THE CONVICTS' BALL
San Quentin was brilliant. Within the halls Of the noble pile with the frowning walls (God knows they've enough to make them frown, With a Governor trying to break them down!) Was a blaze of light. 'Twas the natal day Of his nibs the popular John S. Gray, And many observers considered his birth The primary cause of his moral worth.
"The ball is free!" cried Black Bart, and they all Said a ball with no chain was a novel ball; "And I never have seed," said Jimmy Hope, "Sech a lightsome dance withouten a rope."
Chinamen, Indians, Portuguese, Blacks, Russians, Italians, Kanucks and Kanaks, Chilenos, Peruvians, Mexicans--all Greased with their presence that notable ball.
None were excluded excepting, perhaps, The Rev. Morrison's churchly chaps, Whom, to prevent a religious debate, The Warden had banished outside of the gate.
The fiddler, fiddling his hardest the while, "Called off" in the regular foot-hill style: "Circle to the left!" and "Forward and back!"
And "Hellum to port for the stabbard tack!"
(This great _virtuoso_, it would appear, Was Mate of the _Gatherer_ many a year.) "_Ally man_ left!"--to a painful degree His French was unlike to the French of Paree, As heard from our countrymen lately abroad, And his "_doe cee doe_" was the gem of the fraud.
But what can you hope from a gentleman barred From circles of culture by dogs in the yard?
'Twas a glorious dance, though, all the same, The Jardin Mabille in the days of its fame Never saw legs perform such springs-- The cold-chisel's magic had given them wings.
They footed it featly, those lades and gents: Dull care (said Long Moll) had a helly go-hence!
'Twas a very aristocratic affair: The _creme de la creme_ and _elite_ were there-- Rank, beauty and wealth from the highest sets, And Hubert Howe Bancroft sent his regrets.
A PRAYER
Sweet Spirit of Cesspool, hear a mother's prayer: Her terrors pacify and offspring spare!
Upon Silurians alone let fall (And God in Heaven have mercy on them all!) The red revenges of your fragrant breath, Hot with the flames invisible of death.
Sing in each nose a melody of smells, And lead them snoutwise to their several hells!
TO ONE DETESTED
Sir, you're a veteran, revealed In history and fable As warrior since you took the field, Defeating Abel.
As Commissary later (or If not, in every cottage The tale is) you contracted for A mess of pottage.
In civil life you were, we read (And our respect increases) A man of peace--a man, indeed, Of thirty pieces.
To paying taxes when you turned Your mind, or what you call so, A wide celebrity you earned-- Saphira also.
In every age, by various names, You've won renown in story, But on your present record flames A greater glory.
Cain, Esau, and Iscariot, too, And Ananias, likewise, Each had peculiar powers, but who Could lie as Mike lies?
THE BOSS'S CHOICE
Listen to his wild romances: He advances foolish fancies, Each expounded as his "view"-- Gu.
In his brain's opacous clot, ah He has got a maggot! What a Man with "views" to overwhelm us!-- Gulielmus.
Hear his demagogic clamor-- Hear him stammer in his grammar!
Teaching, he will learn to spell-- Gulielmus L.
Slave who paid the price demanded-- With two-handed iron branded By the boss--pray cease to dose us, Gulielmus L. Jocosus.
A MERCIFUL GOVERNOR
Standing within the triple wall of Hell, And flattening his nose against a grate Behind whose brazen bars he'd had to dwell A thousand million ages to that date, Stoneman bewailed his melancholy fate, And his big tear-drops, boiling as they fell, Had worn between his feet, the record mentions, A deep depression in the "good intentions."
Imperfectly by memory taught how-- For prayer in Hell is a lost art--he prayed, Uplifting his incinerated brow And flaming hands in supplication's aid.
"O grant," he cried, "my torment may be stayed-- In mercy, some short breathing spell allow!
If one good deed I did before my ghosting, Spare me and give Delmas a double roasting."
Breathing a holy harmony in Hell, Down through the appalling clamors of the place, Charming them all to willing concord, fell A Voice ineffable and full of grace: "Because of all the law-defying race One single malefactor of the cell Thou didst not free from his incarceration, Take thou ten thousand years of condonation."
Back from their fastenings began to shoot The rusted bolts; with dreadful roar, the gate Laboriously turned; and, black with soot, The extinguished spirit passed that awful strait, And as he legged it into space, elate, Muttered: "Yes, I remember that galoot-- I'd signed his pardon, ready to allot it, But stuck it in my desk and quite forgot it."
AN INTERPRETATION
Now Lonergan appears upon the boards, And Truth and Error sheathe their lingual swords.
No more in wordy warfare to engage, The commentators bow before the stage, And bookworms, militant for ages past, Confess their equal foolishness at last, Reread their Shakspeare in the newer light And swear the meaning's obvious to sight.
For centuries the question has been hot: Was Hamlet crazy, or was Hamlet not?
Now, Lonergan's illuminating art Reveals the truth of the disputed "part,"
And shows to all the critics of the earth That Hamlet was an idiot from birth!
A SOARING TOAD
So, Governor, you would not serve again Although we'd all agree to pay you double.
You find it all is vanity and pain-- One clump of clover in a field of stubble-- One grain of pleasure in a peck of trouble.
'Tis sad, at your age, having to complain Of disillusion; but the fault is whose When pigmies stumble, wearing giants' shoes?
I humbly told you many moons ago For high preferment you were all unfit.