Thy flesh to earth, thy soul to G… We gave, O gallant brother; And o’er thy grave the awkward squ… Fired into one another!

DRAMATIS PERSONAE. MOUNTWAVE _a Politician_ HARDHAND _a Workingman_ TOK BAK _a Chinaman_ SATAN _a Friend to Mountwave_

Cried Age to Youth: 'Abate your… The distance hither’s brief indeed… But Youth pressed on without dela… The shout had reached but half the…

What! Pixley, must I hear you cal… Of all the vices that infest your… Was’t not enough that lately you d… Your money-worship in the ears of… Still must you crack your brazen c…

See, Lord, fanatics all arrayed For revolution! To foil their villainous crusade Unsheathe again the sacred blade Of persecution.

Lord of the tempest, pray refrain From leveling this church again. Now in its doom, as so you’ve will… We acquiesce. But _you’ll_ rebuil…

In Congress once great Mowther sh… Debating weighty matters; Now into an asylum thrown, He vacuously chatters. If in that legislative hall

Says Gerald Massey: ‘When I writ… Of souls of the departed guides my… How strange that poems cumbering o… Penned by immortal parts, have non…

Who told Creed Haymond he was wit… Had nothing better in this world t… Could no greased pig’s appeal to h… Kindle his ardor for the friendly… Did no dead dog upon a vacant lot,

De Young (in Chicago the story is… ‘Took his life in his hand,’ like… And stood before Buckley-who thou… For Buckley, the man-eating monst… ‘Count fairly the ballots!’ so ran…

I drifted (or I seemed to) in a b… Upon the surface of a shoreless se… Whereon no ship nor anything did f… Save only the frail bark supportin… And that-it was so shadowy-seemed…

Charles Shortridge once to St. P… ‘Down!’ cried the saint with his f… ‘Tis writ that every hardy liar Shall dwell forever and ever in fi… 'That’s what I said the night tha…

DRAMATIS PERSONAE. VILLIAM _a Sen_ NEEDLESON _a Sidniduc_ SMILER _a Scheister_ KI-YI _a Trader_

Nightly I put up this humble peti… ‘Forgive me, O Father of Glories… My sins of commission, my sins of… My sins of the Mission Dolores.’

I reckon that ye never knew, That dandy slugger, Tom Carew, He had a touch as light an’ free As that of any honey-bee; But where it lit there wasn’t much