Wall, Dana came ter Denver in the fall uv ’83—­
  A very different party from the man we thought ter see! 
  A nice ’nd clean old gentleman, so dignerfied ’nd calm—­
  You bet yer life he never did no human bein’ harm! 
  A certain hearty manner ’nd a fullness uv the vest
  Betokened that his sperrits ’nd his victuals wuz the best;
  His face was so benevolent, his smile so sweet ’nd kind,
  That they seemed to be the reflex uv an honest, healthy mind,
  And God had set upon his head a crown uv silver hair
  In promise of the golden crown He meaneth him to wear;
  So, uv us boys that met him out ’n Denver there wuz none
  But fell in love with Dana uv the Noo York Sun.

  But when he came to Denver in that fall uv ’83
  His old friend, Cantell Whoppers, disappeared upon a spree;
  The very thought uv seein’ Dana worked upon him so
  (They hadn’t been together fer a year or two, you know)
  That he borrowed all the stuff he could and started on a bat,
  And, strange as it may seem, we didn’t see him after that. 
  So when ol’ Dana hove in sight we couldn’t understand
  Why he didn’t seem to notice that his crony wa’n’t on hand;
  No casual allusion—­not a question, no, not one—­
  For the man who’d “worked with Dana on the Noo York Sun”!

  We broke it gently to him, but he didn’t seem surprised—­
  Thar wuz no big burst uv passion as we fellers had surmised;
  He said that Whoppers wuz a man he didn’t never heerd about,
  But he might have carried papers on a Jersey City route—­
  And then he recollected hearin’ Mr. Laflin say
  That he fired a man named Whoppers fur bein’ drunk one day,
  Which, with more likker underneath than money in his vest,
  Had started on a freight train fur the great ‘nd boundin’ West—­
  But further information or statistics he had none
  Uv the man who’d “worked with Dana on the Noo York Sun.”

  We dropped the matter quietly ’nd never made no fuss—­
  When we get played fer suckers—­why, that’s a horse on us! 
  But every now ’nd then we Denver fellers have to laff
  To hear some other paper boast uv havin’ on its staff
  A man who’s “worked with Dana”—­’nd then we fellers wink
  And pull our hats down on our eyes ’nd set around ’nd think. 
  It seems like Dana couldn’t be as smart as people say
  If he educates so many folks ’nd lets ’em get away;
  And, as for us, in future we’ll be very apt to shun
  The man who “worked with Dana on the Noo York Sun”!

  But, bless ye, Mr. Dana! may you live a thousan’ years,
  To sort o’ keep things lively in this vale of human tears;
  An’ may I live a thousan’, too—­a thousan’, less a day,
  For I shouldn’t like to be on earth to hear you’d passed away. 
  And when it comes your time to go you’ll need no Latin chaff
  Nor biographic data put in your epitaph;
  But one straight line of English and of truth will let folks know
  The homage ’nd the gratitude ’nd reverence they owe;
  You’ll need no epitaph but this:  “Here sleeps the man who run
  That best ’nd brightest paper, the Noo York Sun.”