For squibs political I'd go to Col. Waller Young, Or Col. James N. Burnes, the "statesman with the silver tongue;" Should some old pioneer take sick and die, why, then I'd call On Frank M. Posegate for the "life," and Posegate knew 'em all. Lon Tullar used to pony Up descriptions that were tony Of toilets worn at party, ball, or conversazione; For the ladies were addicted to the style called "deckolett" When I helped 'em run the local on the "St. Jo Gazette."
So was I wont my daily round of labor to pursue; And when came night I found that there was still more work to do,-- The telegraph to edit, yards and yards of proof to read, And reprint to be gathered to supply the printers' greed. Oh, but it takes agility, Combined with versatility, To run a country daily with appropriate ability! There never were a smarter lot of editors, I'll bet, Than we who whooped up local on the "St. Jo Gazette."
Yes, maybe it was irksome; maybe a discontent Rebellious rose amid the toil I daily underwent If so, I don't remember; this only do I know,-- My thoughts turn ever fondly to that time in old St. Jo. The years that speed so fleetly Have blotted out completely All else than that which still remains to solace me so sweetly; The friendships of that time,--ah, me! they are as precious yet As when I was a local on the "St. Jo Gazette."
MEYNHEER Hans Von Der Bloom has got A majazin in Kalverstraat, Where one may buy for sordid gold Wares quaint and curious, new and old. Here are antiquities galore,-- The jewels which Dutch monarchs wore, Swords, teacups, helmets, platters, clocks, Bright Dresden jars, dull Holland crocks, And all those joys I might rehearse That please the eye, but wreck the purse.
I most admired an ancient bed, With ornate carvings at its head,-- A massive frame of dingy oak, Whose curious size and mould bespoke Prodigious age. "How much?" I cried. "Ein tousand gildens," Hans replied; And then the honest Dutchman said A king once owned that glorious bed,-- King Fritz der Foorst, of blessed fame, Had owned and slept within the same!
Then long I stood and mutely gazed, By reminiscent splendors dazed, And I had bought it right away, Had I the wherewithal to pay. But, lacking of the needed pelf, I thus discoursed within myself: "O happy Holland! where's the bliss That can approximate to this Possession of the rare antique Which maniacs hanker for and seek? _My_ native land is full of stuff That's good, but is not old enough. Alas! it has no oaken beds Wherein have slumbered royal heads, No relic on whose face we see The proof of grand antiquity."