In short, if the truth must be displayed In puris—­Beauty wasn’t a maid.  Beauty, furry and fine and fat, Yawny and clawy, sleek and all that, Was a pampered and spoiled Angora cat!

I loved her well, and I’m proud that she Wasn’t indifferent, quite, to me; In fact I have sometimes gone so far (You know, mesdames, how silly men are) As to think she preferred—­excuse the conceit—­ My legs upon which to sharpen her feet.  Perhaps it shouldn’t have gone for much, But I started and thrilled beneath her touch!

  Ah, well, that’s ancient history now: 
  The fingers of Time have touched my brow,
  And I hear with never a start to-day
  That Beauty has passed from the earth away. 
  Gone!—­her death-song (it killed her) sung. 
  Gone!—­her fiddlestrings all unstrung. 
  Gone to the bliss of a new regime
  Of turkey smothered in seas of cream;
  Of roasted mice (a superior breed,
  To science unknown and the coarser need
  Of the living cat) cooked by the flame
  Of the dainty soul of an erring dame
  Who gave to purity all her care,
  Neglecting the duty of daily prayer,—­
  Crisp, delicate mice, just touched with spice
  By the ghost of a breeze from Paradise;
  A very digestible sort of mice.

  Let scoffers sneer, I propose to hold
  That Beauty has mounted the Stair of Gold,
  To eat and eat, forever and aye,
  On a velvet rug from a golden tray. 
  But the human spirit—­that is my creed—­
  Rots in the ground like a barren seed. 
  That is my creed, abhorred by Man
  But approved by Cat since time began. 
  Till Death shall kick at me, thundering “Scat!”
  I shall hold to that, I shall hold to that.

THE STATESMEN.

  How blest the land that counts among
    Her sons so many good and wise,
  To execute great feats of tongue
    When troubles rise.

  Behold them mounting every stump
    Our liberty by speech to guard. 
  Observe their courage:—­see them jump
    And come down hard!

  “Walk up, walk up!” each cries aloud,
    “And learn from me what you must do
  To turn aside the thunder cloud,
    The earthquake too.

  “Beware the wiles of yonder quack
    Who stuffs the ears of all that pass. 
  I—­I alone can show that black
    Is white as grass.”

  They shout through all the day and break
    The silence of the night as well. 
  They’d make—­I wish they’d go and make—­
      Of Heaven a Hell.

  A advocates free silver, B
    Free trade and C free banking laws. 
  Free board, clothes, lodging would from me
      Win warm applause.

  Lo, D lifts up his voice:  “You see
    The single tax on land would fall
  On all alike.”  More evenly
      No tax at all.

  “With paper money” bellows E
    “We’ll all be rich as lords.”  No doubt—­
  And richest of the lot will be
      The chap without.