not you; but all the hotter, fiercer glows Your wrath for that--as dogs the louder howl With only moons.h.i.+ne to incite their rage, And bears with more ferocious menace growl, Even when their food is flung into the cage.

Reform, your Honor, and forbear to curse us.

Lest all men, hearing you, cry: ”_Ecce ursus_!”

AD MOODIUM

Tut! Moody, do not try to show To gentlemen and ladies That if they have not ”Faith,” they'll go Headlong to Hades.

Faith is belief; and how can I Have that by being willing?

This dime I cannot, though I try, Believe a s.h.i.+lling.

Perhaps you can. If so, pray do-- Believe you own it, also.

But what seems evidence to you I may not call so.

Heaven knows I'd like the Faith to think This little vessel's contents Are liquid gold. I see 'tis ink For writing nonsense.

Minds p.r.o.ne to Faith, however, may Come now and then to sorrow: They put their trust in truth to-day, In lies to-morrow.

No doubt the happiness is great To think as one would wish to; But not to swallow every bait, As certain fish do.

To think a snake a cord, I hope, Would bolden and delight me; But some day I might think a rope Would chase and bite me.

”Curst Reason! Faith forever blest!”

You're crying all the season.

Well, who decides that Faith is best?

Why, Mr. Reason.

He's right or wrong; he answers you According to your folly, And says what you have taught him to, Like any polly.

AN EPITAPH

Hangman's hands laid in this tomb an Imp of Satan's getting, whom an Ancient legend says that woman Never bore--he owed his birth To Sin herself. From h.e.l.l to Earth She brought the brat in secret state And laid him at the Golden gate, And they named him Henry Vrooman.

While with mortals here he stayed, His father frequently he played.

Raised his birth-place and in other Playful ways begot his mother.

A SPADE

[The spade that was used to turn the first sod in the construction of the Central Pacific Railroad is to be exhibited at the New Orleans Exposition.--_Press Telegram_.]

Precursor of our woes, historic spade, What dismal records burn upon thy blade!