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Why this is indeed a show! It has called the dead out of the
earth! The old grave-yards of the hills have hurried to see! Phantoms ! phantoms countless by flank and rear ! Cocked hats of mothy mould ! crutches made of mist ! Arms in slings! old men leaning on young men's shoulders ! What troubles you, Yankee phantoms? What is all this chattering
of bare gums? Does the ague convulse your limbs? Do you mistake your crutches
for fire-locks, and level them? If you blind your eyes with tears, you will not see the President's
marshal ; If f you groan such groans, you might balk the government cannon.
For shame, old maniacs ! • Bring down those tossed arms, and let
your white hair be ; Here gape your great grand-sons-their wives gaze at them from
the windows, See how well dressed-see how orderly they conduct themselves.
Worse and worse! Can't you stand it? Are you retreating ?
Retreat then! Pell-mell !
it is, gentlemen of Boston ?
I will whisper it to the Mayor-hé shall send a committee to Eng.
land; They shall get a grant from the Parliament, go with a cart to the
royal vault-haste ! Dig out King George's coffin, unwrap him quick from the grave
clothes, box up his bones for a journey ; Find a swift Yankee clipper-here is freight for you, black-bellied
clipper, Up with your anchor! shake out your sails ! steer straight toward
Boston bay Now call for the President's marshal again, bring out the govern
ment cannon, Fetch home the roarers from Congress, make another procession,
guard it with foot and dragoons, This centre-piece for them : Look! all orderly citizens-look from the windows, women!
The committee open the box, set up the regal ribs, glue those that
will not stay, Clap the skull on top of the ribs, and clap a crown on top of the
skull. You have got your revenge, old buster! The crown is come to its
own, and more than its own. Stick your hands in your pockets, Jonathan-you are a made man
from this day ; You are mighty cute—and here is one of your bargains.
CHARLES G. LELAND. (Born in 1824, of a family which has been settled in America since about 1570, and to which the antiquary John Leland belonged. Our author studied chiefly in Europe, and was a writer of position long before his Breitmann Ballads (the semi-German patois of which is well known in his native Philadelphia) set all sorts of people laughing. Meister Karl's Sketch-book, and The Poetry and Mystery of Dreams, are two of his principal works.]
There's a time to be jolly, a time to repent,
There was runnin' and cursin', but Jim yelled out
Over all the infernal roar, “I'll hold her nozzle agin the bank
Till the last galoot's ashore.”
Jim Bludso's voice was heard,
And knowed he would keep his word.
Afore the smokestacks fell,And Bludso's ghost went up alone
In the smoke of the Prairie Belle.
He weren't no saint-but at jedgment
I'd run my chance with Jim, 'Longside of some pious gentlemen
That wouldn't shook hands with him.
And went for it thar and then ;
On a man that died for men.
THE MYSTERY OF GILGAL.
The darkest, strangest mystery
Tom Taggart's, of Gilgal.
But I'll tell the yarn to youuns.
And ca’mly drinked and jawed.
Remarked “A whisky-skin."
I'll leave the choice to you.
Phinn to the drink put forth his hand;
Jest drap that whisky-skin.”
Than old Jedge Phinn the country round.
Knows their own whisky-skins !"
My bloomin' shrub, with you.'
Which caused him great surprise.
Like bull-pups, cheered the furse.
Alone to spellin'-school.
WHO GOT THE WHISKY-SKIN ?
EDMUND CLARENCE STEDMAN. [Born about 1835. Author of The Blameless Prince, and other Poems, pube lished in 1869, and of at least two other volumes of poetry, previously issued).
PAN IN WALL STREET.
Looks over Wall Street's mingled nations, —
To throng for trade and last quotations-
Outrival, in the ears of people,
From Trinity's undaunted steeple ;