And there they hid; and Reuben slid
The fastenings back, and the door undid.
"Keep dark!" said he,

"While I squint an' see what the' is to see."

As knights of old put on their mail,

From head to foot an iron suit,
Iron jacket and iron boot,

Iron breeches, and on the head
No hat, but an iron pot instead,
And under the chin the bail,-

(I believe they called the thing a helm,)——
And, thus accoutred, they took the field,
Sallying forth to overwhelm

The dragons and pagans that plagued the realm; So this modern knight prepared for flight,

Put on his wings and strapped them tight,-
Jointed and jaunty, strong and light,-
Buckled them fast to shoulder and hip,-
Ten feet they measured from tip to tip!
And a helm had he, but that he wore,
Not on his head, like those of yore,

But more like the helm of a ship.

"Hush!" Reuben said, "he's up in the shed!
He's opened the winder,-I see his head!
He stretches it out, an' pokes it about,
Lookin' to see 'f the coast is clear,

An' nobody near;--

Guess he don'o' who's hid in here!
He's riggin' a spring-board over the sill!
Stop laffin', Solomon! Burke, keep still!
He's a climbin' out now--Of all the things!
What's he got on? I van, it's wings!
An' that t'other thing? I vum, it's a tail!

An' there he sets like a hawk on a rail!

Steppin' careful, he travels the length

Of his spring-board, and teeters to try its strength. Now he stretches his wings, like a monstrous bat; Peeks over his shoulder, this way an' that,

Fer to see 'f the' 's any one passin' by;
But the' 's on'y a ca'f an' a goslin' nigh.
They turn up at him a wonderin' eye,
To see The dragon! he's goin' to fly!
Away he goes! Jimminy! what a jump!
Flop-flop-an' plump to the ground with a thump!
Flutt'rin' an' flound'rin', all 'n a lump!"

As a demon is hurled by an angel's spear,
Heels over head, to his proper sphere,---
Heels over head, and head over heels,
Dizzily down the abyss he wheels,-
So fell Darius. Upon his crown,

In the midst of the barn-yard, he came down,
In a wonderful whirl of tangled strings,
Broken braces and broken springs,

Broken tail and broken wings,
Shooting-stars, and various things,-
Barn-yard litter of straw and chaff,
And much that wasn't so sweet by half.
Away with a bellow fled the calf,

And what was that? Did the gosling laugh?
'Tis a merry roar from the old barn-door,
And he hears the voice of Jotham crying;
"Say, D'rius! how de yeou like flyin'?"

Slowly, ruefully, where he lay,

Darius just turned and looked that way,

As he stanched his sorrowful nose with his cuff,

"Wal, I like flyin' well enough,"

He said; "but the' ain't sich a thunderin' sight

O' fun in 't when ye come to light."

I just have room for the MORAL here:
And this is the moral,-Stick to your sphere;
Or, if you insist, as you have the right,
On spreading your wings for a loftier flight,
The moral is,-Take care how you light.

John Townsend Trowbridge [1827-1916]

THE SOCIETY UPON THE STANISLAUS

I RESIDE at Table Mountain, and my name is Truthful James; I am not up to small deceit, or any sinful games;

And I'll tell in simple language what I know about the row That broke up our Society upon the Stanislow.

But first I would remark, that it is not a proper plan
For any scientific gent to whale his fellow-man,
And, if a member don't agree with his peculiar whim,
To lay for that same member for to "put a head" on him.

Now nothing could be finer or more beautiful to see
Than the first six months' proceedings of that same Society,
Till Brown of Calaveras brought a lot of fossil bones
That he found within a tunnel near the tenement of Jones.

Then Brown he read a paper, and he reconstructed there, From those same bones, an animal that was extremely rare; And Jones then asked the Chair for a suspension of the rules, Till he could prove that those same bones was one of his lost mules.

Then Brown he smiled a bitter smile, and said he was at fault,

It seemed he had been trespassing on Jones's family vault: He was a most sarcastic man, this quiet Mr. Brown,

And on several occasions he had cleaned out the town.

Now I hold it is not decent for a scientific gent
To say another is an ass,-at least, to all intent;
Nor should the individual who happens to be meant
Reply by heaving rocks at him, to any great extent.

Then Abner Dean of Angel's raised a point of order-when
A chunk of old red sandstone took him in the abdomen,
And he smiled a kind of sickly smile, and curled up on the
floor,

And the subsequent proceedings interested him no more.

2171

For, in less time than I write it, every member did engage
In a warfare with the remnants of a palæozoic age;
And the way they heaved those fossils in their anger was a
sin,

Till the skull of an old mammoth caved the head of Thompson in.

And this is all I have to say of these improper games,

For I live at Table Mountain, and my name is Truthful James;

And I've told in simple language what I know about the row That broke up our Society upon the Stanislow.

DOW'S FLAT

Bret Harte [1839-1902]

Dow's FLAT.

1856

That's its name:

And I reckon that you

Are a stranger? The same?

Well, I thought it was true,

For thar isn't a man on the river as can't spot the place

at first view.

It was called after Dow,

Which the same was an ass;

And as to the how

Thet the thing kem to pass,

Jest tie up your hoss to that buckeye, and sit ye down here

in the grass.

You see this 'yer Dow

Hed the worst kind of luck;

He slipped up somehow

On each thing thet he struck.

Why, ef he'd a-straddled thet fence-rail, the derned thing

'ed get up and buck.

He mined on the bar

Till he couldn't pay rates;

He was smashed by a car

When he tunnelled with Bates;

And right on the top of his trouble kem his wife and five kids from the States.

It was rough, mighty rough;
But the boys they stood by,
And they brought him the stuff

For a house, on the sly;

And the old woman,—well, she did washing, and took on

when no one was nigh.

But this 'yer luck of Dow's
Was so powerful mean

That the spring near his house

Dried right up on the green;

And he sunk forty feet down for water, but nary a drop to

be seen.

Then the bar petered out,

And the boys wouldn't stay;

And the chills got about,

And his wife fell away;

But Dow in his well kept a peggin' in his usual ridikilous

way.

One day, it was June,

And a year ago, jest,—

This Dow kem at noon

To his work like the rest,

With a shovel and pick on his shoulder, and a derringer hid

in his breast.

He goes to the well,

And he stands on the brink,

And stops for a spell

Jest to listen and think:

For the sun in his eyes (jest like this, sir!), you see, kinder

made the cuss blink.