TO PAY THE TAX.
CLEVELAND PLAIN DEALER.
She sits alone in the window seat,
Watching the soldiers who throng the street.
A tear clings fast to her gentle eye,
Her bosom heaves with a sudden sigh,
And her slender fingers that clutch the sill
Wave a proud adieu with a royal will.
But her mouth in its motions never slacks
O'er the gum she sheweth to pay the tax.
There are women who go to the battle front,
Women in hospitals bearing the brunt,
Women who serve 'neath the Red Cross sign,
Women whose mission seems half divine,
But Annabel sits at the window high,
She cannot go where the bullets fly,
But steadily onward through packs and packs
She cheweth the gum to pay the tax.
CHICKAMAUGA-1898.
BALTIMORE NEWS.
They are camped on Chickamauga!
Once again the white tents gleam
On that field where vanished heroes
Sleep the sleep that knows no dream.
There are shadows all about them
Of the ghostly troops to-day,
But they light the common campfire-
Those who wore the blue and gray.
Where the pines of Georgia tower,
Where the mountains kiss the sky,
On their arms the Nation's warriors
Wait to hear the battle-cry.
Wait together, friends and brothers,
And the heroes 'neath their feet
Sleep the long and dreamless slumber
Where the flowers are blooming sweet.
Sentries, pause, yon shadow challenge!
Rock-ribbed Thomas goes that way-
He who fought the foe unyielding
In that awful battle fray.
Yonder pass the shades of heroes,
And they follow where Bragg leads
Through the meadows and the river,
But no ghost the sentry heeds.
Field of fame, a patriot army
Treads thy sacred sod to-day!
And they'll face a common foeman,
Those who wore the blue and gray,
And they'll fight for common country,
And they'll charge to victory
'Neath the folds of one brave banner-
Starry banner of the free!
They are camped on Chickamauga,
Where the green tents of the dead
Turn the soil into a glory
Where a Nation's heart once bled;
But they're clasping hands together
On this storied field of strife-
Brothers brave who meet to battle
In the freedom-war of life!
CLEVELAND LEADER.
They scoffed when we lined up with Teddy,
They said we were dudes and all that;
They imagined that "Cholly" and "Fweddie"
Would faint at the drop of a hat!
But let them look there in the ditches,
Blood-stained by the swells in the van,
And know that a chap may have riches
And still be a man.
They said that we'd wilt under fire,
And run if the foeman said "Boo!"
But a fellow may have a rich sire
And still be a patriot, too!
Look there where we met twice our number,
Where the life-blood of dudes drenched the earth!
The swells who lie in their last slumber
Prove what we are worth!
They laughed when we said we were going,
They scoffed when we answered the call;
We might do at tennis and rowing,
But as warriors!-0, no-not at all!
Ah, let them look there in the ditches,
Blood-stained by the dudes in the van,
And learn that a chap may have riches
And still be a man!
TO MR. CERVERA.
BALTIMORE NEWS.
Thervera, oh! Thervera!
You have got uth in a muth;
And the papers, oh, Thervera,
They are raithing thuch a futh!
All the Union is exthited,
Public thentiment runth high-
But, Thervera, you can calm uth,
Wath it Thampthon, thir, or Thley?
Thervera, oh! Thervera!
Won't you thet uth at our eath?
Tell uth who, thir, thent you thcooting
From the Carribean seath?
We are waiting, sir we're waiting,
While you fix up your reply-
Pleath, Thervera, won't you telluth,
Wath it Thampthon, thir, or Thley?
Thervera, oh! Thervera!
We have been so thad and thore
Ever thince our warthips thent you
Hard upon the Cuban shore.
Rumor hath been hard at work, thir,
Mixing thingth, and that ith why
We are anxiouth that you tell uth
Wath it Thampthon, thir, or Thley?
Thervera, oh! Thervera!
You were prethent at the time;
You were there from thart to finith,
All throughout that day thublime.
Tho', to thettle all dithcuthion,
Thir, who wath it caught your eye
On that well-remembered morning?
Wath it Thampthon, thir, or Thley?
The discussin' of the war skeer in a quiet sort of way
Is the program up at Deadman, an' we gather every day
On the shady side of Murphy's fur to interchange our views,
An' to offer dissertations on the latest stirrin' news.
Some are keen to see a rumpus, some are more conservative,
An' the screenin' of opinions through the oratoric sieve
Is an interestin' pastime, an' we make the laughter hum
In an eloquentish manner when the Denver papers come.
All our argyments are handled in a pleasant, social way,
Never yit have had a feller make a pugilistic play,
Fur there isn't one among us but 'd buckle on his gun
If ol' Uncle Sam 'd tell us there is fightin' to be done.
Allus keep Ol' Glory flyin' from the dimmycratic pole,
An' the reckless cuss had better be a-huntin' fur a hole
That 'd cast insinuations at the flag a-wavin' there
In its stars an' stripy beauty in the sublunary air.
While dissectin' of the question in quite formidable words,
In a way that 'd do credit to the Yankee house o' lords,
Ol' Don Manuel Pacheo, from his rancho up the Black,
Come a-ridin' in to Deadmon on his brindle-colored jack.
With a surly "Buenos Dias" an' a Mexican salute
He dismounted sort o' lordly from his shaggy little brute,
An' excitedly perceeded fur to give his feelin's vent,
Makin' gestures quite improper in a friendly argument.
He asserted that the Spaniards were the cream o' all the earth,
An' express'd the pride that filled him that he was of Spanish birth;
Said the rash Americanos was a totin' things too far,
An' would get it in the gullet if they started up a war.
As fur sufferin' in Cuby, dam 'em, they had ort to die
Fur rebellin' 'gainst a guvament the best beneath the sky,
An' he hoped to poco tempo see the royal flag o' Spain
Floatin' over this 'ere country from the 'Frisco bay to Maine.
We accepted of his lingo in a quiet sort o' way,
All a-thinkin' it was proper fur to let him have his say,
But he had to run a blazer at the Yankee Doodle flag
By assertin' it was nothin' but a miserable rag.
God! that hit us in the center, an' it give us such a pain
That we laid our loyal clutches on the gentleman from Spain,
An' we run him to a jack-oak in the rear o' Murphy's store,
An' the Spanish-Yankee question interested him no more.
THE RECRUIT SOLILOQUY.
CLEVELAND LEADER.
I remember, I remember
How I used to sit and scold
When, on getting down to breakfast,
I would find the coffee cold;
How I used to turn my nose up
If the steak was done too rare
But oh for home and mother,
And the dear old bill of fare.
I remember, I remember
How I always would upbraid
Myself for eating rarebits
That my little sweetheart made;
How I used to worry over
My digestion night and day,
And the pills I used to punish
To drive fancied ills away.
I remember, I remember
How I used to sit and scoff
When I fancied that the butter
Must be "just a little off;"
How I scorned the lowly biscuits
That my sister used to make!
And the things I said concerning
Her attempts at jelly cake!
Oh it may be childish weakness
That possesses me, but I
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