America should heed. And then

The doubtful French beyond the sea'T would make them truer, nobler men To know how this may be."

"It's twenty years or more," urged he,
"Nay, that I know, good guide of mine;
But lead me where this wife may be,
And I a pilgrim at a shrine.
And kneeling, as a pilgrim true"-
He, scowling, shouted in my ear;
"I cannot show my wife to you;

She's dead this twenty year."

FABLE

Joaquin Miller.

THE mountain and the squirrel

Had a quarrel,

And the former called the latter "Little Prig";

Bun replied,

"You are doubtless very big;

But all sorts of things and weather

Must be taken in together,

To make up a year

And a sphere,

And I think it no disgrace

To occupy my place.

If I'm not so large as you,
You are not so small as I,
And not half so spry.

I'll not deny you make

A very pretty squirrel track;

Talents differ; all is well and wisely put;

If I cannot carry forests on my back,

Neither can you crack a nut."

Ralph Waldo Emerson.

Hoch! Der Kaiser

291

HOCH! DER KAISER

DER Kaiser of dis Faterland

Und Gott on high all dings command,
Ve two-ach! Don't you understand?
Myself-und Gott.

Vile some men sing der power divine,
Mine soldiers sing, "Der Wacht am Rhine,"
Und drink der health in Rhenish wine
Of Me-und Gott.

Dere's France, she swaggers all aroundt;
She's ausgespield, of no account,
To much we think she don't amount;
Myself-und Gott.

She vill not dare to fight again,
But if she shouldt, I'll show her blain
Dot Elsass und (in French) Lorraine
Are mein-by Gott!

Dere's grandma dinks she's nicht small beer,
Mit Boers und such she interfere;

She'll learn none owns dis hemisphere
But me-und Gott!

She dinks, good frau, fine ships she's got

Und soldiers mit der scarlet goat.

Ach! We could knock them! Pouf! Like dot,
Myself-mit Gott!

In dimes of peace, brebare for wars,
I bear the spear and helm of Mars,
Und care not for a thousand Czars,
Myself-mit Gott!

In fact, I humor efery whim,
With aspect dark and visage grim;
Gott pulls mit Me, and I mit him,
Myself-und Gott!

Rodney Blake.

WHAT MR. ROBINSON THINKS

GINERAL B. is a sensible man;

He stays to his home an' looks arter his folks;
He draws his furrer ez straight ez he can,
An' into nobody's tater-patch pokes;
But John P.

Robinson, he

Sez he wunt vote for Gineral B.

My! ain't it terrible? Wut shall we do?

We can't never choose him, o' course-that's flat:
Guess we shall hev to come round (don't you?),
An' go in for thunder an' guns, an' all that;
Fer John P.

Robinson, he

Sez he wunt vote for Gineral B.

Gineral C. is a dreffle smart man:

He's been on all sides that give places or pelf; But consistency still was a part of his planHe's been true to one party, and that is himself; So John P.

Robinson, he

Sez he shall vote fer Gineral C.

Gineral C. goes in for the war;

He don't vally principle mor'n an old cud;
What did God make us raytional creeturs fer,
But glory an' gunpowder, plunder an' blood?
So John P.
Robinson, he

Sez he shall vote fer Gineral C.

We're gettin' on nicely up here to our village,

With good old idees o' wut's right an' wut ain't;

We kind o' thought Christ went against war and pillage,

What Mr. Robinson Thinks

An' that eppyletts worn't the best mark of a saint;

But John P.

Robinson, he

Sez this kind o' thing's an exploded idee.

The side of our country must ollers be took,

An' President Pulk, you know, he is our country; An' the angel that writes all our sins in a book, Puts the debit to him, an' to us the per contry; An' John P.

Robinson, he

Sez this is his view o' the thing to a T.

Parson Wilbur he calls all these arguments lies;
Sez they're nothin' on airth but jest fee, faw, fum;
An' that all this big talk of our destinies

Is half on it ignorance, an' t'other half rum;
But John P.
Robinson, he

293

Sez it ain't no such thing; an', of course, so must we.

Parson Wilbur sez he never heered in his life

Thet the Apostles rigg'd out in their swallow-tail coats, An' marched round in front of a drum an' a fife,

To git some on 'em office, an' some on 'em votes;
But John P.
Robinson, he

Sez they didn't know everythin' down in Judee.

Wal, it's a marcy we've gut folks to tell us
The rights an' the wrongs o' these matters, I vow-
God sends country lawyers an' other wise fellers
To drive the world's team wen it gits in a slough;
For John P.
Robinson, he

Sez the world'll go right, ef he hollers out Gee!

James Russell Lowell.

THE CANDIDATE'S CREED

BIGLOW PAPERS

I DU believe in Freedom's cause,
Ez fur away ez Paris is;

I love to see her stick her claws

In them infarnal Pharisees; It's wal enough agin a king

To dror resolves and triggers,—

But libbaty's a kind o' thing

Thet don't agree with niggers.

I du believe the people want
A tax on teas and coffees,
Thet nothin' ain't extravygunt,—
Purvidin' I'm in office;

For I hev loved my country sence

My eye-teeth filled their sockets, An' Uncle Sam I reverence, Partic❜larly his pockets.

I du believe in any plan
O' levyin' the taxes,
Ez long ez, like a lumberman,
I git jest wut I axes:

I go free-trade thru thick an' thin,
Because it kind o' rouses

The folks to vote-and keep us in
Our quiet custom-houses.

I du believe it's wise an' good
To sen' out furrin missions,
Thet is, on sartin understood

An' orthydox conditions;

I mean nine thousan' dolls. per ann., Nine thousan' more fer outfit,

An' me to recommend a man

The place 'ould jest about fit.