The Devil stood before the gate Of Heaven. He had a single mate: Behind him, in his shadow, slunk Clay Sheets in a perspiring funk. ‘Saint Peter, see this season tic…

SHE: I’m told that men have sometimes g… Too confidential, and Have said to one another what They-well, you understand.

As through the blue expanse he ski… On joyous wings, the late Frank Hutchings overtakes Miss S… Both bound for Heaven’s high gate… In life they loved and (God knows…

The lily cranks, the lily cranks, The loppy, loony lasses! They multiply in rising ranks To execute their solemn pranks, They moon along in masses.

Pope-choker Pixley sat in his den A-chewin’ upon his quid. He thought it was Leo Thirteen, a… He bit it intenser, he did. The amber which overflew from the…

So, in the Sunday papers _you_, D… Damn, all great Englishmen in Eng… I am no Englishman, but in my rea… A rogue shall never rail where her… You are the man, if I mistake you…

Let lowly themes engage my humble… Stupidities of critics, not of men… Be it mine once more the maunderin… Of the expounders’ self-directed r… Their wire-drawn fancies, finicall…

Saint Peter, standing at the Gate… A soul whose body Death had latel… A pleasant soul as ever was, he se… His step was joyous and his visage… ‘Good morning, Peter.’ There was…

For Gladstone’s portrait five tho… Were paid, 't is said, to Sir Joh… I cannot help thinking that such f… Transcended reason’s uttermost bou… For it seems to me uncommonly quee…

That from _you_, neighbor! to whos… Each rhyming literary knacker scou… His cart-compelling Pegasus to tr… As folly, fame or famine smartly u… Admonished by the stimulating goad…

It is a politician man He draweth near his end, And friends weep round that partis… Of every man the friend. Between the Known and the Unknown

Dimly apparent, through the gloom Of Market-street’s opaque simoom, A queue of people, parti-sexed, Awaiting the command of ‘Next!’ A sidewalk booth, a dingy sign:

In contact, lo! the flint and stee… By sharp and flame, the thought re… That he the metal, she the stone, Had cherished secretly alone.

Writer folk across the bay Take the pains to see and say All their upward palms in air: 'Joaquin Miller’s cut his hair!' Hasten, hasten, writer folk

Well, James McMillan Shafter, yo… At least you were when last I kne… And if the people since have made… I did not notice it. I’ve much to… Without endeavoring to follow, thr…