Black Beetles in Amber Part 27

CALIFORNIA

[The Chinaman's a.s.sailant was allowed to walk quietly away, although the street was filled with pedestrians.--_Newspaper_.]

Why should he not have been allowed To thread with peaceful feet the crowd Which filled that Christian street?

The Decalogue he had observed, From Faith in Jesus had not swerved, And scorning pious plat.i.tudes, He saw in the Beat.i.tudes A lamp to guide his feet.

He knew that Jonah downed the whale And made no bones of it. The tale That Ananias told He swore was true. He had no doubt That Daniel laid the lions out.

In short, he had all holiness, All meekness and all lowliness, And was with saints enrolled.

'Tis true, some slight excess of zeal Sincerely to promote the weal Of this most Christian state Had moved him rudely to divide The queue that was a pagan's pride, And in addition certify The Faith by making fur to fly From pelt as well as pate?

But, Heavenly Father, thou dost know That in this town these actions go For nothing worth a name.

Nay, every editorial a.s.s, To prove they never come to pa.s.s Will d.a.m.n his soul eternally, Although in his own journal he May read the printed shame.

From b.l.o.o.d.y hands the reins of pow'r Fall slack; the high-decisive hour Strikes not for liars' ears.

Remove, O Father, the disgrace That stains our California's face, And consecrate to human good The strength of her young womanhood And all her golden years!

DE YOUNG--A PROPHECY

Running for Senator with clumsy pace, He stooped so low, to win at least a place, That Fortune, tempted by a mark so droll, Sprang in an kicked him to the winning pole.

TO EITHER

Back further than I know, in San Francisco dwelt a wealthy man.

So rich was he That none could be Wise, good and great in like degree.

'Tis true he wrought, In deed or thought, But few of all the things he ought; But men said: "Who Would wish him to?

Great souls are born to be, not do!"

One thing, indeed, He did, we read, Which was becoming, all agreed: Grown provident, Ere life was spent He built a mighty monument.

For longer than I know, in San Francisco lived a beggar man; And when in bed They found him dead-- "Just like the scamp!" the people said.

He died, they say, On the same day His wealthy neighbor pa.s.sed away.

What matters it When beggars quit Their beats? I answer: Not a bit.

They got a spade And pick and made A hole, and there the chap was laid.

"He asked for bread,"

'Twas neatly said: "He'll get not even a stone instead."

The years rolled round: His humble mound Sank to the level of the ground; And men forgot That the bare spot Was like (and was) the beggar's lot.

Forgotten, too, Was t'other, who Had reared the monument to woo Inconstant Fame, Though still his name Shouted in granite just the same.

That name, I swear, They both did bear The beggar and the millionaire.

That lofty tomb, Then, honored--whom?

For argument here's ample room.

I'll not debate, But only state The scamp first claimed it at the Gate.

St. Peter, proud To serve him, bowed And showed him to the softest cloud.

DISAPPOINTMENT

The Senate woke; the Chairman's snore Was stilled, its echoes balking; The startled members dreamed no more, For Steele, who long had held the floor, Had suddenly ceased talking.

As, like Elijah, in his pride, He to his seat was pa.s.sing, "Go up thou baldhead!" Reddy cried.

Then six fierce bears ensued and tried To sunder him for "sa.s.sing."

Two seized his legs, and one his head, The fourth his trunk, to munch on; The fifth preferred an arm instead; The last, with rueful visage, said: "Pray what have _I_ for luncheon?"

Then to that disappointed bear Said Steele, serene and chipper, "My friend, you shall not lack your share: Look in the Treasury, and there You'll find his other flipper."

THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW OF THEFT

In fair Yosemite, that den of thieves Wherein the minions of the moon divide The travelers' purses, lo! the Devil grieves, His larger share as leader still denied.

El Capitan, foreseeing that _his_ reign May be disputed too, beclouds his head.

The joyous Bridal Veil is torn in twain And the crepe steamer dangles there instead.

The Vernal Fall abates her pleasant speed And hesitates to take the final plunge, For rumors reach her that another greed Awaits her in the Valley of the Sponge.

The Brothers envy the accord of mind And peace of purpose (by the good deplored As honor among Commissioners) which bind That confraternity of crime, the Board.

The Half-Dome bows its riven face to weep, But not, as formerly, because bereft: Prophetic dreams afflict him when asleep Of losing his remaining half by theft.

Ambitious knaves! has not the upper sod Enough of room for every crime that crawls But you must loot the Palaces of G.o.d And daub your filthy names upon the walls?