An Alphabet of History

The Words by Wilbur D·Nesbit The Pictures by Ellsworth Young
Paul Elder and Company Publishers, San Francisco
ACKNOWLEDGMENT
In their original form, the contents of this book appeared in the Chicago Sunday Tribune , which newspaper is hereby thanked for the privilege of reproducing this Alphabet
Copyright, 1905 by Paul Elder and Company San Francisco The Tomoye Press San Francisco

Alexander the Great was a victim of fate, And he sighed there was naught to delight him When he brandished his sword and defiantly roared And could not get a country to fight him.
All the armies he'd chased, all the lands laid to waste, And he clamored for further diversions; And our history speaks of his grip on the Greeks And his hammerlock hold on the Persians.
Though the Gordian knot, cut in two, in a spot In his palace was labeled a relic, Though Bucephalus, stuffed, gave him fame, he was huffed— He was grouchy and grumpy, was Aleck.
And the cause of his woe, he would have you to know, Was the fact that he never was able To conduct a big scrap that a versatile chap Of a war correspondent would cable.
'Stead of being quite glad, he would grow very sad When he told of the fellows who'd fought him, As he thought of the lack of the clicking kodak In the hands of a man to snapshot him.
We are told that he wept, and in dolefulness crept Through his palace—the reason is hinted: There were not at that time magazines for a dime, And his articles could not be printed.