'O father, I saw at the church as I passed The populace gathered in numbers so vast That they couldn't get in; and their voices were low, And they looked as if suffering terrible woe.' ''Twas the funeral, child, of a gentleman dead For whom the great heart of humanity bled.' 'What made it bleed, father, for every day Somebody passes forever away? Do the newspaper men print a column or more Of every person whose troubles are o'er?' 'O, no; they could never do that—and indeed, Though printers might print it, no reader would read. To the sepulcher all, soon or late, must be borne, But 'tis only the Wise and the Good that all mourn.' 'That's right, father dear, but how can our eyes Distinguish in dead men the Good and the Wise?' 'That's easy enough to the stupidest mind: They're poor, and in dying leave nothing behind.' 'Seest thou in mine eye, father, anything green? And takest thy son for a gaping marine? Go tell thy fine tale of the Wise and the Good Who are poor and lamented to babes in the wood.' And that horrible youth as I hastened away Was building a wink that affronted the day.
THE LOST COLONEL.
''Tis a woeful yarn,' said the sailor man bold Who had sailed the northern-lakes— 'No woefuler one has ever been told Exceptin' them called 'fakes.'' 'Go on, thou son of the wind and fog, For I burn to know the worst!' But his silent lip in a glass of grog Was dreamily immersed. Then he wiped it on his sleeve and said: 'It's never like that I drinks But what of the gallant gent that's dead I truly mournful thinks. 'He was a soldier chap—leastways As 'Colonel' he was knew; An' he hailed from some'rs where they raise A grass that's heavenly blue. 'He sailed as a passenger aboard The schooner 'Henery Jo.' O wild the waves and galeses roared, Like taggers in a show! 'But he sat at table that calm an' mild As if he never had let His sperit know that the waves was wild An' everlastin' wet!— 'Jest set with a bottle afore his nose, As was labeled 'Total Eclipse' (The bottle was) an' he frequent rose A glass o' the same to his lips. 'An' he says to me (for the steward slick Of the 'Henery Jo' was I): 'This sailor life's the very old Nick— On the lakes it's powerful dry!' 'I says: 'Aye, aye, sir, it beats the Dutch. I hopes you'll outlast the trip.' But if I'd been him—an' I said as much— I'd 'a' took a faster ship. 'His laughture, loud an' long an' free, Rang out o'er the tempest's roar. 'You're an elegant reasoner,' says he, 'But it's powerful dry ashore!'' 'O mariner man, why pause and don A look of so deep concern? Have another glass—go on, go on, For to know the worst I burn.' 'One day he was leanin' over the rail, When his footing some way slipped, An' (this is the woefulest part o' my tale), He was accidental unshipped! 'The empty boats was overboard hove, As he swum in the 'Henery's wake'; But 'fore we had 'bouted ship he had drove From sight on the ragin' lake!' 'And so the poor gentleman was drowned— And now I'm apprised of the worst.' 'What! him? 'Twas an hour afore he was found— In the yawl—stone dead o' thirst!'
