LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 
 
 t'liap. Copyright Ko. 
 
 I 90 
 
 UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 
 
NOV 10 mi 
 
 YAWPS 
 
 AND OTHER THINGS 
 
 BY 
 
 WILLIAM J. LAMPTON 
 
 '• Merely a Yawpist yawping his simple yawp 
 of things that are and not what they may 
 seem. ' ' 
 
 philadelphia 
 Henry Altemus Company 
 
74:038 
 
 1 •:■.»'»», V 'i.,:'i-Oonr:' '■.<?'*<« 
 
 Hoy 10 1900 i 
 
 r.^^^''^ COPY. 
 NOV 20 I9UU 
 
 [NOV 
 
 O'^-^i 
 
 
 K^ 
 
 Copyright, 1900, by 
 
 HBMRY ALTEKTia COKPAMT. 
 
'T'HIS book of Yawps is dedica- 
 ^ ted to the memory of the 
 late Charles A. Dana, an editor 
 who knew a good thing when he 
 saw it, — and printed it. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Preface 9 
 
 Some Incongruvial Remarks 11 
 
 By Way of Introduction 15 
 
 1900 19 
 
 George Washington's Address, 1900 23 
 
 January Eighth, 1889 26 
 
 Thomas B. Reed in Rome 28 
 
 Owed to the Ground Hog 31 
 
 Pie 33 
 
 Pro Bono Publico 36 
 
 TheTowpath Mule 38 
 
 Oh, Sorosis ! 42 
 
 Kentucky to the Front 44 
 
 The War-ship Kentucky's Appeal 45 
 
 The Prince of Wales has a Cold 48 
 
 A Hint of Spring 50 
 
 An Easter Eeru S2 
 
 The Day of Hats 54 
 
 Parks and Spring 56 
 
 Funston of Kansas 59 
 
 5 
 
6 CONTENTS. 
 
 Page. 
 
 A Good Woman 62 
 
 The "Brother to the Ox " 64 
 
 The Love of Woman 68 
 
 Memorial Day, 1 900 70 
 
 The Prose of Poetry 73 
 
 The Sweet Girl Graduate -75 
 
 Lo, The Summer Girl 80 
 
 The Shirt Waist 84 
 
 The Humidity 87 
 
 The Electric Fan 91 
 
 An Enigma 95 
 
 The Shirt-waist Man 96 
 
 Larchmont's Shirt-waist Hop 99 
 
 The Automobile loi 
 
 Maud Miller 104 
 
 Ready — if Needed 105 
 
 Hymen's Speech 107 
 
 Concerning a Day no 
 
 In Washinp;ton 112 
 
 A Blaze of Glory 115 
 
 The Speedway, New York 117 
 
 For Future Reference 120 
 
 A Fantasy 123 
 
 A Lay of the Ancients 125 
 
CONTENTS. 7 
 
 Pagb. 
 
 Chicago Phonetics 127 
 
 In Chrysanthemumiam 129 
 
 To The W. C. T. U. Convention 131 
 
 Another County Heard From >-. "i-^-^^'-*^-P ■:■-."' . 134 
 
 Some Texas Peculiarities 136 
 
 Consul-General Lee's Remarks 138 
 
 The Passing of the Summer Girl 140 
 
 Milk and Music 142 
 
 The One Man Power 145 
 
 The Excelsioric Umpire 147 
 
 The Third Party Drives Up 149 
 
 Labor Day, 1900 •••... 152 
 
 A Sage of Chicago Remarks 156 
 
 Response of the American People 159 
 
 School Begins 162 
 
 Commodore Cannon 165 
 
 The New York Police on Parade 167 
 
 The Language of Progress 171 
 
 Count Waldersee's Command 173 
 
 The Discovery of America 176 
 
 Thanksgiving 179 
 
 To the LVth Congress 183 
 
 Merry Christmas 187 
 
 The Superfluous Speak 190 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 WHAT shall an author say in the preface to 
 his first book? Possibly he would better 
 commend his soul to its Maker and let come 
 what might come. In this instance, he feels a 
 shade easier in his mind, because many of these 
 verses have already appeared in the columns of 
 The New York Sun, a no mean critic itself, so that 
 the worst is over. However, there is something 
 more mysterious, more mystifying, more awesome, 
 about a book than can possibly exist in the news 
 paper, and even now the Author makes his appear- 
 ance with a consciousness that is embarrassingly 
 uncomfortable, the result, though it be, of his as- 
 sured knowledge that he is not the first author to 
 have written a book, and that his book is not the 
 greatest and best ever submitted to a discriminat- 
 ing public. 
 
 But the Author of these "Yawps," as he has 
 called them, does claim for them a peculiarity of 
 form and expression not common to conventional 
 
 9 
 
lo PREFACE 
 
 versification, which may do for them in a book 
 what it has already done for them in the news- 
 papers. If a place for the Yawpist is made 
 somewhere in the line that leads to Poet, the 
 object of the book will have been accomplished, 
 because only the good opinion of many readers 
 can effect such a result — and many readers is the 
 earnest prayer of every author, to which every 
 publisher fervently responds — "Amen." 
 
 The Author. 
 New York City. 
 
SOME INCONGRUVIAL 
 REMARKS. 
 
 I SHALL not undertake in a brief prefatory 
 word like this to offer a formal presentation 
 of my principal. Those who do not know him 
 will do well to make his acquaintance. 
 
 Although an original, Mr. Lampton is not a 
 first offender. There have been others. Yet in 
 the new era of news in rhyme and versified wis- 
 dom, he came with the pioneers ; with Stanton 
 and Hale, and the rest ; the successors of Prentice 
 and Hatcher and Albert Roberts. Theirs was a 
 nimble and a current wit. His is not less so — 
 though he has amplified and modernized their art, 
 bringing it, as the saying hath it, to "date." It 
 may not be the art of Michel Angelo or of Alfred 
 Tennyson ; but Hood and Hook and Praed prac- 
 ticed it and Kipling had to learn it. Sometimes 
 I have thought these men could do more even 
 than they attempted. Hood actually did when 
 he tried ; Kipling is young yet ; though Lampton, 
 if he aims not high, misses never the mark ; and 
 
12 SOME INCONGRUVIAL REMARKS. 
 
 that is a great matter. There are always smiles 
 and often buttercups and daisies and sometimes 
 tears in his lines. Very few poets can say as 
 much for their more ambitious effusions. 
 
 How far he may be heralded hereafter as the 
 founder of a school of poetry the fate of this 
 book will tell. Since he has himself referred to 
 the sweat of his typewriter, the added labors of 
 his Mergenthaler must not be forgotten ; for your 
 machine-made poetry, steel-clad from start to 
 finish, requires a more extensive plant than was 
 known to Shakespeare himself; and it may be 
 doubted whether if Ben Jonson were brought to 
 life and required to furnish such verses to order 
 after this pattern, he would not rub his eyes and 
 ask to be led back to the cloisters. ** From gay 
 to grave, from lively to severe " is but a part of 
 it ; nor indeed the greater part ; even when cop- 
 per-bottomed it must be spontaneous ; when case- 
 mated, inspired ; melodious, too, yet permeated 
 by the rugged wisdom of the time, the common 
 sense and parle, of the streets ; catching the fore- 
 lock of that dizzy blonde, the rude humor of the 
 town, as she threads her way betwixt the country- 
 house and the curb-stone, the breakfast table and 
 the lunch-counter ; all things to all men, accord- 
 ing to the injunction of St. Paul. The daily 
 
SOME INCONGRUVIAL REMARKS. 13 
 
 journal has driven literature to the wall. Hence- 
 forth the poets must bloom in the morning paper 
 or not at all. Mr. Lampton makes his hay whilst 
 the sun shines, and, though these collected lays 
 and rays be but moonbeams, canned moonbeams, 
 so to say, yet like the sun that shines for all, they 
 have not lost their illuminating power and will be 
 hailed with right good will by thousands who will 
 recognize them in their new dress as old friends. 
 
 Louisville, September 15, 1900. 
 
 
BY WAY OF INTRO- 
 DUCTION. 
 
 No POET, I 
 
 Who sings about a sapphire sky, 
 
 Or silver sanded streams, 
 
 Or dim deHcious dreams, 
 
 Or birds, 
 
 Or lowing herds, 
 
 Or flowers fair 
 
 Upon the fragrant air, 
 
 Or hearts that throb, 
 
 Or souls that sob, 
 
 Or forty dozen other things 
 
 Of which the poetry poet sings 
 
 Out of his soulful sufferinofs, 
 
 But merely a Yawpist 
 
 Yawping his simple yawp 
 
 Of things that are 
 
 And not what they may seem 
 
 To those poetic fancies that 
 
 Seldom tumble 
 
 To where the real thing is at. 
 
t6 yawps 
 
 A YAWPIST then 
 
 Am I ; and men 
 
 And things, beneath the touch 
 
 Of yawpery, 
 
 Appear as such 
 
 In rhyme or rhythm, 
 
 Or having neither with 'em, 
 
 And yet not less 
 
 In natural fitting dress, 
 
 Because the yawp 
 
 Is nature's own expression. 
 
 It says just what 
 
 Pale poesy does not 
 
 And in exactly the way 
 
 That you would say 
 
 It yourself, if you had 
 
 Thought of it 
 
 Soon enough. 
 
 See? 
 
 It rhythms 
 
 When it rhythms, 
 
 And it rhymes 
 
 Sometimes, 
 
 But whether it does 
 
 Or not. 
 
 It gets there 
 
 Just the same, 
 
AND OTHER THINGS. 
 
 Which is where the yawp 
 
 Has got 
 
 The bulge on a lot 
 
 Of contemporaneous 
 
 And other modern and ancient 
 
 Literature. 
 
 The poet may rear up and kick 
 
 And say it makes him sick, 
 
 But gee whiz, 
 
 Is there a more powerful production 
 
 Than the simple yawp is ? 
 
 17 
 
 2— Yawps, 
 
1900. 
 
 Hail, 1900, 
 
 Let the bells ring out, 
 
 And let the shout 
 
 Of millions, undismayed. 
 
 And not afraid 
 
 Of the future by what 
 
 The past has not. 
 
 Been to them, or has been, 
 
 Join in the merry din 
 
 Of welcome to you. Let 
 
 The world forget 
 
 Its trials, and in the new time here, 
 
 Feel only that good cheer 
 
 Which comes to all 
 
 If they will call 
 
 It with the spirit of the strong 
 
 Which moves mankind along 
 
 The paths that rise 
 
 Above the earth's low reaches to the skies. 
 
 The past is dead : 
 
 We go ahead 
 
 19 
 
20 YAWPS 
 
 To newer, better things ; 
 
 The poet sings 
 
 A new song, and his strains 
 
 Allure us to nobler gains ; 
 
 To higher thought, 
 
 Wrought 
 
 Out of what we were. 
 
 Therefore, 1900, be 
 
 It resolved, that we — 
 
 However, we've sworn off on resolutions. 
 
 Listen to us, now, New Year ; 
 
 Hear 
 
 Us as we shout 
 
 And let our spirits out : 
 
 You see that flag there ? 
 
 None so fair 
 
 In all the world, and none so fit 
 
 To wave in any part of it. 
 
 And watch her wave, and spread 
 
 Until the starry Red, 
 
 White and Blue is all men's Flag, 
 
 And every other rag 
 
 Of Empire bows to it ; the free 
 
 Man's Flag that was and is and will be; 
 
 And watch our trade 
 
 Fill up the road the Flag has made, 
 
 And keep it full ; 
 
AND OTHER THINGS. 21 
 
 We need no pull 
 
 But that 
 
 To show the world where we are at ; 
 
 And watch us grow 
 
 At home in all the things that go 
 
 To make a State 
 
 Imperial — meaning great 
 
 And good and true ; 
 
 That's the Red, White and Blue. 
 
 And every one beneath it, 
 
 Great and small, 
 
 Will answer to the call 
 
 The greater makes upon him, and you'll see 
 
 The kind of men all men should be. 
 
 Out of its tears and its sorrows 
 
 Into its glad to-morrows ; 
 
 Out of its wars and its strife 
 
 Into its peaceful life ; 
 
 Out of its gloom and its shadows 
 
 Into its ever-green meadows ; 
 
 Out of its clouds and its gray 
 
 Into its better way. 
 
 Oh, say, 
 
 1900, you ought to stay over 
 
 A year or two and see 
 
 The kind of a country and people 
 
 Our country and people will be. 
 
22 YAWPS 
 
 You can't? No? 
 Do you have to go ? 
 What a pity ! Yet 
 We shall not forget 
 The start you will give us. 
 And we cannot fail. 
 So hail, 1900! 
 All hail! All hail! 
 
AND OTHER THINGS. 33 
 
 GEORGE WASHINGTON'S 
 ADDRESS TO HIS COUN- 
 TRY IN 1900. 
 
 Say, Eagle, 
 
 Ain't we great? 
 
 Ain't we really immense ? 
 
 Ain*t we the greatest 
 
 That ever happened ? 
 
 From your lofty perch on 
 
 The palladium of our liberties 
 
 Sweep your piercing eye around 
 
 The wide horizon and see for yourself. 
 
 There is nothing like us 
 
 On earth. 
 
 And we are getting more different 
 
 Every minute. 
 
 By Jiminy Christmas, 
 
 I had no idea when I started in 
 
 With this country 
 
 Where we were coming out. 
 
 Why, you havn't more than 
 
24 YAWPS 
 
 Got out of your shell, 
 
 And now your wings 
 
 Spread from the clustered Antilles 
 
 To the splendors of the Orient ; 
 
 And when you scream, 
 
 The echoes hurtle round the world, 
 
 And principalities and powers 
 
 And decaying dynasties 
 
 Take to the tall timber. 
 
 And the Flag ; 
 
 The glittering and glorious 
 
 Star-Spangled Banner, 
 
 Which Europe thought was merely 
 
 A dishrag, 
 
 When I first swung it to the breeze, 
 
 Is now the 
 
 Blooming bunting of a boundless bailiwick. 
 
 And the Fourth of July? 
 
 Well, say. Eagle, 
 
 It's going to be the 
 
 Birthday of half a world. 
 
 Of which I am Father of the best part. 
 
 And stepfather of the balance. 
 
 You can roost on the ridge pole 
 
 Of the Greater Republic 
 
 And scream a lung out, 
 
 But it won't be so much as a murmur 
 
AND OTHER THINGS. 25 
 
 To the way I feel, 
 
 This very minute ; 
 
 And handicapped as I must be 
 
 Under the circumstances, 
 
 I'm with you in spirit, Old Baldy, 
 
 And eveiy time you flap your wings 
 
 And scream, 
 
 I burst a button off. 
 
 That's the kind of an expansionist I am, 
 
 And if you will put 
 
 A Star-Spangled girdle 
 
 Round the world, 
 
 I'll tie a knot in it 
 
 That will stay tied, 
 
 And don't you forget it. 
 
 Go on with your spread. Oh Eagle, 
 
 And Star-Spangled Banner fly high ; 
 
 I'm with you forever, and wish you 
 
 A perpetual Fourth of July. 
 
i6 YAWPS 
 
 JANUARY EIGHTH, 1889 
 
 There were lots of celebrations 
 
 In the West and in the East ; 
 There were viands and libations 
 
 For the largest and the least ; 
 There were speeches, speeches, speeches ; 
 
 The torrent would not dam, 
 When it turned upon the hero 
 
 Who punched old Pakenham. 
 
 They gloried in the glory 
 
 Of a glorious past, and told, 
 In hyperbolic story, 
 
 Of the wondrous deeds of old; 
 They pointed to the future, 
 
 And saw on Vict'ry's brow 
 A limb of lustrous laurel, 
 
 They cannot see there now. 
 
 At the time of all this blowing, 
 
 'Way down in Tennessee 
 A grim, gray ghost was showing 
 
 Some signs of energy; 
 
AND OTHER THINGS. 27 
 
 He sighed deep in his bosom, 
 And now and then would cuss, 
 
 The meanwhile turning over 
 In his sarcophagus. 
 
 He sat up, and intently, 
 
 With hand up to his ear, 
 He nodded, not quite gently. 
 
 At most that he could hear. 
 He listened to the buncombe. 
 
 And thought of recent facts, 
 Whereby his party' d got it 
 
 Where chickens get the axe. 
 
 He knew the wretched story, 
 
 Which had disturbed him there : 
 A triumph, transitory, 
 
 Disaster and despair. 
 Then hearing still the speaking. 
 
 He shook his bony head, 
 And groaned: "By the Eternal, 
 
 I'm glad that I am dead!" 
 
28 YAWPS 
 
 THOMAS B. REED IN ROME 
 
 Behold me as I stand, 
 
 Where Rome has stood 
 
 For twice a thousand years 
 
 And more ! 
 
 Behold us both : 
 
 Me and Rome ! 
 
 And then, dear friends. 
 
 Please give your eyes a rest. 
 
 Rome has her history. 
 
 And I have mine ; 
 
 But Rome, although she sat 
 
 Upon her seven hills 
 
 And ruled the world, 
 
 Never sat in the Speaker's chair 
 
 Of the Fifty-first Congress 
 
 And bossed that 
 
 Megatherian aggregation 
 
 As I did, 
 
 And that is where I've got 
 
 The bulge on Rome ! 
 
AND OTHER THINGS. 
 
 Here in old Caesar's district 
 
 I sit me down, and with my feet 
 
 Upon his ancient mantlepiece 
 
 I feel at home. 
 
 Me and Caesar ! 
 
 Twin stars that twinkle through all time ! 
 
 Two iron heels that trod as one 
 
 Upon the people's necks. 
 
 And then we got it in our own ! 
 
 By gosh ! dear friends, I don't like that 
 
 A little bit. 
 
 And Caesar didn't either. 
 
 Although he didn't have a 
 
 Word to say after it was over. 
 
 For obvious reasons ! 
 
 But Brutus wasn't a patching 
 
 To Springer of Illinois, 
 
 Or Rogers of Arkansas ; 
 
 And Caesar has something 
 
 To be thankful for ! 
 
 I'm with you Rome, 
 
 From the Passamaquoddy's 
 
 Tumbling tide of saw logs 
 
 To where the tawny Tiber flows, 
 
 And we should organize 
 
 A Reed and Roman Trust, 
 
 And swipe the universe ! 
 
 29 
 
30 YAWPS 
 
 Are there objections ? 
 
 I hear none. 
 
 The ayes seem to have it ; 
 
 The ayes have it ! 
 
 Then let her go, Gallagher ! 
 
 But I shall never think 
 
 That in that elder day 
 
 To be a Roman 
 
 Was greater than to be Speaker 
 
 Of the grand old Fifty-first, 
 
 And don't you forget it ! 
 
 That's what ! 
 
AND OTHER THINGS. 31 
 
 OWED TO THE 
 GROUND HOG. 
 
 Oh Ground Hog, 
 
 In your hours of ease, 
 
 Uncertain, 
 
 Coy and hard to please, 
 
 Why give us nasty days like these? 
 
 Why, 
 
 If your shadow in the sun 
 
 Is something 
 
 That will make you run, 
 
 Are you obliged to have it done? 
 
 But, Ground Hog, 
 
 Please remember that 
 
 This year the sun 
 
 Was nowhere at 
 
 The shadow point, 
 
 And you're a flat 
 
 Prevaricator ; 
 
 One who lies 
 
 Without the hope of purse 
 
32 YAWPS 
 
 Or prize; 
 
 A fraud upon the cold, gray skies, 
 
 Upon whose sunlessness 
 
 You place 
 
 A promise to the human race, 
 
 That for, at least, 
 
 A six weeks' space 
 
 We'll have good weather. 
 
 Now if you 
 
 Could find much worse 
 
 In skies of blue, 
 
 Why are you not 
 
 To that kind true? 
 
 Git, Ground Hog, 
 
 Git, 
 
 Lest you inspire 
 
 Mankind to rise 
 
 In wrath. 
 
 And fire 
 
 You as a 
 
 Meteor-illogical liar!! 
 
AND OTHER THINGS. 33 
 
 PIE. 
 
 "The consumption of pie is on the increase." — From The Sun's 
 Report of the New York Pie Market. 
 
 Oh Pie, 
 
 Oh unassuming, shy 
 
 And simple solace to our woes, 
 
 This shows 
 
 That you have come to stay. 
 
 And, say ! 
 
 Don't ever, ever, ever go away. 
 
 What odds if some 
 
 Assert that you are bum, 
 
 A breeder of dyspepsia, and 
 
 One-half the ills of all the land. 
 
 They lie 
 
 Oh Pie, 
 
 For you're a peach — 
 
 Sometimes ; and speech 
 
 Falls flat in telling what 
 
 You are as mince, served piping hot, or 
 
 Sometimes cold. 
 
 3 — y'awps. 
 
34 YAWPS 
 
 And would Thanksgiving- be 
 
 Thanksgiving half, if we 
 
 Had not you there, 
 
 So fat and filling, and so fair ? 
 
 If there were nothing else but you, 
 
 There would be thanks enough in that for two! 
 
 And think of you in apple form, 
 
 And lemon, too. 
 
 White capp'd with fluff; 
 
 And cocoanut, and sweet cream puff; 
 
 And huckleberry^, deeply, beautifully blue, 
 
 The time-tried color of the true; 
 
 And pumpkin, or sweet potato, with a sauce 
 
 Of spice and sherry that is boss ; 
 
 And custard, dream of poet's pen, 
 
 Materialized from cow and hen ; 
 
 And myriad other kinds. 
 
 Why, 
 
 Pie. 
 
 Of all the great bonanza finds 
 
 Of culinary searching, you 
 
 Are first and foremost. Who 
 
 Will dare deny 
 
 The potency and permanence 
 
 The plenitude and pleasantness, 
 
 The popularity of pie? 
 
 Oh mystery and magic, we 
 
AND OTHER THINGS. 35 
 
 Delight to stick our face in thee 
 
 And take it out again to see 
 
 The horseshoe of our teeth 
 
 Set like a semi-cycle 
 
 Into your midst; and then 
 
 To do it several dozen times a^ain ! 
 
 Meanwhile to feel 
 
 The ecstasy no spirit can reveal 
 
 Save thine ; to steal 
 
 The rapture and the rhapsody 
 
 Enfolded by thy pale periphery. 
 
 Oh pie, 
 
 Oh pure, propitious, prophylactic pie, 
 
 You're IT. 
 
 A large, luxuriant, luscious bit. 
 
 Here's your good health, 
 
 And ours ; 
 
 And by the powers 
 
 You're bound to be 
 
 The proud precursor 
 
 Of a National pie-eat-y. 
 
36 YAWPS 
 
 PRO BONO PUBLICO. 
 
 Said Judge Lent, of White Plains, New York, to a lot of unkempt 
 foreigners applying for naturalization papers: "You foreigners must 
 wash your hands and faces before coming before me. Water costs nothing 
 and soap is cheap. I regard cleanliness as one of the most important 
 qualifications of American citizenship, and will grant applications for 
 citizenship with great pleasure if the applicant is clean and neat in 
 appearance." 
 
 From foreign lands beyond the seas, 
 We've got a lot of refugees 
 From kings and thrones and things like these, 
 And they can share our liberties, 
 
 But make 'em wash. 
 
 In time they may become as great 
 As any in affairs of state 
 And other walks, and may create 
 A name and power and vast estate, 
 But make 'em wash. 
 
 Our liberties are free as air, 
 And every man can have his share 
 With just as little thought or care 
 Or cost to him as shall be fair, 
 
 But make 'em wash. 
 
AND OTHER THINGS. 37 
 
 Our soil is sacred, but its place 
 Is not upon the hands and face 
 Or bodies of an alien race 
 Come hither to enjoy our grace, 
 
 So make 'em wash. 
 
 Man's morals are in great degree 
 Contingent on his decency 
 Of person, and the chance is he, 
 Unclean in one, in all will be, 
 
 So make 'em wash. 
 
 Some say that dirt is no disgrace : 
 Go to, it is. No dirty race 
 Has ever yet attained a place 
 That could be said to set the pace, 
 So make 'em wash. 
 
 Our liberties are free as air. 
 Our Uncle Sam is just and fair, 
 Our water is beyond compare. 
 Our soap is famous everywhere. 
 So make 'em wash, 
 Make 'em wash ; 
 Goldern 'em, make 'em wash. 
 
38 YAWPS 
 
 THE TOWPATH MULE. 
 
 Trenton, N. J., April 26. — The first of the electric motors to be intro- 
 duced upon the Delaware and Raritan Canal for the propulsion of canal- 
 boats arrived here to-day. It is said that this canal will be the first in 
 the world to use the motors for towing. 
 
 Good-by, old Mule, 
 
 Old Towpath Mule, good-by 1 
 
 And good gray mule. 
 
 Or black or brown. 
 
 Take off your crown. 
 
 Worn all these years, 
 
 And lay it down. 
 
 Meanwhile our tears, 
 
 Commingling with your own, 
 
 Are splashed upon the throne 
 
 From which you ruled 
 
 The path, and tooled 
 
 The gay canalboat 
 
 As it hied 
 
 Its slow, serene and pleasant way 
 
 By wood and water-side. 
 
 Past fertile fields 
 
 Whose harvest yields 
 
AI^D OTHER THJNGS. S9 
 
 Gave loads to you 
 
 And plenty to 
 
 The patient farmers who 
 
 Lived easily and quite content. 
 
 The gait you went 
 
 Was fast enough for them, and they 
 
 Asked for no quicker way 
 
 Than yours. They knew 
 
 Your footsteps passing through, 
 
 And greeted you 
 
 In passing, as a friend 
 
 Arriving at a journey's end, 
 
 By sluggish, sleepy towns you hauled 
 
 Your boat ; while bawled 
 
 Your loud commander on the deck, 
 
 As though 'twere up to you to wreck 
 
 The craft you were attached to, 
 
 And which you 
 
 Were bound to by such ties 
 
 As would not break. 
 
 Oh Mule, oh Towpath Mule ! 
 
 A different school 
 
 Of Progress now obtains, 
 
 And lightning strains 
 
 And tugs, where erstwhile you 
 
 Hauled cargoes through, 
 
 And with your iron-clad soles 
 
40 YAWPS 
 
 Were wont to kick 
 
 The towpath full of holes. 
 
 Alack the day ! 
 
 Alack the greed ! 
 
 That make men need 
 
 A quicker way 
 
 Than that sure one of yours by which 
 
 You ploughed the waters 
 
 Of each dammed ditch, 
 
 And made them fertile in the tolls 
 
 They brought 
 
 Out of the harvest you had wrought. 
 
 Ah, Towpath Mule! 
 
 It breaks our heart to think 
 
 That you are now a broken link, 
 
 So soon to be the last 
 
 Between the present and the past. 
 
 Farewell, late monarch of the path, 
 
 It is the lightning hath 
 
 Unsceptered you, not man, 
 
 His puny plan 
 
 You could forestall, 
 
 But Heaven's call 
 
 Was different. 
 
 You are dethroned, uncrowned, 
 
 Irrevocably downed ; 
 
 But by the gods your memory lives 
 
AND OTHER THINGS. 41 
 
 And shall 
 
 As long as any old canal 
 Holds water ; so be patient still 
 Beneath the lightning's blow, 
 The New-Time's will. 
 
42 YAWPS 
 
 OH, SOROSIS! 
 
 Note. — Sorosis has notified The Sun not to send any more reporters 
 around, because it (she) does not want to see them and will not tell 
 them anything. 
 
 Sorosis, 
 
 Sister of silence, 
 
 Sybil and Sphinx, all hail ! 
 
 Serene in thy superb 
 
 Superiority which misses 
 
 Sublimity only by a 
 
 Scratch, thou sittest in the 
 
 Shades of the infinite and well known 
 
 Silence of thy 
 
 Sex, while the 
 
 Sun and the entire 
 
 Solar system are 
 
 Slugged in the 
 
 Slats by the 
 
 Severity of the sentence thou 
 
 Superimposeth. And why 
 
 Sorosis, 
 
 Shrinkest thou so? 
 
AND OTHER THINGS. 43 
 
 Surely the sweet solaces of thy 
 
 Sanctified seclusion are not 
 
 Sacred secrets for a 
 
 Selfish and select few, when the 
 
 Sempiternal sorrows of both the 
 
 Softer and sterner sex are fairly 
 
 Shrieking for 
 
 Such satisfying sympathy as 
 
 Sorosis alone can supply to 
 
 Smitten souls. And why 
 
 Swattest thou in the 
 
 Solar plexus the 
 
 Simple screed of the 
 
 Scrivener who sings the song of thy 
 
 Sinless sweetness 
 
 So that an eager world may 
 
 Slosh around in thy symphonies? 
 
 Sorosis! Oh, 
 
 Sorosis! why 
 
 So shy? 
 
 Swing wide thy gates once more ; 
 
 Sweep outward from thy 
 
 Sanctum, Sis, so as to 
 
 Soothe and sanctify, and, perhaps to 
 
 Swipe the scepter of mankind. 
 
 See? 
 
44 YAWPS 
 
 KENTUCKY TO THE FRONT. 
 
 Frankfort, Ky., April 7, 1898. — Governor Bradley this morning 
 made public a long list of prominent citizens who have offered their 
 services for enlistment. 
 
 Up from the bosky Bluegrass dells, 
 Up from the Bourbon- flowing wells, 
 Up from the Pea vine's tree-girt soil, 
 Up from the Red-brush where they toil, 
 Up from the Pennyrile's cave-pierced ground 
 Comes a wild and woolly, welcome sound 
 Of rattling spurs and clanking swords. 
 Of mounted men in hustling hordes ; 
 A thousand horsemen, ten times o'er. 
 And ten times ten that many more ; 
 Each eager, with a wild delight. 
 To meet the Spaniards in a fight. 
 Each sword is flashing from its sheath, 
 And eyes are sparkling underneath ; 
 Strong arms are raised, and hearts as true 
 As beat beneath the gray and blue, 
 And fierce the clarion voices shout : 
 "We're fixed to fight this business out. 
 Bring on the men the armies need. 
 We'll be the Colonels. Let war proceed ! " 
 
AND OTHER THINGS. 45 
 
 THE WAR-SHIP KEN 
 TUC KY'S APPEAL. 
 
 Hark ye, 
 
 Ye naval experts ! 
 
 Let me speak, though yet so young. 
 
 I would not that you frame me as 
 
 You frame my sister ships ; 
 
 For there is that 
 
 In my great name demanding change. 
 
 Launch me, 
 
 When I am launched. 
 
 In water that is salt, 
 
 For water that is fresh 
 
 Kentucky disesteems. 
 
 Let all the decks 
 
 Which cover me 
 
 Be cold, 
 
 For those are they 
 
 Kentucky loves ; 
 
 No turrets place about my form 
 
 Armed with those rifled guns, 
 
46 YAWPS 
 
 But let hip-pockets take their place, 
 
 With Colt's revolvers stuck therein ; 
 
 Keep sea grass from my hull 
 
 When I'm afloat, 
 
 For Blue Grass 
 
 Is Kentucky's pride, 
 
 And that she floats in 
 
 To her chin. 
 
 No donkey engines run on me, 
 
 For I am used to thoroughbreds, 
 
 And when they run 
 
 Kentucky's glad, 
 
 When I am flao^Sfed 
 
 Give me three stacks 
 
 Of Red and White and Blue, 
 
 And let me fly them at the fore 
 
 And victory is mine. 
 
 These are Kentucky's colors. 
 
 And by them 
 
 United will she stand. 
 
 Now, hark ye, experts ! 
 
 This or nought : 
 
 When you do christen me 
 
 " Kentucky," sirs, let 
 
 No champagne be used. 
 
 Nor other deadly drug, 
 
 Nor fatuous and vapid stuff; 
 
AND OTHER THINGS. 47 
 
 But christen me 
 
 With juice of corn 
 
 In ancient, unctuous, amber gold ; 
 
 Old Bourbon Whiskey, sirs, 
 
 So mellow in its age, 
 
 So fragrant in perfume, 
 
 So smooth in liquid grace 
 
 That patriots would weep 
 
 To lose a drop 
 
 In any but this sacred cause. 
 
 Thus will the name you give me fit; 
 
 And for that name 
 
 I'll make a record on the seas 
 
 Not less than now it is 
 
 Upon the land ! 
 
48 YAWPS 
 
 THE PRINCE OF WALES 
 HAS A COLD. 
 
 Copenhagen, April 14. — The Prince of Wales is suffering from a 
 cold and slight catarrh of the larynx. 
 
 Good bordig, Pridce, 
 
 We're dard sorry to leard 
 
 Of your iddispositiod. 
 
 There's dothig, 
 
 Id our opidiod, so disagreeable 
 
 As a code id the head. 
 
 Whad are you doig for id ? 
 
 We've god a rebedy 
 
 Thad is the besd 
 
 Od earth, 
 
 Bar dud. 
 
 We dever heard of id's 
 
 Failig to kdock the stuffig 
 
 Oud of a code, 
 
 Do batter how bad id was, 
 
 Ad if you will try id, 
 
AND OTHER THINGS. 49 
 
 We'll guaradtee a cure 
 Or do pay. 
 Jusd taig a liddle 
 Bolasses ad odiods 
 Ad bix theb id — 
 However, 
 You bust be bored 
 Full of holes 
 By kide frieds 
 With code rebedies 
 By this tibe, 
 Ad we'll berely 
 Exsted our sybathies. 
 So log, ode chap. 
 Good bordig — 
 Bud hadd't you better try- 
 However, 
 Good bordig. 
 
 4 — Yawps. 
 
so 
 
 YAWPS 
 
 A HINT OF SPRING. 
 
 There's a lazy time a-comin' 
 And it's comin' purty soon ; 
 
 It'll git a start in April 
 
 And'll keep it up through June. 
 
 The sun'U come a-streakin' 
 
 Crosst the valleys and the hills, 
 
 With its warmin' litrht a-drivin' 
 Out the shivers and the chills. 
 
 It'll loaf around the gardens 
 And'll roost among the trees, 
 
 A-coaxin' and persuadin' 
 
 With a mighty power to please; 
 
 Till the earth will be in color, 
 With the roses all in bloom 
 
 And the trees in leaf, and Nater 
 Injoyin' of the boom. 
 
 It'll ketch a feller workin' 
 
 In the house er out of doors, 
 
AND OTHER THINGS. 51 
 
 And'll start the tired feelin' 
 Oozin' out of all his pores. 
 
 It'll make his eyelids heavy, 
 
 It'll set his brain on dreams 
 Of the cool and shady places 
 
 By the quiet runnin' streams. 
 
 Then's the time to go a fishin', 
 
 For the lazy time is best, 
 'Cause a fish ain't hardly human, 
 
 And it never wants to rest. 
 
 By the ripplin' of the waters, 
 
 Makin' music all the day, 
 He can stretch out where its shady 
 
 And jest fish his life away. 
 
 It's the sunshine time, the fishin' time, 
 
 The lazy time that's best. 
 When a feller don't want nothin* 
 
 But to soak his soul in rest. 
 
52 YAWPS 
 
 AN EASTER EGG 
 
 I am an Egg, 
 
 An Easter Egg. 
 
 Behold how beautiful 
 
 My outside is, 
 
 In glittering gold. 
 
 In silver sheen 
 
 And burnished bronze ; 
 
 In Tyrian purple 
 
 And in vermeil dyes ; 
 
 In rainbow hues 
 
 Set solidly, 
 
 Or woven intricately 
 
 In curious, chaotic chromes ; 
 
 In blended tints and shades 
 
 And in all manner 
 
 Of prismatic wonders. 
 
 I please the eye, 
 
 And satisfy the sense 
 
 Of harmony in all the airs, 
 
 That light may play 
 
AND OTHER THINGS. 53 
 
 Upon the chords of taste ; 
 
 I fill the tired 
 
 ^Esthetic soul 
 
 With that chromatic rest 
 
 Which quiet sunsets 
 
 Bring in June 
 
 To bathe a twilight world 
 
 In crimson peace ; 
 
 Or yet again, 
 
 I stir the limner's brush 
 
 To nobler victories 
 
 In realms of light. 
 
 That's how I am outside 
 
 My shell ; 
 
 Within, 
 
 I may be a bad egg, 
 
 Through and through ; 
 
 A doubly whited sepulchre, 
 
 In that, all colors blended 
 
 Are but white. 
 
 That's me, 
 
 A gaudy glory to the eye 
 
 At every Easter show, 
 
 But— 
 
 There are others ! 
 
54 YAWPS 
 
 THE DAY OF HATS. 
 
 Oh, Easter Morn, 
 
 Oh, Day Easterious ! 
 
 Ten million bonnets rise 
 
 Upon the sight 
 
 And fill the time 
 
 With frenzied light 
 
 From myriad prism' d ribbons, 
 
 And with flowers 
 
 As odorless as rainbows are, 
 
 And with ten times 
 
 The rainbow's hues. 
 
 In blended shades and tints, 
 
 And fluffier in their feathere<l plumes 
 
 Than nodding palms 
 
 Upon a thousand tropic plains. 
 
 And gowns galore ! 
 
 Such gowns, gadzooks. 
 
 As, if the angels wore, 
 
 High Heaven would be 
 
 So different a place. 
 
AND OTHER THINGS. 55 
 
 Polychromatic Infinity! 
 All feminine 
 In loveliness, save this, 
 A man at intervals 
 In Easter pants ! 
 Stone gray, perhaps, 
 Or mauve, 
 Or yet anon. 
 Of lavender, 
 Or some poetic tint 
 Too sweet for other use 
 Than Easter pants. 
 Oh, Easter Morn ! 
 Oh, Day Easterious ! 
 In silken glimmer. 
 Satin sheen, 
 And lace illumed, 
 In pure white light 
 You are in very truth 
 The Prism of the Spring. 
 
S6 YAWPS 
 
 PARKS AND SPRING 
 
 One sees 
 
 The trees 
 
 Are greening in the parks ; 
 
 And larks 
 
 (There are no larks 
 
 But there's no time 
 
 To hunt a better rhyme) 
 
 And other birds, 
 
 In flocks and herds, 
 
 Are filling all the days 
 
 And ways 
 
 With merry lays, 
 
 Both song and egg. 
 
 The lively squirrels 
 
 Shake out their tails, 
 
 Like fuzzy sails, 
 
 And fly 
 
 Treeward to the sky ; 
 
 Or linger 'long the grass 
 
 To grab a peanut as you pass ; 
 
AND OTHER THINGS. 57 
 
 And little girls, 
 
 As dainty as the flowers, 
 
 And boisterous boys, 
 
 Whose youthful powers 
 
 Seem gone entirely to noise, 
 
 Run everywhere 
 
 And fill themselves with air, 
 
 As fresh and good 
 
 As blows in any forest wood. 
 
 And cops. 
 
 In bright blue togs, 
 
 By skips and hops 
 
 Chase unchained dogs ; 
 
 Or on a horse, 
 
 Go o'er the course 
 
 To catch a runaway and save 
 
 A wagon-load of ladies 
 
 From an untimely grave. 
 
 The roadways are alive 
 
 With those who drive ; 
 
 And thousands walk 
 
 And talk 
 
 Along the paths that run 
 
 Through pleasing shade and cheering sun. 
 
 The grass is velvet, 
 
 Soft and green. 
 
 And low between 
 
 The leafy, loving trees 
 
58 YAWPS 
 
 Are blooming bushes 
 
 Bending in the breeze. 
 
 The benches fill 
 
 With Jack and Jill, 
 
 With Mike and Maggie, 
 
 Sambo, Sal, 
 
 Katrina, Owgoost — 
 
 And the Mall 
 
 Is crowded to the lids 
 
 With niggling nurses and the kids 
 
 They have in charge. 
 
 The fountains, 
 
 Squirtless in the wintertime, 
 
 Now rise 
 
 In strings of silver 
 
 Toward the skies ; 
 
 Upon the lake 
 
 The skiff and barge, 
 
 With argosies of gay 
 
 And gladsome youth, 
 
 Have sway, 
 
 And from the boats 
 
 Lacrustine laughter floats. 
 
 Above it all the soft sky swings 
 
 Its light, aerial, azure wings. 
 
 And everybody and everything 
 
 Unite in a general 
 
 Hurrah for spring. 
 
AND OTHER THINGS. 59 
 
 FUNSTON OF KANSAS. 
 
 Gee whiz, 
 
 What a fighter Funston is ! 
 
 Funston of Kansas ; he 
 
 Who, over yonder across the sea, 
 
 Out Philippine way, 
 
 Three times a day. 
 
 Grabs a gun 
 
 And starts the rebs on a run; 
 
 And he'll fight 
 
 At night; 
 
 Or morning or evening or noon, 
 
 Or December or June, 
 
 Or any old time ; he 
 
 Lives on fighting. See ? 
 
 Eats it, sleeps with it, drinks it, 
 
 Thinks it, 
 
 But never talks it; just does it! 
 
 Whoop — 
 
 And he's got a scoop 
 
 On the foe. 
 
6o YAWPS 
 
 He doesn't know 
 
 What it is not to go 
 
 After a reb when one's in sight, 
 
 Day or night. 
 
 And he'll swim a river 
 
 Without a shiver, 
 
 Through a volley of shot 
 
 That will make the water hot ! 
 
 He's always in front, where 
 
 The circumambient air 
 
 Is chuck full of lead, 
 
 But he keeps his head, 
 
 And in a minute or two 
 
 He's beating a hullabaloo 
 
 On the rebs' coat-tails. 
 
 He never fails, 
 
 And he doesn't know 
 
 What it is to go slow. 
 
 Of all the fighters, trained or raw, 
 
 Funston's the fightin'est they ever saw 
 
 Out in the Philippines, and 
 
 He's keeping right at it, hand over hand. 
 
 Kansas has her weaknesses ; she may 
 
 Want to make currency out of hay, 
 
 And may think a gold dollar or two 
 
 Is a regular i6 to i hoodoo, 
 
 And she may grow whiskers on Populists' chins, 
 
AND OTHER THINGS. 6x 
 
 But Funston covers a multitude of sins. 
 
 Funston of Kansas, him 
 
 That's a dandy Jim 
 
 In all kinds of scraps 
 
 With the Malay yaps ; 
 
 Funston of Kansas, let the cheers 
 
 Of the present and all of the future years 
 
 Be given for him ; let his name 
 
 Be high in the soldiers' Temple of Fame ; 
 
 Funston of Kansas ; he is great, 
 
 The glory and pride of the Sunflower State. 
 
62 YAWPS 
 
 A GOOD WOMAN 
 
 Busy at her work all day, 
 Never asks a cent of pay, 
 Thinks it ought to be that way : 
 
 Thank the Lord for Susan ! 
 
 Singin', when she wants to sing, 
 Like the robins in the spring ; 
 Scoldin' some, like everything : 
 
 Thank the Lord for Susan ! 
 
 Always ready, day or night ; 
 Always willin' — she's a sight, 
 When it comes to doin' right : 
 
 Thank the Lord for Susan ! 
 
 Me and seven childern's what 
 She looks after, well or not, 
 And she's "Mother" to the lot: 
 
 Thank the Lord for Susan ! 
 
 Goes to church on Sundays, too, 
 'Long with all she's got to do; 
 
AND OTHER THINGS. 63 
 
 It's her that's goin' to pull me through : 
 Thank the Lord for Susan ! 
 
 In her hair is streaks of gray, 
 And the crows' feet's come to stay ; 
 But I like her best that way : 
 
 Thank the Lord for Susan ! 
 
 Made of consecrated clay, 
 She gits better every day : 
 
 Thank the Lord for Susan! 
 
64 YAWPS 
 
 THE -BROTHER TO THE OX." 
 
 [Suggested by Markham's Famous Poem of •' The Man With the Hoe."] 
 
 Say, Brother to the Ox, stand up, 
 
 And tell the Poet who 
 Thus calls you names to go to Aitch, 
 
 And do it p d q. 
 
 Your leaning on the hoe is rot; 
 
 You haven't got a hoe; 
 You've got a cultivator which 
 
 Has steam to make it go. 
 
 The emptiness of ages that 
 
 He tells you he can see 
 Spread on your face is honest sweat 
 
 And soil of high degree. 
 
 You're dead to rapture and despair, 
 
 You neither hope nor grieve, 
 He sadly says, and what he says 
 
 Nobody will believe. 
 
AND OTHER THINGS. 65 
 
 For when your wide and waving fields 
 
 Are rich with wheat and corn, 
 No happier man than you are then 
 
 Has ever yet been born. 
 
 And what a rapture when you swap 
 
 A balky horse and get 
 A crackajack of pedigree 
 
 On which it's safe to bet ! 
 
 And when you take up politics, 
 
 Although you make a muss 
 Sometimes, you never cease to hope 
 
 You'll slay the Octopus. 
 
 Who loosened and let down your jaw? 
 
 Lord knows. Whoe'er he is. 
 You've tackled him in splendid style 
 
 And long ago smashed his. 
 
 "Whose was the hand," the Poet cries, 
 That slanted back your brow? 
 
 And you can tell him, if it was, 
 It isn't that way now. 
 
 Whose breath blew out the light within 
 
 Your brain? he also asks. 
 As though he had a contract to 
 
 Perform a thousand tasks. 
 
 5 — Yawps, 
 
66 YAWPS 
 
 It was an old-time tallow-dip, 
 
 To blow out which was right, 
 And in the place of it you've got 
 
 A new electric light. 
 
 Say, Brother to the Ox, you're great; 
 
 And hoes and ploughs and things. 
 Like those in last year's bird's-nest style, 
 
 Of which the Poet sings 
 
 Are not your kind. You're up to snuff; 
 
 You've got the latest fads ; 
 And when it comes to showing down, 
 
 By Zucks! you've got the scads. 
 
 You wear good clothes; you've got a house 
 
 Built on the modern plan, 
 And when your wife and daughters drive, 
 
 They go behind a span. 
 
 In reference to your brotherhood. 
 
 Whatever may be said, 
 Your herd-book shows conclusively 
 
 The Ox is thoroughbred. 
 
 You read the papers day by day. 
 
 And take the magazines ; 
 You wear a dress-suit with the ease 
 
 You wear your working jeans. 
 
AND OTHER THINGS. 67 
 
 And when the Poet writes a verse 
 
 That shows you as a lout 
 You buy a copy of his book 
 
 To help the Poet out. 
 
 Say, Brother to the Ox, you're fine; 
 
 You do just as you please, 
 And like a slugger swat the si — 
 
 Lence of the centuries. 
 
 Oh, masters, lords and rulers in 
 All lands and bonds and stocks, 
 
 You bet you are not in it with 
 This Brother to the Ox. 
 
68 YAWPS 
 
 THE LOVE OF WOMAN. 
 
 Does woman have a head 
 
 To love with, 
 
 Or 
 
 To think with ? 
 
 Is she compelled to calculate 
 
 A why and wherefore 
 
 For her love, 
 
 And demonstrate it 
 
 By a rule, 
 
 As one sets figures thus and so 
 
 To reach results ? 
 
 Why has she heart, 
 
 If it is not 
 
 To lead her soul 
 
 Through gentler ways than reason's are? 
 
 A heart-throb is to her 
 
 As measureless as Heaven, 
 
 And why should she 
 
 Let finite thought 
 
 Essay to put a limit on 
 
AND OTHER THINGS. 69 
 
 The infinite? 
 
 Her head she thinks with ; 
 
 *Tis with her heart that she forgets ; 
 
 And in forgetfulness there is 
 
 That love that makes 
 
 A woman what she is : 
 
 God's dearest gift to all the world ! 
 
YAWPS 
 
 MEMORIAL DAY, 1900. 
 
 Now comes 
 
 The roll of drums 
 
 That tell the story of 
 
 The glory of 
 
 The patriot dead 
 
 Whose blood was shed 
 
 On land and sea 
 
 To make our country free 
 
 And give its liberty 
 
 To weak and helpless others 
 
 Held in bond as we, 
 
 In other times, were. 
 
 It was not theirs to live to see 
 
 The glorious fruits of victory. 
 
 But every grave 
 
 Of every brave 
 
 And o-enerous son 
 
 Whose work is done. 
 
 Is dearer now to us 
 
 Than was his life to him, 
 
AND OTHER THINGS. 71 
 
 And where he sleeps 
 
 There love its vigil keeps. 
 
 In the Northland where the snow is, 
 
 In the Southland where the sun is, 
 
 On the green Atlantic meadows, 
 
 By the murmurous Pacific, 
 
 In the arid land of Indians, 
 
 On the banks of Mississippi, 
 
 By the waters of Lake Erie, 
 
 Underneath the Cuban palm trees. 
 
 By the roads of Porto Rico, 
 
 In the swamps and by the rivers 
 
 Of the far-off Orient Islands, 
 
 Are our glory spots. 
 
 The silent stars 
 
 That shine upward 
 
 To light the path 
 
 Where patriot sons 
 
 Shall tread 
 
 Beneath those other stars 
 
 That glitter in the Flag. 
 
 Upon the soldiers' 
 
 Everlasting camping ground 
 
 We strew the flowers of summer time. 
 
 Our messengers of light 
 
 And warmth and love, 
 
 Remembering, 
 
72 YAWPS 
 
 To those who, after "Taps," 
 
 Have sunk to rest 
 
 To wait the reveille 
 
 That wakes a world. 
 
 We bring 
 
 The fragrant roses of the North, 
 
 The fair magnolias of the South, 
 
 The sweet forget-me-nots 
 
 Of all this land of ours 
 
 Made free and fertile 
 
 By the blood of those 
 
 Who loved it so 
 
 They gave their lives for it. 
 
 We give them tears, 
 
 And though our eyes be wet 
 
 There is that in our hearts 
 
 That makes tears glad 
 
 For heroes, dead in noble sacrifice, 
 
 Are greater gain 
 
 Than any loss. 
 
 To-day swing out the Starry Flag, 
 
 Let no more tears be shed, 
 
 The loving living glory in 
 
 The glory of the dead. 
 
 Swing out the Flag ! 
 
 And roll the drums, 
 
 A Nation with its homage 
 
 Comes. 
 
AND OTHER THINGS. 73 
 
 THE PROSE OF POETRY 
 
 His poem had been writ 
 
 And brought him gold. 
 
 Filled full of lofty thought, 
 
 Of noble purpose and 
 
 Of brilliant wit, 
 
 Of sentiment and soul ; 
 
 Of music, unattuned, 
 
 It turned the mystic key 
 
 That fits the lock of wealth. 
 
 It was a picture 
 
 Wrought in words ; 
 
 A star plucked from 
 
 The sky of mind ; 
 
 A white rose from 
 
 The garden of the heart. 
 
 And yet it was not these 
 
 To him. 
 
 Between its splendid lines 
 
 He found a suit of clothes ; 
 
 Its periods rounded out to him 
 
74 YAWPS 
 
 A plate of soup, 
 
 A roast of beef, 
 
 A piece of pie. 
 
 Its rhythmic flowing feet 
 
 Wore shoes for him ; 
 
 Its soul 
 
 Went to his stomach, 
 
 And its sentiment 
 
 Gave him a bed on which to sleep 
 
 And dream the poet's dream; 
 
 Its measure and its melody, 
 
 Its waking and its wretchedness. 
 
AND OTHER THINGS. 75 
 
 THE SWEET GIRL GRADUATE, 
 
 See there she stands 
 
 In gown of white — 
 
 All white and fluffy, 
 
 Perhaps a little puffy — 
 
 And in her hands 
 
 A roll 
 
 Of manuscript; a scroll, 
 
 Tied with a pale pink ribbon, 
 
 Or ethereal blue. 
 
 Mayhap a rose 
 
 Is at her dainty waist ; 
 
 Mayhap a sash 
 
 Of some cool tint 
 
 Encircles it 
 
 And spreads into a bow 
 
 With streamers falling to her hem. 
 
 Her hair lies soft 
 
 Upon her classic head 
 
 And touches with caressing curls 
 
76 YAWPS 
 
 Her fair, 
 
 Smooth brow, 
 
 Unwrinkled now 
 
 With care. 
 
 A ribbon-knot adorns it. 
 
 Or a bloom 
 
 As sweet as she is. 
 
 Her face, ahg-ht 
 
 With promise and with hope, 
 
 Is radiant as a star, 
 
 And through her cheeks 
 
 The young blood courses ruddily. 
 
 The future glistens in her eyes, 
 
 And out beyond 
 
 The narrow confines 
 
 Of her Past and Now, 
 
 She sees a dream, 
 
 All golden glorious, 
 
 Coming- true. 
 
 Her heart beats high, 
 
 And every nerve is tense; 
 
 While in her brain 
 
 Are whirling thoughts 
 
 That will not rest, 
 
 She feels the breaking of the ties 
 
 That held what was and what will be, 
 
 And little tears come to her eyes 
 
AND OTHER THINGS. 77 
 
 To let themselves be chased away 
 
 By smiles. 
 
 The bud of womanhood 
 
 Is bursting- in her soul 
 
 To blossom afterwhiles, 
 
 And every parting fibre brings 
 
 To her a thrill 
 
 Of pleasure and of pain, 
 
 The place grows still ; 
 
 Her trembling fmgers hold 
 
 Her manuscript, and in a voice, 
 
 Half certainty, half doubt, 
 
 Half tears, half smiles, 
 
 She reads: 
 
 "Standing with reluctant feet, 
 Where the brooks and rivers meet. 
 We have met this rare June day 
 To bid farewell, ere we go away. 
 
 "How sad it is for us who're here, 
 Friends and pupils and teachers dear. 
 To say good-by, perhaps, forever, 
 And be engulfed in life's wide river. 
 
 "To-day we're children ; only girls. 
 Wearing our pretty frocks and golden 
 
 curls, 
 But when to-morrow's sun we see. 
 Dear classmates, we shall women be. 
 
78 YAWPS 
 
 "Oh think of that, dear girls. How deep 
 The feeling is should make us weep ; 
 For grave responsibilities must come 
 To all of us, and more to some. 
 
 "We look back now upon the years 
 We've passed in school, and though 
 
 our tears 
 Did sometimes flow, all that is past, 
 And we have reached the goal at last. 
 
 "This bright Commencement Day 
 we're here 
 To gratefully thank our teachers dear 
 And tell them how much we appreciate 
 Their noble efforts, early and late. 
 
 "No more we'll hear the chapel bell, 
 No more our little fibbies tell. 
 No more will we late lunches eat, 
 No more we'll flirt upon the street. 
 
 "All that is past, we know 'twas wrong, 
 But like a discord in a song. 
 It is forgotten in the sweeter part 
 That always touches the truest heart. 
 
 "To you, dear classmates, let me say 
 One little word upon this Day ; 
 Though many, many I could tell, 
 But I will only say Farewell. 
 
AND OTHER THINGS. 79 
 
 "A word that hath been, and must be, 
 Sad and yet joyful to you and to me ; 
 Sad that we must part ; and yet 
 Joyful in that we will not forget. 
 
 "And now to all, Farewell again, 
 The saddest word of tongue or pen ; 
 Farewell, dear friends, we part in love; 
 May we meet forever in the land 
 above." 
 
 These are her burning thoughts, 
 
 This the way 
 
 She points to 
 
 On Commencement Day, 
 
 A sweet, poetic pathway 
 
 Leading through 
 
 A field of roses and — 
 
 Of rue. 
 
 My word, 
 
 Isn't the sweet girl graduate 
 
 A bird? 
 
8o YAWPS 
 
 LO, THE SUMMER GIRL. 
 
 Lo, there she stands 
 
 Upon the mystic, misty line 
 
 That lies half-way 
 
 Between the frost and flowers ; 
 
 Her pink cheeks redden in the sun 
 
 And with a greeting, smile and nod, 
 
 She comes to earth upon a bluebird's wing 
 
 And tip-toes into June 
 
 On rosebuds blushing sweet 
 
 Beneath her dainty tread. 
 
 Gowned in a garniture of filmy white 
 
 Or fluffy pinks and blues 
 
 And every varying tint and shade 
 
 Of blossom-time, 
 
 She skims above the green earth's breast 
 
 just high enough to reach men's hearts ; 
 
 She makes the world her own, 
 
 And man her slave, 
 
 And as a Queen she reigns 
 
 Upon her hammock throne, 
 
AND OTHER THINGS. 8i 
 
 Or sits in state upon a hotel porch 
 
 Surrounded by her court ; 
 
 The ribbons of her sailor hat 
 
 Are rainbow-tinted fetters 
 
 Binding close the glad, unhappy subjects 
 
 Of her sway ; 
 
 Her tinsel parasol 
 
 Is sceptred in her hands 
 
 And from its shade she rules 
 
 A retinue of swains ; 
 
 Down by the sea 
 
 She walks the silver strand, 
 
 Where emerald waves break into foamy white 
 
 And lay their broken bodies at her feet ; 
 
 She murmurs nothings to a hundred ears 
 
 And gives her smiles to honeyed tongues 
 
 That tell of manly hearts in thrall to her; 
 
 The lazy, lambent moon 
 
 Lies crescent in the sky 
 
 For her to hang her witcheries on, 
 
 And all the little stars. 
 
 With twinkling eyes that sparkle in the blue, 
 
 Laugh silently to see 
 
 This sorceress of the summer-time 
 
 Work moonshine into mystic spells ; 
 
 The sunshine drops its dazzle 
 
 In her hair, her eyes, her smile ; 
 
 6 — Yawps. 
 
82 YAWPS 
 
 The flowers fold their fragrance round her 
 
 As she moves ; 
 
 The roses lay their leaves upon her cheeks, 
 
 The lilies on her hands, 
 
 And everything in sight is hers. 
 
 She leaves the land 
 
 To meet the cool caresses of the sea, 
 
 And Neptune sets a short-robed Queen 
 
 Upon his billowy throne ; 
 
 The saucy waves come up to kiss her cheeks 
 
 And slip away, as laughingly she dares 
 
 Them do their worst ; 
 
 Sunburned she stands upon the shore 
 
 And, gazing outward o'er the blue, she weeps 
 
 For other worlds to claim as hers. 
 
 Up from the sea 
 
 To where the mountains touch the sky 
 
 And bathe their dark green brows 
 
 In silver clouds, 
 
 She takes her way, 
 
 All-conquering as she comes ; 
 
 The waving trees 
 
 Bend down their sheltering boughs 
 
 To touch her passing underneath ; 
 
 The gray crags soften 
 
 When she rests on them ; 
 
 The murmurous hum of forest life 
 
AND OTHER THINGS. 83 
 
 Grows still to hear her speak, 
 
 And what she says to any him 
 
 Who worships her 
 
 In those primeval shrines 
 
 Is hidden in the hearts of flowers 
 
 Where bees may come to gather it 
 
 And lock it in their hives. 
 
 She rules the mountains 
 
 As she rules the shore, 
 
 A flirting phantom. 
 
 Frivolous and fair ; 
 
 A dream of fluffy pink and white 
 
 That ne'er comes true ; 
 
 A bright intangibility ; 
 
 A fantasy of music, moonlight, love and flowers, 
 
 A Summer Girl. 
 
YAWPS 
 
 THE SHIRT WAIST. 
 
 Behold me, 
 
 I am the Shirt Waist, 
 
 The universal slip 
 
 That woman wears 
 
 And revels in 
 
 With wild, abandoned joy, 
 
 As unrestrained 
 
 As I am. 
 
 Had Eve but had 
 
 A shirt waist on, 
 
 When she passed outward through 
 
 The garden gate. 
 
 Her hardship would have seemed 
 
 A holiday ; 
 
 Had Cleopatra had me on 
 
 When she swept down the Nile 
 
 'Neath silken sails, 
 
 She would have cast 
 
 Her sunshades far 
 
 Out on the rolling tide ; 
 
AND OTHER THINGS. 85 
 
 And Venus, she of Medici, 
 
 If decked in me, 
 
 Would surely 
 
 A new woman be. 
 
 Without me, 
 
 Woman's wear is but a name 
 
 For fetters and for bonds. 
 
 I have all season's for my own, 
 
 But in the summer time 
 
 I burst into ten thousand hues 
 
 That make the rainbow pale 
 
 And beg the sun to shine 
 
 No more upon the rain. 
 
 I weave 
 
 The purple shadows of the eve 
 
 Into my web ; 
 
 The rose-tint and the cherry-ripe, 
 
 The apple-bloom. 
 
 The violet and the golden-rod, 
 
 The chrome chrysanthemum, 
 
 The dazzling dahlia and the tulip show, 
 
 The painted pansy 
 
 In a thousand dyes, 
 
 The vari-verdancy of grasses in the fields, 
 
 The crimson, gold and scarlet of 
 
 The frost-kissed forest leaves. 
 
 The multi-colored breadth of earth 
 
86 YAWPS 
 
 And sea and sky and air, 
 
 And lambent moon and silver sun, 
 
 And topaz stars 
 
 Are not arrayed like rtiost of me, 
 
 When Summer comes to let 
 
 My gorgeous glories loose 
 
 And spread them o'er the world. 
 
 I fit all sizes, 
 
 And I gather in 
 
 The female form divine, 
 
 From Greenland's icy mountains 
 
 To India's coral strand, 
 
 And no one says me nay. 
 
 The fickle Goddess Fashion 
 
 Flits 
 
 To parts unknown 
 
 When I appear, 
 
 For I have come to stay. 
 
 I, the Shirt Waist ; 
 
 I, the one fixed fashion 
 
 Of the fair. 
 
AND OTHER THINGS. 87 
 
 THE HUMIDITY. 
 
 Say Humidity, 
 
 You pestiferous permeator 
 
 Of an otherwise fairly respectable 
 
 Circumambient atmosphere, 
 
 What excuse for being 
 
 Have you got anyway ? 
 
 Why don't you 
 
 Go in out of the wet ? 
 
 Did you ever have to hit 
 
 Anybody with a club 
 
 For insisting on you 
 
 To remain over 
 
 And load the air 
 
 Full of yourself 
 
 Every time the 
 
 Barometrical area 
 
 Humped itself a bit ? 
 
 Get out, Humidity, 
 
 You are the very worst 
 
 In the whole category 
 
88 YAWPS 
 
 Of meteorological ills, 
 
 And you haven't got 
 
 A friend 
 
 On earth. 
 
 You're a blamed sight meaner 
 
 Than any mean temperature 
 
 In these parts 
 
 For while that 
 
 Bangs around from 
 
 50 below to 1 50 above, 
 
 More or less, 
 
 You can't get above, 
 
 A hundred 
 
 Without being drowned out, 
 
 And you simply 
 
 Can't go to zero 
 
 At all. 
 
 But confound you, 
 
 You can mix yourself up 
 
 With the atmosphere, 
 
 And then what you are 
 
 Is a plenty. 
 
 Oh, it's more than a plenty. 
 
 You gosh-darned 
 
 Draggly, 
 
 Discouraging, 
 
 Detestable dampness ; 
 
AND OTHER THINGS. 89 
 
 You moist, 
 
 Moppy, 
 
 Muggy, 
 
 Miserable mixture 
 
 Of seven kinds of sweat 
 
 All warranted not to dry 
 
 Inside of a week ; 
 
 Oh you — you — 
 
 You make everybody tired. 
 
 You are the father 
 
 And mother 
 
 And grandparents 
 
 And mother-in-law 
 
 Of that tired feeling 
 
 All the world 
 
 Has to take medicine for. 
 
 Why, Humidity, 
 
 You dampener of all ardour, 
 
 Too much of you 
 
 In good liquor 
 
 Will even spoil that. 
 
 Oh say, 
 
 Can't you dry up once ? 
 
 What this suffering sphere needs 
 
 Is a reliable article 
 
 Of dessicated humidity, 
 
 And it's up to you 
 
YAWPS 
 90 
 
 To furnish it. 
 
 Do you precipitate 
 
 Our allusion? 
 
AND OTHER THINGS. 91 
 
 THE ELECTRIC FAN 
 
 Oh, yes, 
 
 I've got a cold, 
 
 A summer cold, 
 
 The meanest of its race, 
 
 The black sheep 
 
 Of the flock of lesser ills. 
 
 How did I get it ? 
 
 Please ask me something hard ; 
 
 I got it 
 
 Sitting underneath a fan. 
 
 Not fan of palm. 
 
 Or feathered finery. 
 
 Or handiwork of Jap, 
 
 Swayed lazily 
 
 By some fair lady's hand, 
 
 But fan of brass. 
 
 Sent whirlingly through space 
 
 At lightning speed 
 
92 YAWPS 
 
 By lightning spark ; 
 
 The popular electric fan, 
 
 The tempter 
 
 Of an overheated man, 
 
 The terror 
 
 Of the summer time. 
 
 Unto its cool caresses; I, 
 
 Unthinking, gave myself, 
 
 And sinking at its base 
 
 Into an easy chair, 
 
 I let the music 
 
 Of its soothing whirr 
 
 Lull me to sleep. 
 
 Methought I floated on the wings 
 
 Of angels fresh from Shadyland 
 
 That fanned me as they flew 
 
 And turned the perspiration 
 
 On my burning brow 
 
 To pearls of pleasantness ; 
 
 I dreamed of babblingf brooks 
 
 That told of spring ; 
 
 Of purling rills 
 
 That sang of shade ; 
 
 Of sweet, sequestered woods, 
 
 Unscorched by sun; 
 
 Of fair, green fields, 
 
AND OTHER THINGS. 93 
 
 Dew-kissed from morn to night; 
 
 Of rose bloom 
 
 And of rhapsodies — 
 
 And then the vision changed 
 
 And I beheld 
 
 A hideous horror, 
 
 Brazen winged, 
 
 That flew forever. 
 
 Whirling round 
 
 And round and round, 
 
 Unceasingly around. 
 
 And beat upon its cage of wire; 
 
 The meanwhile 
 
 Whirring wickedly 
 
 And blowing out its icy breath 
 
 Upon my neck 
 
 And down my back 
 
 Into the very marrow of my soul. 
 
 Chilled through 
 
 And stiffened to the bone, 
 
 My clothes, as cold and clammy 
 
 As the hand of death, 
 
 Stuck to my shivering skin, 
 
 I, with a sneeze 
 
 And wheeze and snort, 
 
 Awoke. 
 
94 YAWPS 
 
 Oh, yes, 
 
 I've got a code, 
 
 A dab bad code, 
 
 Ad I know how I god id. 
 
AND OTHER THINGS. 95 
 
 AN ENIGMA. 
 
 And the man stood before me talking : 
 
 "Verily, verily," were his words, 
 
 "I have been by the smooth road, 
 
 The great road 
 
 Where the wheels are whirling hither and yon ; 
 
 Where the flowers bloom not. 
 
 Yet there are many bloomers ; 
 
 Where there are no trees, 
 
 Yet limbs are everywhere; 
 
 Where no cattle come, 
 
 Yet calves are many ; 
 
 Lean calves and fat. 
 
 Pretty calves and homely. 
 
 Old calves and young ; 
 
 And stranger than the other strange things 
 
 Was this : 
 
 That no calf of all those calves 
 
 Had more than one leg !" 
 
 Then the man ceased speaking, 
 
 And I communed with myself, saying : 
 
 " Verily, the wheels this man thought he saw 
 
 Are in his own head." 
 
 And I plumed myself upon my superior wisdom. 
 
96 YAWPS 
 
 THE SHIR T-W A I S T MAN. 
 
 Behold me, 
 
 Coatless and cool ; 
 
 I am the Shirt Waist Man 
 
 And if I don't 
 
 Take the rag off the bush, 
 
 I take the coat 
 
 Off my back 
 
 And fling it 
 
 In the face of conventionality. 
 
 What do I care 
 
 If Fashion 
 
 Piles the perspiration 
 
 Chin deep 
 
 On the backs 
 
 Of coated men ? 
 
 It doesn't monkey with me, 
 
 For I yank off my coat 
 
 And Fashion 
 
 Chases itself out of my 
 
 Neighborhood, 
 
AND OTHER THINGS. 97 
 
 And leaves me 
 
 Cool 
 
 As a cucumber. 
 
 Of course, 
 
 My shirt waist 
 
 Isn't cut according 
 
 To the pattern 
 
 Of the lady shirt waist, 
 
 And it lacks 
 
 Fluff and puff 
 
 And furbelow, 
 
 And has a 
 
 Superfluity of narrative, 
 
 Perhaps, 
 
 But it gets there 
 
 Just the same, 
 
 And I am comfortable, 
 
 While those. 
 
 Coated with conventionality. 
 
 Sweat and swear 
 
 And kick holes 
 
 In the Weather Bureau 
 
 And lose their tempers 
 
 In an overflow of temperature. 
 
 The Shirt Waist Man 
 
 Isn't a recognized institution 
 
 Just yet, 
 
 7 — Yawps. 
 
98 YAWPS 
 
 But he's the coming man, 
 
 And the hot weather 
 
 Brings him out 
 
 As it does the tassels 
 
 On a field of corn, 
 
 And soon the streets 
 
 Will blossom with him, 
 
 Not altogether 
 
 A thing of beauty, 
 
 But verily a joy 
 
 To himself 
 
 During the heated term. 
 
 That's me, 
 
 The Shirt Waist Man, 
 
 And as long 
 
 As I keep cool 
 
 Conventionality 
 
 May go to thunder. 
 
AND OTHER THINGS. 99 
 
 LARCHMONT'S SHIRT- 
 WAIST HOP. 
 
 At a recent shirt-waist hop at fashionable Larchmont on Long 
 Island Sound, two hundred representative garments were present. 
 
 Larchmont had a shirt-waist hop 
 
 And all the men were there, 
 The grave brunette, the giddy blonde, 
 
 The bravest and the fair. 
 
 There were blue shirt waists 
 
 And red shirt waists 
 
 And pink shirt waists and green, 
 
 There were white shirt waists 
 
 And black shirt waists 
 
 And fat shirts waists and lean. 
 
 There were dark shirt waists 
 And light shirt waists 
 And gray shirt waists and blue. 
 There were smooth shirt waists 
 And ruffled shirt waists 
 And false shirt waists and true. 
 Lof L. 
 
loo YAWPS 
 
 There were mauve shirt waists 
 
 And yellow shirt waists 
 
 And right shirt waists and wrong, 
 
 There were pretty shirt waists 
 
 And ugly shirt waists 
 
 And short shirt waists and long. 
 
 There were plaited shirt waists 
 
 And netted shirt waists 
 
 And paid-for shirt waists and not, 
 
 There were hiofh shirt waists 
 
 And low shirt waists 
 
 And cool shirt waists and hot. 
 
 There were nice shirt waists 
 And cheap shirt waists, 
 They were all shirt waists in style ; 
 There were plain shirt waists 
 There were quiet shirt waists 
 And some you could hear a mile. 
 
 There was every kind of a shirt waist there, 
 With a man to match it inside, 
 
 And the girls were so jealous 
 Of the shirt-waisted fellows 
 That they sat on the floor and cried : 
 
 Or somebody has lied. 
 
AND OTHER THINGS. loi 
 
 THE AUTOMOBILE. 
 
 I am the Automobile 
 
 And I run 
 
 My never tiring course 
 
 Along the roadways 
 
 Of the world, 
 
 And leave no hoofprints 
 
 In the sands of time. 
 
 I am the horse's Juggernaut, 
 
 Likewise the mule's, 
 
 And over their recumbent necks 
 
 My whirHng wheels 
 
 Pass to an era 
 
 Not for them. 
 
 They mark a step in progress 
 
 Through six thousand years ; 
 
 I leap the bounds 
 
 Of all the past 
 
 And whizz into the future with 
 
 A swish that marks me here 
 
 This instant, and the next 
 
 A thousand years ahead. 
 
 I stand, a pioneer, 
 
 Upon the lofty ridge 
 
 Between the new and old, 
 
YAWPS 
 
 And backward down the Kismet path 
 
 I hear the slow surceasing tread 
 
 Of hoof-beats moving to the field 
 
 Of desuetude, 
 
 I look before and see 
 
 A million multiples of me 
 
 Subservinor man 
 
 o 
 
 In all his moving needs, 
 
 A ministrant of motion that 
 
 Is measureless as are 
 
 Its master's wants. 
 
 By night and day I stand and wait, 
 
 And at the master's beck 
 
 I go. 
 
 I have no tired eyelids for 
 
 The hand of Sleep 
 
 To lay its fingers on ; 
 
 No hunger gnaws my vitals out ; 
 
 No muscles, overstrained and sore, 
 
 Plead silently to me for rest. 
 
 In my new lexicon 
 
 There's no such word as rest; 
 
 And tireless as may be 
 
 The energies of man. 
 
 My service meets them everywhere, 
 
 As tireless as they, 
 
 And makes cessation cowardice, 
 
AND OTHER THINGS. 103 
 
 I am the movement 
 
 Of the time to come ; 
 
 And in me motion finds 
 
 Its rhythm and its poesy, 
 
 Its " get there" \ 
 
 And its best activity, 
 
 I am The Thing ; 
 
 The It of passage and 
 
 The master servant of the master man. 
 
 Through the splendors of the future, 
 
 In every land and clime, 
 
 I will lead the grand procession 
 
 Up the corridors of time. 
 
 In the niche of transportation 
 
 In the Pantheon of Fame, 
 
 God among the gods of motion, 
 
 I shall set my seal and name. 
 
I04 YAWPS 
 
 MAUD MILLER. 
 
 Maud Miller in the summer's heat, 
 Raked the meadows thick with wheat. 
 
 The Judge rode slowly down the lane, 
 Soothing his horse's chestnut mane. 
 
 "With wheat at a dollar per," said he, 
 "This maid is about the size for me." 
 
 Then he smiled at her and she blushed at him. 
 And over the meadow fence he dim. 
 
 "Will you marry me, sweet maid," he said. 
 And she told him yes, and they were wed. 
 
 Alas for maiden, alas for Judge, 
 
 For old designer and wheatfield drudge. 
 
 Lord pity them both and pity us all. 
 For Maud didn't own the wheat at all. 
 
 And the Judge remarked when he learned the 
 
 cheat : 
 "Don't talk to me about dollar wheat!" 
 
AND OTHER THINGS. loc 
 
 READ Y— I F NEEDED! 
 
 Up on the coasts and hills of Maine, 
 Where the spruce gum is a source of gain. 
 Where the ice crops in the rivers grow. 
 And the pine woods' splendors hide in snow ; 
 Every man is ready ! 
 
 Down in the solemn Everglades, 
 In the orange orchards' pleasant shades, 
 By the rivers, still and dark and deep, 
 Where the lazy alligators sleep ; 
 Every man is ready ! 
 
 Off in the Texas cotton fields. 
 Where the earth her snowy fibre yields, 
 Where the plains stretch out and far away 
 From the dawn to the going down of day ; 
 Every man is ready ! 
 
 There in the big, strong Keystone State, 
 Whose brawn and muscle have made her great, 
 Where the sturdy miner and mill hand give 
 To Labor the heart that makes it live ; 
 Every man is ready ! 
 
To6 YAWPS 
 
 Out in the blizzardous, cold Northwest, 
 V/here the zero weather will stand the test, 
 Where the tops of the mountains scrape the skies, 
 And the wheat fields yield their golden prize ; 
 Every man is ready ! 
 
 Out on the California strand, 
 Where the sun shines soft on a Promised Land, 
 Where the roses bloom and the hillsides laugh, 
 \\ ith the fruit whose blood the gods may quaff ; 
 Every man is ready! 
 
 Still on, to the Puget country where 
 The mountains loom through the misty air. 
 Where the great primeval forests stand 
 As sentinels who guard the land ; 
 Every man is ready! 
 
 Up in the fields where the daisies bloom, 
 Down in the city's dingiest room. 
 Out on the plains, or in the hills. 
 Deep in the mines, or in the mills, 
 From everywhere they're rising, then. 
 Ten thousand regiments of men ; 
 
 And every man is ready. 
 
AND OTHER THINGS. 107 
 
 HYMEN'S SPEECH. 
 
 Behold me, 
 
 Hymen, the Hustler, 
 
 And Hitcher of Hearts. 
 
 Ever since Easter 
 
 I've been working overtime 
 
 And we're not half way in sight 
 
 Of June, when the real rush 
 
 Of roses and rapture 
 
 Is turned on full. 
 
 Still I'm not going to strike 
 
 For shorter hours. 
 
 My advance agent 
 
 And business solicitor, 
 
 Cupid, 
 
 Has been a busy little god 
 
 All winter, 
 
 And I've got to hustle 
 
 To keep up with his orders. 
 
 I'm the boss coupler 
 
 Of two souls with but a single thought, 
 
io8 YAWPS 
 
 And the way I can hook up 
 
 Two hearts that beat as one 
 
 Is a sight to behold. 
 
 I'm the best friend 
 
 And the most profitable partner 
 
 Of the florist, 
 
 The caterer, 
 
 The preacher, 
 
 The milliner, 
 
 The dressmaker, 
 
 The furniture dealer, 
 
 The real estate agent 
 
 And the instalment-plan man ; 
 
 But do I get any of the rake-off? 
 
 Nary a nickel. 
 
 I ought to kick, I suppose. 
 
 But I don't. 
 
 My clients are all 
 
 So perfectly happy. 
 
 So ineffably blissful. 
 
 So supremely ecstatic. 
 
 And so infinitely pleased 
 
 That I take it out in that. 
 
 And forget the gross, material profits 
 
 Which others get out of the business 
 
 Of hymenizing, 
 
 I've had a rush like this 
 
AND OTHER THINGS. 109 
 
 Every Spring since I began operations, 
 
 But I never get tired 
 
 And the more I have to do 
 
 The better I like it. 
 
 Plenty of kicks are coming, 
 
 Of course, 
 
 But that's not my affair. 
 
 I give no guarantees, 
 
 And if people don't find goods 
 
 To be as represented, 
 
 It's no mix of mine 
 
 However, this is my busy day, 
 
 And there are forty-seven calls for me 
 
 This very minute. 
 
 Anything I can do for you ? 
 
 No? 
 
 Sorry. 
 
 So long ; 
 
 See you later. 
 
YAWPS 
 
 CONCERNING A DAY. 
 
 If you're asking what the row is, 
 What the never-ceasing noise is, 
 What the bursting boundless boom is, 
 What the blunderbussian bang is, 
 What the flushing fiery fizz is. 
 What the whooping, whanging whiz is. 
 What the swinging, sweeping sizz is. 
 What the silence-spHtting sound is. 
 What the too terrific toot is. 
 What the boisterous, breezy blare is, 
 What the brassy, big-horn blast is. 
 What the much meandering march is. 
 What the flawless, flying flag is, 
 Why the spruce gum of Katahdin 
 Spruces finer than a fiddle, 
 Why the cold New England Yankee 
 Booms the everlasting Doodle, 
 Why the blooming wooden nutmeg 
 Whoops itself to something greater, 
 Why the knightly Knickerbocker 
 Knicks his bocks and bocks his knicker, 
 Why the mint of old Virginia 
 
AND OTHER THINGS. „, 
 
 Coins a patriotic julep, 
 Why the Georgia watermelon 
 Bursts in red enthusiasm. 
 Why the tents that tickle Tampa 
 Swell with pride and tooting troopers, 
 Why the old Kentucky Bourbon 
 Turns its yeller into gladness, 
 Why the Texas cotton raiser 
 Raises other things than cotton, 
 Why from Maine to California, 
 On to Oregon or Klondike, 
 From the Philippines to Cuba, 
 Taking in the Sandwich Islands 
 And some other territory. 
 There is boom and bang and bolster. 
 There is fizz and fire and fervor, 
 
 There is Yankee Doodle-Dixie 
 
 Uncle Sam will tell you briefly 
 That he's out to do some Fourthing. 
 Just a bit of Fourthing, mind you, 
 On his jolly July birthday ; 
 That he's out to have a pleasant 
 Little Uncle Sam-sam frolic ! 
 That is all. Now if there's any- 
 Body thinks that he can stop it. 
 Say for instance, let him try it. 
 Let him try it, right this minute ! 
 
 Whoop-la ! ! 
 
YAWPS 
 
 IN WASHINGTON. 
 
 They say that in this city, 
 
 Our fair, pale Marguerite, 
 And Kate and Jane and others 
 
 Wear anklets near their feet ; 
 They say our lovely damsels, 
 
 Who never can grow old, 
 Adorn their graceful ankles 
 
 With silver bands, or gold 
 
 They say there are inscriptions 
 
 Within those circling bands, 
 So shy and coy that only 
 
 A maiden understands ; 
 They say these anklets carry 
 
 A wealth of jewels rare, 
 Which flash in starry sparkles, 
 
 Mid dainty underwear. 
 
 They say : but what is gossip ? 
 
 An exercise of spite, 
 In which some men are skilful, 
 
 And women take delight. 
 
AND OTHER THINGS. 113 
 
 It's gossip, merely gossip, 
 
 Which bruits the news abroad, 
 That Washington's fair damsels 
 
 Are in this way gewgawed, 
 For I have often watched them 
 
 Pursue their pretty ways 
 By primrose paths of dalliance, 
 
 On rainy, sloppy days. 
 
 I've seen their dainty steppings 
 
 On crossings where the slush 
 Had just about attained the 
 
 Consistency of mush ; 
 I've seen them lift their laces 
 
 To let a stocking gleam, 
 As gleams a fleeting fancy 
 
 In some poetic dream. 
 
 I've seen the lovely limning 
 
 Of pictures done in silk, 
 Enframed by gauzy laces 
 
 As soft and white as milk ; 
 I've caught the misty glories 
 
 Of visions, quickly gone, 
 As pink and blue auroras 
 
 Come tripping to the dawn. 
 
 8 — Yawps. 
 
114 ' YAWPS 
 
 How many of these visions 
 
 I've seen, I do not care 
 To publish in the papers, 
 
 But, hear me as I swear : 
 The rumor is unfounded, 
 
 Cold malice did inspire 
 The statement, and I tell you 
 
 That "They Say" is a liar. 
 
AND OTHER THINGS. 115 
 
 A BLAZE OF GLORY. 
 
 Chicago, July 3, 1894. — Mrs. Katherine O'Leary, owner of the cow 
 that kicked the lamp that fired the barn that set the blaze that burned 
 Chicago, died here to-day. 
 
 Dead is Mrs. O'Leary, 
 
 Dead in Chicago now ; 
 Finished her earthly labors, 
 
 Gone to meet her cow : 
 
 Cow that is ever famous, 
 
 More than heart could desire ; 
 
 Famous because she started 
 The Great Chicago Fire : 
 
 Fire that swept the city; 
 
 City of brick and frame 
 Went up in a blaze of glory, 
 
 That brought unfading fame : 
 
 Fame for being the biggest 
 
 Fire that ever blazed 
 In any earthly city, 
 
 And left the world amazed: 
 
ii6 YAWPS 
 
 Amazed that from her ashes 
 
 Chicago could arise, 
 And grow with magic swiftness 
 
 To such enormous size : 
 
 Size that is simply wondrous ; 
 
 Distended everywhere, 
 With the wind, which is de facto, 
 
 Coagulated air: 
 
 Air that is filled with thickness, 
 
 That makes the sun as red 
 As the blood in her slaughter houses, 
 
 Where the wine of her life is shed: 
 
 Shed that her wealth and glory 
 
 Might decorate the brow 
 Of the one and only city 
 
 Kicked to fame by a cow : 
 
 Cow of Mrs. O'Lear)^; 
 
 A lamp, a kick, and a shed, 
 A wonderful combination 
 
 Numbered now with the dead. 
 
 Dead is Mrs. O'Lear}^ 
 
 Gone to the by and by ; 
 Go build her a tomb of granite 
 
 A hundred stories high ! 
 
AND OTHER THINGS. ii? 
 
 THE SPEEDWAY, NEW YORK. 
 
 Wide 
 
 By the waterside, 
 
 The yellow-brown 
 
 And rock-ribbed way leads from the town. 
 
 Between 
 
 The green 
 
 Of the hills it lies 
 
 Under the sapphire skies, 
 
 A golden link that ties 
 
 The stony street, 
 
 White in the heat, 
 
 To the cool roads that wend 
 
 Their shady way to the end 
 
 Of the land 
 
 Stand. 
 
 You, 
 
 Where the bridges do, 
 
 Arches of steel and arches of stone. 
 
 Thrown 
 
 Outward and over the way ; 
 
ii8 YAWPS 
 
 And stay 
 
 To look at the Speedway, bright 
 
 In living color and changing light. 
 
 Surely the sight 
 
 Gladdens the eye, 
 
 And sends the blood high. 
 
 Sweeping through and through, 
 
 Be it plain red or blue. 
 
 See there, a horse 
 
 On the course. 
 
 And near him another, each 
 
 Striving and stretching to reach 
 
 The hill at the goal, and to win 
 
 The glory of coming in 
 
 In the lead — and here, there. 
 
 Everywhere, 
 
 Two, three, four, a dozen come 
 
 With a whizz and a hum 
 
 Of whirring wheels, 
 
 And your very soul feels 
 
 The rush of the horses, and you hear 
 
 Cheer after cheer, 
 
 Till your forget 
 
 All else and let 
 
 Your own tumultuous spirit out 
 
 In a wild shout 
 
 Of triumph for the winner : him, best or worst — 
 
 No matter which — that got there first. 
 
AND OTHER THINGS. 119 
 
 In the centre of the way 
 
 The fliers stray, 
 
 While on each side 
 
 Of the long and wide 
 
 Stretch of yellow-brown, 
 
 Hundreds of others move up and down ; 
 
 In every manner of grave and gay 
 
 Equipage along the way, 
 
 A rainbow of horses and wheels and wraps 
 
 And run-a-bouts, carriages, wagons and traps. 
 
 These in the wide : 
 
 On the walks beside 
 
 Are thousands on foot to see 
 
 The whirl of the horses, and be 
 
 Out in the open where 
 
 The good sun shines, and the air 
 
 Swings along fresh and free 
 
 As sweet as the breath of the sea. 
 
 Men, women and children, they, 
 
 Who love the zest of the day, 
 
 Linger along by the way, 
 
 Glad to be where 
 
 They find light and air 
 
 And so much that is fair : 
 
 Where, wide 
 
 By the waterside 
 
 The yellow-brown 
 
 And rock-ribbed way leads from the town. 
 
I20 YAWPS 
 
 FOR FUTURE REFERENCE. 
 
 Say, Aguinaldo, 
 
 You little measly 
 
 Malay moke, 
 
 What's the matter with you ? 
 
 Don't you know enough 
 
 To know 
 
 That when you don't see 
 
 Freedom, 
 
 Inalienable rights. 
 
 The American Eagle, 
 
 The Fourth of July, 
 
 The Star-Spangled Banner, 
 
 And the Palladium of your Liberties, 
 
 All you've got to do is to ask for them ? 
 
 Are you a natural born chump 
 
 Or did you catch it from the Spaniards? 
 
 You ain't bigger 
 
 Than a piece of soap 
 
 After a day's washing, 
 
 But, by gravy, you 
 
AND OTHER THINGS. 
 
 Seem to think 
 
 You're a bigger man 
 
 Than Uncle Sam. 
 
 You ought to be shrunk., 
 
 Younof fellow ; 
 
 And if you don't 
 
 Demalayize yourself 
 
 At an early date, 
 
 And catch on 
 
 To your golden glorious opportunities, 
 
 Something's going to happen to you 
 
 Like a Himalaya 
 
 Sitting- down kerswot 
 
 On a gnat. 
 
 If you ain't 
 
 A yellow dog 
 
 You'll take in your sign 
 
 And scatter 
 
 Some Red, White and Blue 
 
 Disinfectant 
 
 Over yourself 
 
 What you need, Aggie, 
 
 Is civilizing. 
 
 And goldarn 
 
 Your yaller percoon skin, 
 
 We'll civilize you 
 
 Dead or alive. 
 
12 2 YAWPS 
 
 You'd better 
 
 Fall into the 
 
 Procession of Progress 
 
 And go marching on to glory, 
 
 Before you fall 
 
 Into a hole in the ground. 
 
 Understand? 
 
 That's us — 
 
 U.S. 
 
 See? 
 
AND OTHER THINGS. 123 
 
 A FANTASY. 
 
 Inspired by a slice of (New York) University Club mince pie. 
 
 Sit down around the mystic mix, 
 
 And lay the heaviest odds 
 That nowhere else can mortals fix 
 
 A mince pie for the gods. 
 
 In other minces there are ills 
 
 Whose presence perils ease, 
 But everything in this mince fills 
 
 The hungry harmonies. 
 
 The crusts, that hold the myst'ry close, 
 
 Melt in the mouth, and they, 
 Above the earthy and the gross, 
 
 In raptures fade away. 
 
 The meat that's in the mince is meat 
 The gods themselves must grow ; 
 
 While grape and citron, rich and sweet. 
 Are from Pomona's show. 
 
J 24 YAWPS 
 
 Above the full round mystery 
 
 Such nectarous odors rise 
 That, when its gates are opened, we 
 
 Step into Paradise. 
 
 And one may dream who may have fed 
 
 Upon this perfect pie. 
 But all the dream paths he may tread 
 
 Lead upward to the sky. 
 
 Sit down around the mystic mix 
 
 And lay the heaviest odds 
 That nowhere else can mortals fix 
 
 A mince pie for the gods. 
 
AND OTHER THINGS. 125 
 
 A LAY O F THE ANCIENTS. 
 
 Copied from the notebook of a youthful reader of the classics. 
 
 I dreamed I wandered 'mong-st the shades 
 
 Of those gone long ago to Hades, 
 
 And I would fain repeat the name 
 
 And deeds of those well known to fame. 
 
 Chief orator in all those scenes 
 
 I warrant was great Demosthenes, 
 
 Who made his speeches to the throng. 
 
 Without a stutter, all day long. 
 
 While wiser far than all his mates, 
 
 I'm just as sure was wise Socrates, 
 
 Who taught here, fearless of the lip 
 
 He got when living with Xantippe, 
 
 And livinof still within his means 
 
 Was economic Diogenes, 
 
 Who, having found an honest man, 
 
 Had swapped his lantern for a fan. 
 
 I wandered to the ballroom floor, 
 
 And there I saw fair Terpsichore, 
 
 Who danced amidst a hundred maids. 
 
 None sweeter than the sweet Pleiades; 
 
126 YAWPS 
 
 And none to me were quite so nice, 
 
 Among them all, as Eurydice. 
 
 In that department where abides 
 
 The court of justice, Aristides 
 
 Was seated on a front bench high, 
 
 And spoke to me as I passed by. 
 
 And busy still upon his deeds 
 
 Of science was great Archimedes. 
 
 Beyond the limits of the schools. 
 
 Among the athletes was Hercules, 
 
 The strong man of the show, you bet. 
 
 And one a fellow can't forget ; 
 
 Alongside, dressed in steel-trimmed frills, 
 
 I saw the warrior bold, Achilles, 
 
 And near him weeping, in a robe 
 
 Of sombre shape, sat sad Niobe, 
 
 A lady who has wept so much, 
 
 It makes one cry to think of such. 
 
 Now wandering on, my sight reveals 
 
 The famous sculptor Praxiteles ; 
 
 With chisel drawn, he's making terms, 
 
 I ween, to sculpt another Hermes. 
 
 And thus I wandered in my dream 
 
 And met at every turn a stream 
 
 Of famous and illustrious shades 
 
 Inhabiting the realm of Hades, 
 
 Who seemed to be quite satisfied 
 
 And showed me round the place with pride. 
 
AND OTHER THINGS. 127 
 
 CHICAGO PHONETICS. 
 
 The Senate of the University of Chicago has vetoed the action of the 
 Administrative Board of the University Press in deciding to adopt for 
 use in the university publications the National Educational Association's 
 list of twelve words in the abbreviated phonetic spelling. — Chicago 
 News Item. 
 
 O Doctors, lernd in menny things, 
 
 No doubt it's just az wel 
 That yu ar met by others who 
 
 Reject yore wa tu spel ; 
 Perhaps tha no no more than yu ; 
 
 Perhaps not quite az much, 
 But tha ar more conservativ 
 
 And rather keep in tuch 
 
 With what iz old, than what iz nu, 
 
 Because they no that what 
 Iz nu and hithertu untride 
 
 Ma posibly be not 
 The proper thing ; and so tha stand 
 
 Stif-nekt agenst yore plan 
 Tu drop the old and make the nu 
 
 Conspikuus in the van. 
 
128 YAWPS 
 
 That it iz sumwhat ruf on yu, 
 
 We must admit, but then 
 Yu've got tu go a littel slo — 
 
 The conquests ov the pen 
 Ar never quick az ar the soard's 
 
 And time alone can tel 
 The triumf ov yore efforts tu 
 
 Adopt nu waze to spel. 
 
 But yu wil get thair, never fear ; 
 
 It's bound tu kum, for we 
 Ar forjing onward tu the frunt 
 
 With wundrus energy. 
 And when we cough, we'll cof, gadzooks ; 
 
 And if we're toucrh, we're tuf ; 
 And when we're through, we're thru; 
 and then 
 
 Enough will be enuf ; 
 
 And phthisic will be tizzik then, 
 
 And so wil debt be det, 
 And sigh wil fal awa tu si, 
 
 And al the rest, yu bet 
 Wil take a tumbel tu themselves, 
 
 And speling by yore act 
 Will in Q-Qod time bekum tu be 
 
 A grand fonetic fact. 
 
AND OTHER THINGS. 129 
 
 IN CHRYSANTHEMUMIAM. 
 
 Say, there, 
 You rosybuds 
 And lilypods, 
 And sweet peas, 
 And daffydowndillies, 
 And daisies, 
 And geraniums, 
 And all you other 
 
 Miss Nancies of the flowering world, 
 , Will you please go sprinkle yourselves, 
 And turn your weeping eyes on Me — 
 Me, 
 
 The effulgent and iridescent full-back 
 Of the Floral Field ? 
 The only blooming 
 Football player 
 
 In the whole botanical business ? 
 There's nothing 
 Of the modest little violet style 
 In my ornate 
 
 9 — }'aups. 
 
13° YAWPS 
 
 And flocculent physiognomy, 
 
 And when it comes 
 
 To throwing bouquets, 
 
 I rather fancy 
 
 I'm a whole plate 
 
 Of cold slaw 
 
 Myself! 
 
 Don't I seem 
 
 To strike you that way? 
 
 I am also 
 
 A shredded sunburst of glory, 
 
 And when I rise and shine 
 
 There is but one light 
 
 By which the footsteps 
 
 Of the fleet and fading Flora 
 
 Are guided: 
 
 That's Me, 
 
 The Chrysanthemum ! 
 
 See? 
 
AND OTHER THINGS. 
 
 131 
 
 TO THE W. C. T. U. CON- 
 V E N T I O N. 
 
 (In Seattle.) 
 
 Hail, Women ! 
 
 Hail and welcome ! 
 
 We are glad 
 
 To have you 
 
 In the wide and wondrous West, 
 
 Where water in ten million 
 
 Silver streams 
 
 Flows down a million hills 
 
 Made green and glorious 
 
 By such wholesome drink ; 
 
 And half the year 
 
 The kindly clouds 
 
 Pour their libations down 
 
 To make the other half 
 
 All sunshine, flowers, 
 
 And genial glow 
 
 Of generous earth. 
 
 We greet you. Women, 
 
 From all otherwheres — 
 
132 YAWPS 
 
 The frigid North. 
 
 The languorous South, 
 
 The cultured East, 
 
 The multifarious Middle West ; 
 
 Wherever you may have your homes 
 
 There better things prevail, 
 
 And though the toddy 
 
 Trembles to its fall, 
 
 And cheerinor cocktails 
 
 Dodge into a dismal 
 
 Desuetude, 
 
 And sparkling fizz 
 
 Grows stale and flat 
 
 And profitless, 
 
 And Bacchus 
 
 Bids his beer adieu, 
 
 Your courage does not fail 
 
 Nor does your purpose 
 
 Go awry. 
 
 The woeful, wicked Taste 
 
 That worships wine 
 
 And in the red 
 
 Of crimson chalices 
 
 Looks on the sunrise of its soul ; 
 
 That browses dreamily 
 
 Upon the green and tender mint ; 
 
 That sees the stars 
 
AND OTHER THINGS. 133 
 
 Of love and poesy 
 
 In every sparkle of the yellow stream 
 
 Which flows from France, 
 
 Is not your kind, 
 
 And happily is not. 
 
 Here's to you, then, 
 
 Just as you are, 
 
 And let us drink your health 
 
 And ours as well. 
 
 And that of all mankind, 
 
 In water, clear and cold 
 
 And pure as are the motives 
 
 Of your deeds. 
 
 Hail, Women ! 
 
 Hail and welcome ! 
 
 Although we do not pledge 
 
 Your health in rare old wines 
 
 We look towards you in a light 
 
 That everlasting shines 
 
 And glorifies you, as no wine 
 
 Could glorify; and now 
 
 Here's hail and welcome once again, 
 
 And, pardon us, "Here's how!" 
 
134 YAWPS 
 
 ANOTHER COUNTY 
 HEARD FROM. 
 
 I am ready to fight if necessary. — Gen. Joe Wheeler of Alabama, 
 
 Then up rose General Wheeler 
 
 Of Alabama, who 
 Led all the Southern horsemen 
 
 The great rebellion through, 
 And, rising, said : " I'm with you, 
 
 You wearers of the blue. 
 
 " In other days my color 
 
 Was gray, and what I did 
 I think was quite convincing 
 
 That I was not a kid ; 
 Now, by that selfsame token, 
 
 I'm loaded for the Cid. 
 
 "What's past is past forever, 
 
 And in this better day 
 We have a closer Union, 
 
 Including blue and gray; 
 A Union without section, 
 
 Forever come to stay. 
 
AND OTHER THINGS. 135 
 
 "I'm ready for the Spanish 
 If they should come ashore, 
 
 And with ten thousand horsemen 
 I'd like to lead once more, 
 
 This time a troop of Yankees, 
 A rebel at the fore 
 
 " In blue, thank God ! and floating 
 
 Above the serried host, 
 Old Glory in the glory 
 
 Of which we love to boast : 
 •One Flag, one God, one Country,' 
 
 Our everlasting toast." 
 
136 YAWPS 
 
 SOME TEXAS PECU- 
 LIARITIES. 
 
 Though Texas is a lordly State 
 
 And loaded full of biz, 
 It's not a millionth time as big 
 
 As Texans think it is ; 
 But just the same, no one would care 
 To make this truthful statement there. 
 
 Just why he wouldn't there's no need 
 
 Of saying in this space ; 
 Enough to say, that truth, though good, 
 
 Is sometimes out of place ; 
 And, notwithstanding speech is free, 
 The wise man muzzles liberty. 
 
 But Texas is a wonder State ; 
 
 It grows horned toads and things, 
 And cattle which have horns so long 
 
 They cut them into strings ; 
 And spiders with such scads of hair. 
 They make a football fiend look bare. 
 
AND OTHER THINGS. 137 
 
 There counties grow to such extent 
 
 That almost any State 
 Could hide within their vastness and 
 
 Stay there and vegetate ; 
 And there the plains spread out so wide 
 They haven't any other side. 
 
 Her rivers are tremendous things, 
 
 At least so Texans state, 
 Yet they must irrigate them, so 
 
 Their boats can navigate ; 
 And fish must leave the rivers' path 
 And go to sea to get a bath. 
 
 A man once said that if he had 
 
 (At least so I've heard tell) 
 A residence in Texas and 
 
 Another one in h — , 
 He wouldn't live in Texas ; yet, 
 He never said it there, you bet. 
 
138 YAWPS 
 
 CONSUL-GENERAL LEE'S 
 REMARKS. 
 
 The Spaniards call Fitzhugh Lee a Yankee. — Havana Despatch. 
 
 "They say that I'm a Yankee: 
 
 I have heard it many times, 
 I have seen it in their papers, 
 
 It is in their songs and rhymes ; 
 I'm the Yankee Consul-General, 
 
 I'm the Yankee who's come down 
 To steal the brightest jewel 
 
 From the old Castilian crown. 
 
 "They say that I'm a Yankee : 
 
 If I'd heard it in my youth, 
 I might perhaps have questioned 
 
 Its everlasting truth ; 
 But now, I glory in it : 
 
 It's the landmark of my birth, 
 And I'd rather be a Yankee 
 
 Than anything on earth. 
 
AND OTHER THINGS. 139 
 
 "They say that I'm a Yankee, 
 
 And I'm glad to say I am ; 
 A Yankee of the Yankees, 
 
 And the man ain't worth a — well, 
 Who wouldn't be a Yankee 
 
 When the Banner is unfurled 
 That has made the Yankee Nation 
 
 The greatest of the world ? 
 
 "They say that I'm a Yankee. 
 
 Virginians, can it be 
 That history will mention 
 
 The Yankee, Fitzhugh Lee? 
 I hope so ; and, Virginians, 
 
 Let all of us give thanks 
 That now dear ol' Virginny 
 
 Is loaded full of Yanks." 
 
X40 YAWPS 
 
 THE PASSING OF THE 
 SUMMER GIRL. 
 
 Sit still, you throbbing heart ! 
 
 Sit still, 
 
 Won't you ? 
 
 While yet the Summer Girl 
 
 Sweeps swiftly out of sight ! 
 
 Not that she's not 
 
 Out of sight. 
 
 Every day in the year, 
 
 But— 
 
 That's another story! 
 
 Oh, Summer Girl, 
 
 Oh, fluttering vision 
 
 Of the surfy shore ! 
 
 Oh, symphony 
 
 In silken shapeliness! 
 
 Oh. Skirted Swimmer 
 
 Of the sounding seas! 
 
 Oh, sweet resistless 
 
 Naiad Queen of Neptune-land ! 
 
 Oh, Empress of the Tallyho! 
 
AND OTHER THINGS. 141 
 
 Oh, Goddess of the 
 
 White-winged yacht ! 
 
 Oh, Sorceress of the hillside inn ! 
 
 Oh, rare, pale 
 
 Lily of the lakelet vale ! 
 
 Oh, Mystic Mountain Maid, 
 
 Sunkissed in tan 
 
 And roseate as the dawn ! 
 
 Oh, Hammocked Houri 
 
 Of the halcyon days ! 
 
 Oh, goshelmity ! 
 
 Oh, Summer Girl, 
 
 Why are you thus 
 
 To be September squelched 
 
 And leave the heart that thumps 
 
 To throb on in its 
 
 Throbfulness, 
 
 With nothing, save 
 
 The memory of a 
 
 Glinting gleam of glory, 
 
 To lean up against, 
 
 Until next summer's sweet supply 
 
 Comes into market? 
 
 Oh, dim, delicious dream ! 
 
 Oh, darn the luck ! 
 
 Oh, Summer Girl, 
 
 Au revoir! 
 
 Oh, mamma! 
 
142 YAWPS 
 
 MILK AND MUSIC. 
 
 Prof. McConncU told the Eastern Counties' Dairy Farmers at their 
 annual dinner a few days ago, that "music suitable in quality and 
 administered at the right moment is a never-failing means of increasing 
 the supply of cream." — The Sun. 
 
 We hail thee, Prof. 
 
 Nor do we scoff 
 At what you rise to tell us ; 
 
 Because we feel 
 
 That gods reveal 
 Strange things to those who' re zealous. 
 
 We love to think 
 
 The milk-white drink, 
 The cow gives of her treasures, 
 
 Is changed somehow, 
 
 Despite the cow. 
 By lovely Lydian measures. 
 
 The statement, which 
 
 You make, is rich 
 In knowledge that enthuses ; 
 
 Your fame can't fade 
 
 Since you have made 
 Milkmaids of all the Muses. 
 
AND OTHER THINGS. 143 
 
 You've made of Pan, 
 
 The goat-leg man 
 Whose musical endeavor 
 
 Was piping hot 
 
 In wood or grot, 
 A Pan of milk forever. 
 
 These things are plain 
 
 And much we gain 
 By your profound researches, 
 
 But something more 
 
 From out your store 
 We want by gift or purchase. 
 
 We know that what 
 
 You know is not 
 What may not be relied on, 
 
 And you no doubt 
 
 Have heard about 
 The tune the old cow died on ? 
 
 We do not care 
 
 To know the air, 
 As millions have before us ; 
 
 Nor do we, sir, 
 
 Ask if it were 
 A solo or a chorus. 
 
144 YAWPS 
 
 But, tell us now, 
 
 Did not that cow 
 Succumb with sigh and sputter 
 
 Because some maid 
 
 Just played and played 
 To make her give pure butter ? 
 
AND OTHER THINGS. 145 
 
 THE ONE MAN POWER. 
 
 He stands where the tumbling waves can't reach 
 His snow white shoes on the snow white beach. 
 
 He stands where the tumbling waves can't reach 
 His sun red feet on a sun white beach. 
 
 He walks in the promenade at eve, 
 
 And the maidens weep lest he should leave. 
 
 He looks at the dance and turns away, 
 Because it makes him too tired to stay. 
 
 When he goes to his various meals he hurls 
 His declinations at a dozen girls. 
 
 When he swings in a hammock half asleep, 
 The girls hang round him three feet deep. 
 
 He moves about in a kingly way. 
 
 And who can blame him if he should say: 
 
 ''I am the only pebble on the beach!'' 
 
 He stands where the mountain rears its top 
 
 To the bowl of heaven, whence the new stars drop. 
 
 10 — Yawps. 
 
146 YAWF3 
 
 He moves 'midst the moss-grown rocks and rills 
 And gives no heed to the ladies' wills. 
 
 He leads the German through figures fine, 
 And all his followers are feminine. 
 
 He owns the earth in whole and part, 
 And each day breaks some maiden's heart. 
 
 He's monarch of all he surveys, and proud 
 To stand on the summits and cry aloud : 
 " There are no others!" 
 
AND OTHER THINGS. 147 
 
 THE EXCELSIORIC 
 UMP I R E. 
 
 The crowd was gathering thick and fast 
 As from the outside inside passed 
 A man who stood up, strong and proud, 
 And in a brave voice shouted loud, 
 "Play ball!" 
 
 His brow was sad ; his eye beneath 
 Flashed like a falchion from its sheath, 
 And like a silver clarion rung 
 The accents of that well-known tongue ; 
 "One strike!" 
 
 In many an eye he saw the light 
 That warned him how to shape the fight ; 
 Beyond, the spectral bleachers shone, 
 And from his lips escaped a groan ; 
 "One ball!" 
 
148 YAWPS 
 
 "Let up on that!" one bleacher said; 
 Another yelled, "We'll punch your head!" 
 And forty yelled, "Go soak your hide!" 
 And loud that clarion voice replied, 
 "Two balls!" 
 
 "O, stay," a small boy guyed, "and rest 
 Your weary head upon this breast." 
 A tear stood in his bright blue eye, 
 As now he answered with a sigh, 
 "Two strikes!" 
 
 "Beware the pine tree's withered branch; 
 Beware the awful avalanche!" 
 These were the grand stand's words, and he 
 Braced up and shouted lustily, 
 
 "Three strikes and out!" 
 
 " " the bleachers yell. 
 
 " W— 11!" 
 
 § H t t fi@^ t § S@* '^ * * * slam 
 ttt§§1II|— xl@-?? d— n! 
 
 !!!!!!!!!! 
 
 There at the home plate, cold and gray, 
 Lifeless, but beautiful, he lay ; 
 And from the sky, serene and far, 
 A voice fell like a falling star: 
 "Next!" 
 
AND OTHER THINGS. 149 
 
 THE THIRD PARTY 
 DRIVES UP. 
 
 I am the Third Party! 
 
 Git on to my style 
 
 Will you? 
 
 And my trimmin's ? 
 
 By Gravy, 
 
 I don't wear no socks, 
 
 And my galluses is 
 
 Fastened with a lynchpin. 
 
 But I'm cuttin' 
 
 A wide swath 
 
 Right down the middle of the road, 
 
 And they can't head 
 
 Me off, 
 
 Nohow ! 
 
 Mebbie I am a. sort of 
 
 A Farmers'-Alliance-Citizens*- 
 
 Alliance-Knights-of-Labor- 
 
 National-Industrial-Anti- 
 
 Monopoly-Single-Tax- 
 
ISO YAWPS 
 
 Prohibition-Woman-Suffrage- 
 
 Greenback-Free-Silver- 
 
 Potato-Currency-Socialistic- 
 
 Grand-Old-People's party ; 
 
 But what if I am? 
 
 What are they goin' 
 
 To do about it ? 
 
 That's what! 
 
 By Zucks ! I have come 
 
 To stay. 
 
 And no razor-back Democrat, 
 
 Nor slab-sided Republican, 
 
 Nor ring-nose Mugwump 
 
 Kin root me out! 
 
 I'm a forty acre field, 
 
 That you kin raise anything on 
 
 From a mortgage 
 
 To a bale of hay. 
 
 With a wagon load 
 
 Of dressin' throwed in, 
 
 And I don't give a durn 
 
 Who knows it ! 
 
 I kin grub up a stump, 
 
 In two shakes of a lamb's tail, 
 
 And the old political 
 
 Stumps has got to come, 
 
 Ef I bust a britchin' 
 
AND OTHER THINGS. 151 
 
 Doin' of it ! 
 
 You hear me ! 
 
 Mebbe my clo's don t fit. 
 
 And my cow-leather brogans 
 
 Hain't got no shine 
 
 On to 'em, 
 
 But that won't stop 
 
 Ther kickin'! 
 
 And brains ain't 
 
 In that eend 
 
 Neither ! 
 
 All the American Eagle 
 
 Has got to do in this business 
 
 Is to set quiet on the fence 
 
 And watch my 
 
 Thrashin' machine go, 
 
 When that off mule 
 
 Gits done scratchin' 
 
 His back up agin the fence ! 
 
 Hand me that whip ! 
 
 Gimme them lines ! 
 
 Now!! 
 
 Wo-haw ! 
 
 Jeewillikins ! 
 
 Gosh-all-hemlock ! 
 
152 
 
 YAWPS 
 
 LABOR DAY, i 900 
 
 I am Labor, 
 
 And not only is this day mine, 
 
 But all days. 
 
 The world began by Labor, 
 
 And God, 
 
 Its Mighty Maker, 
 
 Is the Infinite Laborer, 
 
 The same 
 
 Yesterday, to-day and forever. 
 
 As by Labor 
 
 He made all things, 
 
 So by Labor 
 
 Do His creatures live ; 
 
 And rest 
 
 Is death. 
 
 Man is the master of the world, 
 
 And I, the master of the man. 
 
 I bend my neck to his yoke 
 
 And I bear his burdens ; 
 
 I am his hewer of wood 
 
AND OTHER THINGS. 153 
 
 And his drawer of water ; 
 
 He commands 
 
 And I obey. 
 
 But not with slave's obedience. 
 
 I am the greater 
 
 Submitting to the less. 
 
 Man chains the elements 
 
 And drives them 
 
 By their will, 
 
 Not his. 
 
 I serve 
 
 When I may be so willed; 
 
 But when I rule, 
 
 I am a master and a tyrant then 
 
 That overthrows all order, 
 
 Crushes men, 
 
 Starves helpless little ones. 
 
 Wrecks homes, 
 
 And ruthlessly tears down 
 
 All I have builded up. 
 
 Unreasoning 
 
 I run my course. 
 
 And wearied with myself 
 
 And by myself, 
 
 I yield again. 
 
 I am a passion 
 
 And a punishment ; 
 
IS4 
 
 YAWPS 
 
 A fire 
 
 That licks its own self up ; 
 
 A flood 
 
 That sweeps itself into the sea ; 
 
 An element unchained, 
 
 Man drives by its own will, 
 
 Not his, 
 
 When by its will 
 
 He has it chained again. 
 
 I have no master save myself, 
 
 Yet am so good a slave 
 
 I am content 
 
 With such bad mastery. 
 
 This day is mine, 
 
 And honors shown to me to-day 
 
 Are not less mine 
 
 On other days. 
 
 I overcome all things 
 
 Except myself. 
 
 And crown all things. 
 
 I am the solace 
 
 And the substance of the world ; 
 
 Man finds forgetfulness in me, 
 
 And by me come the things 
 
 That never are forgot ; 
 
 Earth's progress 
 
 And its plentitude. 
 
AND OTHER THINGS. 155 
 
 Its purpose 
 
 And its happiness, 
 
 Its glory 
 
 And its majesty. 
 
 While Labor is 
 
 So is the world, 
 
 And when I cease to be 
 
 The end must come 
 
 To Maker and to made. 
 
156 YAWPS 
 
 A SAGE OF CHICAGO 
 REM ARKS. 
 
 We have struck the nude in Art 
 
 In Chicago ; 
 And it gives the folks a start 
 
 In Chicago ; 
 But you bet your life we'll show 
 Everybody that we know 
 What's the style on Baldhead row, 
 
 In Chicago. 
 
 There's some less Art than Pork, 
 
 In Chicago; 
 We do not ape New York, 
 
 In Chicago; 
 But we get there just the same, 
 For in Art we're known to fame, 
 And the classic is our game, 
 
 In Chicago. 
 
AND OTHER THINGS. 157 
 
 It is said that we are crude 
 
 In Chicago; 
 That we're not up to the nude, 
 
 In Chicago; 
 Well, they've simply slipped a cog. 
 They are off their dialogue, 
 They should see a well-scraped hog, 
 
 In Chicago. 
 
 And the hog we think can shine 
 
 In Chicago, 
 With the human form divine, 
 
 In Chicago. 
 Yet we're willing quite to hear 
 What to do, so's not to queer 
 The Apollo Belvedere 
 
 In Chicago. 
 
 And if Venus wants to come 
 
 To Chicago, 
 And to feel herself at home 
 
 In Chicago, 
 We have only this to say: 
 She can come right here and stay. 
 And we'll learn to dress her way. 
 
 In Chicago. 
 
158 YAWPS 
 
 We are worshippers of Art 
 
 In Chicago, 
 We will always do our part 
 
 In Chicago; 
 And, as we want the best. 
 Why, the nude goes with the rest, 
 As our hogs go, when they're dressed, 
 
 In Chicago. 
 
AND OTHER THINGS. 159 
 
 RESPONSE OF THE AMERI- 
 CAN PEOPLE. 
 
 Shall we drift as we are drifting, into the vortex ? — General Patrick 
 Collins of Boston, September, 1900. 
 
 Never, General, 
 
 Never, never, 
 
 If we drift 
 
 And drift forever. 
 
 True, 
 
 We may drift, 
 
 As we are drifting, 
 
 And perhaps it isn't so worse to drift, 
 
 Seeing that while we drift 
 
 We don't have to 
 
 Keep a full head of steam on, 
 
 And steam costs money ; 
 
 But ere we reach the vortex, General, 
 
 Ere we take the final shoot, 
 
 We will stop our drifting, General, 
 
 And jump off and grab a root. 
 
 Then, O questioner 
 
i6o YAWPS 
 
 Of the ages, 
 
 Puzzler of the primal sages, 
 
 We will make the Ship of State 
 
 Fast to the bank. 
 
 And, carefully 
 
 Approaching the vortex, 
 
 We will nab it 
 
 By the scuff of the neck 
 
 And the seat of the pants, 
 
 And yank it 
 
 Clean out of its hole. 
 
 Yank it out bodily. General, 
 
 And having it 
 
 Where we can get at it right. 
 
 We will, as the Assyrian of old 
 
 That came down like a wolf on the fold. 
 
 Proceed to render it 
 
 Utterly and permanently 
 
 Unfit for business 
 
 By plugging it up so tight 
 
 You couldn't drive 
 
 An X-ray through it 
 
 With a forty horse power 
 
 Steam hammer. 
 
 To know us in our hours of ease 
 
 Uncertain, coy and hard to please, 
 
 You'd scarce suspect it, would you, Pat, 
 
AND OTHER THINGS. i6i 
 
 We'd do a vortex up like that ? 
 
 And yet 
 
 We would ; 
 
 Indeed we would. 
 
 And when we had it thoroughly plugged, 
 
 Making it a devortexed vortex, 
 
 So to speak, 
 
 We'd shove it back 
 
 Into its hole again ; 
 
 And over the spot where the vortex 
 
 Formerly brandished its tail 
 
 And pawed and cavorted 
 
 And gyrated and snorted, 
 
 The Ship of State will sail 
 
 With never a jar you could feel 
 
 From the tip of her mast to her keel, 
 
 Resplendent in her glory, 
 
 Fit theme of song and story. 
 
 Sail on 
 
 Oh Ship of State, 
 
 Sail on ; 
 
 And, General, 
 
 When you're not busy, 
 
 Please trot out another vortex ; 
 
 We've got plugs a-plenty. 
 
 II— Yawps. 
 
x62 YAWPS 
 
 SCHOOL BEGINS. 
 
 Wow ! 
 
 Ten million " Wows " 
 
 Or more, 
 
 Rise o'er the land 
 
 From mouths 
 
 Which since the end of June 
 
 Have known but smiles 
 
 And joyous shouts 
 
 And howls and yells 
 
 To wake the dead. 
 
 Oh youngsters, 
 
 You are up against it, sure ; 
 
 You know the gall 
 
 Of government 
 
 Without the consent of the governed, 
 
 And we tender you 
 
 Our earnest sympathy. 
 
 September is a slob, 
 
 That's what it is, 
 
 Or it would never loose the key 
 
AND OTHER THINGS. 
 
 To lock the fetters on your limbs 
 
 And give your brains 
 
 A chance to boom 
 
 When all outdoors 
 
 Is full of sunshine 
 
 And of fun. 
 
 What's brains to you 
 
 When all you want is room and time 
 
 To let your bodies have full sway ? 
 
 The grown-up folks may feel the need 
 
 Of books and brains 
 
 Because 
 
 They're all played out, 
 
 But you 
 
 Are not that kind ; 
 
 Your work and world and wisdom 
 
 Call for different stuff. 
 
 If it were so 
 
 That two times two were hopscotch, 
 
 And two into eight went fishing, 
 
 Or dog spelled " ball," 
 
 Or Geography were a description of the 
 
 Earth's swimming holes, 
 
 Or Grammar were the study of the parts 
 
 Of a kite, 
 
 How much more gladly would you seek 
 
 True wisdom 
 
 163 
 
1 64 YAWPS 
 
 In the school-house walls. 
 
 Or if the young idea were taught to shoot 
 
 With a shotgun, 
 
 How silently you'd " Wow " 
 
 When sad September 
 
 Shoved you into school. 
 
 The grown folks ought to go to school 
 
 Because they do not like to play. 
 
 And you, who do, 
 
 Should be let run 
 
 Until you, too, have grown beyond 
 
 The playing age 
 
 To find the need, 
 
 As they have, 
 
 Of what is taught in school — 
 
 Ain't that so ? 
 
AND OTHER THINGS. 165 
 
 COMMODORE CANNON. 
 
 Otherwise Representative Cannon, of Illinois, one time member of 
 the House Committee on Naval Affairs. 
 
 Once on a time Joe Cannon went 
 From Washington to Norfolk, 
 
 To see a battle-ship just then 
 Much talked about by war-folk. 
 
 He went by water, on a boat, 
 And all the way kept talking- 
 
 Of everything about a ship 
 From mizzentop to calking. 
 
 In fact the crowd, who heard him talk, 
 
 And listened as he ran on, 
 Thought him an expert, and they called 
 
 Him Commodore Cannon. 
 
 And it was wonderful to hear 
 
 The language he paraded, 
 To show the lumbering landsmen he 
 
 Knew so much more than they did. 
 
1 66 YAWPS 
 
 He talked of bowsprits on the poop, 
 
 Of top-sails on the starboard, 
 Of jib-booms on the rudder post, 
 
 And yard-arms on the larboard. 
 
 Indeed, there wasn't anything 
 
 He didn't seem to know of, 
 And in accordance with himself, 
 
 It followed he would blow of 
 
 Arrived betimes upon the scene 
 
 He went aboard the cruiser, 
 And told the Admiral on deck. 
 
 Just how he ought to use her. 
 
 At last he saw a hatchway, and 
 
 For something like a minute. 
 He stood beside its open mouth 
 
 And peered profoundly in it 
 
 And then he tried, but quite in vain. 
 
 His wild surprise to swallow, 
 And straiahteninp- up he cried aehast : 
 
 " Good Lord, this ship is hollow." 
 
 And this is why the naval crowd. 
 
 And likewise all the war-folk. 
 Are calling him the Commodore, 
 
 Since he came back from Norfolk. 
 
AND OTHER THINGS. 167 
 
 THE NEW YORK POLICE 
 ON PARADE. 
 
 Hail blue-clad Guardian of the Peace, 
 
 Fit figure for Praxiteles, 
 
 Or any ancient sculptor who 
 
 Had nerve enough to tackle you. 
 
 You're a bird, 
 
 A hot bird 
 
 With a cold night stick, 
 
 And vice and crime and everything 
 
 At your approach takes sudden wing. 
 
 Oh Cop ! If one of you is great. 
 
 What are you in the aggregate? 
 
 Five thousand strong, 
 
 A dazzling throng, 
 
 As you march along; 
 
 You're simply grand, 
 
 The very finest in this land, 
 
 Or any other, 
 
 B'gosh ! 
 
 No knights of old 
 
t68 yawps 
 
 Or warriors bold 
 
 Were half as warm 
 
 As you are in your uniform. 
 
 We point at you with pride, we do, 
 
 From Ballywack to Ballyhoo, 
 
 And as we gaze on you we know 
 
 We're safe from every kind of foe; 
 
 The man who sells us demon rum, 
 
 When Sunday with its rest has come, 
 
 The cuss who wins our confidence, 
 
 The lulling fiend who dopes our sense, 
 
 The burglar who breaks in to steal, 
 
 The butch' who sells us early veal. 
 
 The cow that gives down Croton milk. 
 
 The shark whose business is to bilk, 
 
 The gentleman who runs a game, 
 
 The glad-hand chap who knows our name. 
 
 The modest cabman charging what 
 
 Is pretty sure to swipe the pot, 
 
 And forty dozen others who 
 
 Turn pale and tall at sight of you. 
 
 Oh Cop! 
 
 You've got the drop 
 
 On crime; 
 
 And vice will climb 
 
 A tree 
 
 Rather than go up against thee, 
 
AND OTHER THINGS. 169 
 
 Behold, Oh, G. O. P. ! 
 
 (Guardian Of die Peace, in other words) 
 
 The thousands and los of looos 
 
 Who come forth in gala attire 
 
 To feast their hungry eyes 
 
 Upon your manly beauty on exhibition ; 
 
 List to the melodious measures of music 
 
 Tooting their martial strains 
 
 In your honor ; 
 
 See the flags flying, 
 
 The pennants and the banners ; 
 
 Hear the loud hosanners 
 
 Of congregated, cheering citizens, 
 
 And swell up with pride. 
 
 But don't bust wide open 
 
 In your triumphant elation. 
 
 We can stand the town being wide open, 
 
 And rather like it. 
 
 But a wide open policeman 
 
 Is too different. 
 
 Throw out your chests. 
 
 Hold up your chins. 
 
 Pull down your vests. 
 
 Stick out your shins 
 
 In one two order ; left, left, left ; 
 
 What would we be were we bereft 
 
 Of you, Oh sleepless watcher that 
 
I70 YAWPS 
 
 Most always knows where you are at, 
 
 And also knows 
 
 A lot of other things than those, 
 
 And never says a word. 
 
 You are a bird all right, 
 
 But not a parrot by a d. s. 
 
 Gee whiz! 
 
 What a fearful and wonderful thing 
 
 A policeman is. 
 
 However, Cop, 
 
 We must stop, 
 
 But as for you : 
 
 Go ahn, 
 
 Go ahn, now; 
 
 See? 
 
AND OTHER THINGS. 171 
 
 THE LANGUAGE OF 
 PROGRESS. 
 
 On the other hand, we may be sure that the United Slates will enter 
 the struggle with that pertinacious energy which is one of tlie standing 
 evidences of the community of blood, origin, and temper with ourselves. 
 — London Times. 
 
 Ay, there, ye Englishmen who know 
 
 The temper of our kind, 
 It is not meant that we who go 
 
 Should fail or fall behind ; 
 There is that in the common blood 
 Which cannot be misunderstood, 
 
 And shows to them not blind. 
 
 We stand for progress ; in the light 
 Of modern things we make 
 
 No cruel, conquest-seeking fight. 
 But fearlessly we take 
 
 The cause of Cuba as our own, 
 
 And setting it against a throne, 
 Ask justice — that alone. 
 
175 YAWPS 
 
 In other times the tyrant might 
 
 Nay, did, assert that he 
 Held by divinity the right 
 
 To let no man be free 
 Except himself; and his command 
 Was God and law to all his land 
 
 And outward to his sea. 
 
 But these are new times ; in the years 
 
 Now come, a gospel-song 
 Has sung away the law, and tears 
 
 Are shed no more, and wrong 
 Has given place to justice, and 
 A fetterless and firm-set hand 
 
 Moves all the world alonof. 
 
 And hearken, Englishmen, the song 
 That sets the right above the wrong 
 Is writ in English, good and strong, 
 In simple English, strong and good, 
 That cannot be misunderstood. 
 
AND OTHER THINGS. i73 
 
 COUNT WALDERSEE'S 
 COMMAND. 
 
 Uncle Sam to Kaiser William. 
 
 Your Majesty, herewith accept 
 
 My cordial unity 
 With you, in placing in command 
 
 Your own Count VValdersee ; 
 
 A soldier, brave as ever led 
 
 The soldiers of his land ; 
 A General, fit in every way 
 
 To take supreme command. 
 
 The Allies, in a common cause 
 
 And led by Waldersee, 
 Will pile the ground with China's slain, 
 
 And march to victory. 
 
 Uncle Sam to His Own People. 
 Say, Friends and Fellow Citizens, 
 
 I've just sent word to Bill 
 That Waldersee as Allied Boss 
 Will suit us fit to kill. 
 
174 YAWPS 
 
 I've given him a lively graft, 
 
 A kind of pipey dream, 
 About the Count and how well fixed 
 
 He is to be supreme. 
 
 He'll have command of all our troops, 
 
 But all the others, too ; 
 And all the Allies must obey 
 
 And do as he says do. 
 
 But don't let that bother you, my friends, 
 He's not so darned supreme 
 
 In running things out there to suit 
 Himself, as it would seem. 
 
 Of course the Kaiser thinks he is, 
 
 And maybe he does, too, 
 But that's no sign, as you will see, 
 
 When I explain to you. 
 
 The fact is, gents, we rule the roost, 
 
 I mean Americans, 
 And though Count Waldie is on deck 
 
 He doesn't shape his plans. 
 
 Because, by Zucks ! he's got a wife, 
 
 A lady, too, of birth ; 
 And was there ever married man 
 
 Who wholly owned the earth 'f 
 
AND OTHER THINGS. 17. 
 
 I guess not ; and that wife of his 
 
 Was born in Yankee land, 
 And though he wears the epaulets 
 
 She's in supreme command. 
 
 In other words, while it might seem 
 
 The Germans are on top. 
 The really truly fact is that 
 
 The Yankees have the drop. 
 
 Which shows you, fellow citizens, 
 
 That as a diplomat, 
 And soldier, too, your Uncle Sam 
 
 Knows just where he is at. 
 
176 YAWPS 
 
 THE DISCOVERY OF 
 AMERICA. 
 
 Upon the tropic sea 
 
 The soft October night lay silently 
 
 And one by one the little stars 
 
 Shot silver bars 
 
 Across the glassy greenness of the deep, 
 
 Lying in long, low, lazy rolls asleep ; 
 
 Around the limitless expanse 
 
 Of sea and sky 
 
 The twinkling lights and shadows fly 
 
 And dance. 
 
 And hide again till every spark 
 
 Is hidden in the dark. 
 
 Like sceptres floating in the air, 
 
 Wings idly flapping, and their spare 
 
 Arms stretched to find 
 
 What they had left the world behind 
 
 To search for, stood 
 
 Three ships that made the solitude 
 
AND OTHER THINGS. 177 
 
 More lonely ; they 
 
 Had lost their way 
 
 Amid those sapphire seas 
 
 And every gentle breeze 
 
 Was as a fierce, insatiate gale 
 
 To sweep them far beyond the pale 
 
 Of earthly knowledge, and 
 
 To wreck them in some unknown land. 
 
 Men paced the decks affrighted ; they 
 
 Had trembled when the light of day 
 
 Went out, and night 
 
 Came with its gruesome light 
 
 To bring them ghosts 
 
 From dead men's coasts, 
 
 And shores on which had trod 
 
 Only the foot of God. 
 
 And terror seized them ; sore afraid, 
 
 They cursed sometimes 
 
 And sometimes prayed, 
 
 But never stayed 
 
 Their onward course. 
 
 A force. 
 
 Greater than all their power, 
 
 Hour after hour 
 
 Held each one to his quest. 
 
 Onward, still onward to the West ! 
 
 Columbus, he 
 
 I J.— yawps- 
 
178 YAWPS 
 
 The Monarch of the Sea 
 
 On this October night 
 
 In the dim light 
 
 Of his cabin sat still 
 
 As Fate, then with that masterful will 
 
 Of his, he rose and in a loud, 
 
 Commanding voice, to the crowd 
 
 Of superstitious sailors on the deck 
 
 He said : "By Zucks 
 
 If some of you fellows 
 
 Don't discover America 
 
 P d q 
 
 I'll do it myself! 
 
 See?" 
 
 And the next day 
 
 It was 
 
 Discovered ! 
 
 Hurrah for Chris ! 
 
AND OTHER THINGS. i79 
 
 T H AN KSGI VI N G. 
 
 Thanks ! 
 
 Not such as swept along 
 
 By the full tide of power, 
 
 The conqueror leads 
 
 To crimson glory and undying fame, 
 
 But earnest, unaffected, 
 
 Plain, old-fashioned 
 
 Thanks, 
 
 Warranted heart wide 
 
 And all gratitude, 
 
 Thanks for that common possession 
 
 Most folks forget to think of 
 
 When they go grunting around, 
 
 Grumbling and complaining 
 
 And kicking at 
 
 The Good Lord, 
 
 To-wit : 
 
 Life! 
 
 Just ordinary living life, 
 
i8o YAWPS 
 
 With a blue sky above us, 
 
 And a glad, green earth 
 
 Under our feet ; 
 
 With friends enough left over 
 
 To send cheerily back to us 
 
 The greetings we give to them 
 
 With each new day. 
 
 Isn't that a whole lot 
 
 To be thankful for ? 
 
 What if we don't own the earth 
 
 And keep a back yard full of stars, 
 
 And ride to business in our own 
 
 Private car, 
 
 And eat pie 
 
 Twenty-one times a week, 
 
 With turkey and celery and oysters 
 
 On the side ; 
 
 Or never have an ache or pain, 
 
 Or never know what sorrow is. 
 
 Or never walk in the shadow, 
 
 Or never carry a heavy heart. 
 
 Or never kiss cold lips, 
 
 Or never shed a scalding tear, 
 
 Or never know what disappointment is, 
 
 Or never feel the chill of poverty, 
 
 Or never have a friend betray, 
 
 Or never get a thousand million things 
 
AND OTHER THINGS. i8i 
 
 We think we ought to have ! 
 
 Who are we that we 
 
 Should refuse to return 
 
 Thanks to a Beneficent Being, 
 
 Because we don't have 
 
 Everything we want, 
 
 And a thousand thing-s 
 
 That a thousand people 
 
 Just as good as we are, don't have ? 
 
 We ought to be thankful 
 
 We are not that kind ! 
 
 And if we were that kind, 
 
 We ought to be thankful that 
 
 Time is still allowed us 
 
 In which we may reform 
 
 And depart from the error of our ways. 
 
 And life is only one 
 
 Of the many things we ought to be 
 
 Thankful for ! 
 
 Why, friends and fellow travelers 
 
 Toward the Final Accomplishment, 
 
 A list of the things we may be 
 
 Thankful for 
 
 Reaches from the cradle to the grave 
 
 And unrolls itself on the 
 
 Green fields of eternal glory. 
 
 Therefore, on this 
 
i82 YAWPS 
 
 Thanksgiving Day, 
 
 Let us all give thanks heartily, 
 
 And if we can't do it heartily, 
 
 Let us do it as heartily as we can, 
 
 Let us thank the Good Lord 
 
 For what we are, 
 
 And be twice as thankful 
 
 For what we are not. 
 
 For all of us sincerely hope 
 
 That we are not as bad as we might be. 
 
 And we would not thank anybody 
 
 Who would say we were. 
 
 So now around the cheerful board, 
 
 Let all of us in full accord 
 
 Give grateful thanks unto the Lord — 
 
 A very kind and gracious Lord, 
 
 Who gives us more than our reward. 
 
AND OTHER THINGS. 183 
 
 TO THE LVth congress, 
 
 Oh, Congress, in your 
 
 Hours of ease, 
 
 Do something-, 
 
 If you please, to please 
 
 And show us that 
 
 Our confidence 
 
 In you, which always 
 
 Is immense, 
 
 Is not misplaced. 
 
 Those trivial things. 
 
 Finance and laws 
 
 For revenue, need scarcely 
 
 Cause 
 
 You great concern. 
 
 The question, which 
 
 Will make the country 
 
 Great and rich. 
 
 Is to your action 
 
 Wholly new, 
 
 And unconsidered 
 
1 84 YAWPS 
 
 Hitherto. 
 
 It deals in futures ; 
 Shall we take 
 And hold for good 
 The wondrous stake 
 That we have won, 
 By blood and pain, 
 From withered, wizened, 
 Wretched Spain? 
 Shall we, who stand 
 For newer thing-s. 
 For all that God-sent 
 Freedom brings. 
 For equal rights. 
 For human weal, 
 For nobler aims, 
 For laws that heal 
 The wounds of tyrants, 
 And for what 
 In all essentials 
 Spain was not — 
 Say, Legislators, 
 Say, shall we 
 Shirk this 
 Responsibility, 
 And helpless leave 
 The millions who 
 
AND OTHER THINGS. 185 
 
 Have come to us, 
 
 And look to you 
 
 For that which they 
 
 Can hope to have 
 
 No other way? 
 
 Are we to falter 
 
 In the trust 
 
 Imposed upon us? 
 
 Shall the lust 
 
 And greed of tyrants 
 
 Be not stayed 
 
 By sacrifices 
 
 We have made ? 
 
 These are the questions: 
 
 Shall we take 
 
 And hold for good 
 
 The wondrous stake ? 
 
 And holding it 
 
 Add to our land 
 
 A glory that shall 
 
 Make it grand, 
 
 As other nations 
 
 Are not? We 
 
 Give to the people 
 
 Liberty. 
 
 This is our duty 
 
 To the world; 
 
t86 YAWPS 
 
 For this our Flag 
 Was first unfurled. 
 Now shall it float, 
 The Freedom's Flag, 
 Or hang, a limp, 
 Dishonored rag ? 
 
AND OTHER THINGS. 187 
 
 MERRY CHRISTMAS. 
 
 And Christmas! 
 
 What a day it is, 
 
 With earth and air full of the fizz 
 
 And sparkle of champagne ; 
 
 And yet a better thing than that, 
 
 For all may take it, 
 
 Free as air, 
 
 When Christmas cheer is everywhere, 
 
 Not quite as much to some, 
 
 Perhaps, 
 
 As unto others ; not all of us 
 
 May have the "snaps" 
 
 Of this good world of ours ; 
 
 And yet, he is unworthy who will let 
 
 The shadows fall on him 
 
 Or his, 
 
 When Christmas time is what it is, 
 
 And loses much of happiness, 
 
 Because it happens he has less 
 
 Than others have. Gadzooks ! Perhaps 
 
i88 ' YAWPS 
 
 They'd like the chance to swap their "snaps" 
 
 For his ; and glad could they arrange 
 
 With this same coveter to change. 
 
 But even they should not repine; 
 
 The rich may let their treasure shine 
 
 So that although their lot be sad, 
 
 They may be able to make glad 
 
 Those less unhappy ; those — but why 
 
 Bring in the semblance of a sigh 
 
 To mar the Christmas song ? 
 
 At Christmas there is nothing wrong ; 
 
 An ache, a debt, a heavy heart 
 
 Must be considered as a part 
 
 Of Christmas time ; a spot to make 
 
 The light a brighter radiance take. 
 
 There is enough for all ; God gives 
 
 To every human thing that lives, 
 
 Some chance at gladness ; something to 
 
 Transfer in His own way the blue 
 
 That's in your lives into your sky 
 
 Till every heavy cloud rolls by ; 
 
 And Christmas is the time. Come all 
 
 Look up, look up ; there is no pall 
 
 Of gray 
 
 And blackness hung to-day 
 
 Above the Merry Christmas way. 
 
 For in your hearts must roses bloom 
 
AND OTHER THINGS. 189 
 
 In Christmas color and perfume. 
 Divide your blessings and your cares, 
 Give half of yours ; take half of theirs ; 
 Forget the rest. What odds if, what 
 You think you want, you haven't got! 
 There may be others ; can it be 
 In this you have no company? 
 Ah, no, a million others would 
 Be something other if they could. 
 But let that go ; there's plenty yet 
 To make you happy and forget. 
 Brace up, stand up, look up, and cheer 
 For Christmas — one time of the year 
 When merry bells shall gayly ring 
 And all the world shall laugh and sing. 
 
xgo 
 
 YAWPS 
 
 THE SUPERFLUOUS SPEAK. 
 
 There are 25,000 more women than men in Greater New York. 
 — Census, 1900. 
 
 Well, 
 
 We don't care ; 
 
 Men are horrid things anyway. 
 
 And the more of us 
 
 The better. 
 
 How good it is 
 
 To know that we 
 
 Are always heart-whole. 
 
 Fancy free. 
 
 No galling chain 
 
 Of wedded bliss 
 
 Can brine us such 
 
 Delight as this. 
 
 We are perfectly independent, 
 
 And what's ours 
 
 Is ours. 
 
 And just to think ; 
 
 It isn't until we are out of school, 
 
AND OTHER THINGS. 191 
 
 Or our older sisters 
 
 Are married off, 
 
 Or somebody with money 
 
 Comes along, 
 
 But forever and ever and ever. 
 
 Oh, joy beyond expressing, 
 
 Oh, bliss, serene. 
 
 Of wandering in meadows 
 
 Of everlasting green. 
 
 Ours is a protracted season 
 
 Of perpetual peace, 
 
 With never a sock to darn, 
 
 Never a shirt to mend. 
 
 Never a man to sit up for 
 
 Till 3 A. M. 
 
 Never a cent to beg for. 
 
 Never a husband to thank, 
 
 Never a cook to plead with, 
 
 Never a baby to spank. 
 
 Isn't it perfectly grand ? 
 
 Spinsters by right of birth, 
 
 We are the only real 
 
 Birds of Freedom, 
 
 And we rise and scream 
 
 In a manner that makes 
 
 The Eagle's feathers curl, 
 
 And lifts the Starry Banner of the Free, 
 
192 
 
 YAWPS 
 
 Clean off the end of the flag-pole. 
 
 We are the stuff 
 
 That new women are made of, 
 
 And although we do not vote, 
 
 Or wear whiskers, 
 
 &c. 
 
 We yield our necks 
 
 To the yoke of no tyrant man, 
 
 And we acknowledge no superiors 
 
 No lords of creation. 
 
 As run the rivers to the sea 
 
 Through placid fields that lie 
 
 Along their cool and quiet banks 
 
 Beneath a restful sky ; 
 
 As peaceful as the patient stars 
 
 That light the sleeping skies, 
 
 Our lives, as undisturbed as they, 
 
 Move on to Paradise, 
 
 Where, according to 
 
 The Good Book, 
 
 There is no marrying 
 
 Or giving in marriage. 
 
 And then whose turn will it be 
 
 To give somebody 
 
 The everlasting ha ha ? 
 
 So there.