#AmericanWriters
‘To the will of the people we loya… That’s the minority shibboleth now… O noble antagonists, answer me fla… What would you do if you didn’t do…
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:
An 'actors’ cemetery’! Sure The devil never tires Of planning places to procure The sticks to feed his fires.
A merry Christmas? Prudent, as I… You wish me something that you nee… Merry or sad, what does it signify… To you 't is equal if I laugh, or… Your hollow greeting, like a parro…
I’m a gorgeous golden hero And my trade is taking life. Hear the twittle-twittle-tweero Of my sibillating fife And the rub-a-dub-a-dum
'T was a maiden lady (the newspape… Pious and prim and a bit gone-gray… She slept like an angel, holy and… Till ten o’ the clock in the shank… (When men and other wild animals p…
‘Tis Master Fitch, the editor; He takes an holiday. Now wherefore, venerable sir, So resolutely gay? He lifts his head, he laughs aloud…
By hardihood to rise and fear to s… And fitly to rebuke his sins decre… That, hide from others with what c… Night sha’n’t be black enough nor… That from himself himself can ever…
So, Parson Stebbins, you’ve relea… To say that here, and here, we pre… 'Tis a great thing an editor to sk… And hang his faulty pelt upon a na… (If over-eared, it has, at least,…
You may say they won’t grow, and s… Say it again till you’re sick of t… Get up on your ear, blow your blar… And hire a hall to proclaim it; an… May stand on a stump with a lifted…
In fair San Francisco a good man… And he wrote out a will, for he di… Said he: ‘It is proper, when maki… To stimulate virtue by comforting… So he left all his property, legal…
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,
ROBERT F. MORROW Dear man! although a stranger and… To soft affection’s humanizing glo… Although untaught how manly hearts… With more desires than the desire…
See, Lord, fanatics all arrayed For revolution! To foil their villainous crusade Unsheathe again the sacred blade Of persecution.
Like a worn mother he attempts in… To still the unruly Crier of his… The more he rocks the cradle of hi… The more uproarious grows the brat…