TRUTHFUL JAMES'S SONG OF THE SHIRT.
Which his name it was Sam;
He had sluiced for a while
Up at Murderer's Dam,
Till he got a good pile,
And the heft of each dollar,
Two thousand or more,
He'd put in the Chollar,
For he seed it was ore
That runs thick up and down, without ceilin' or floor.
And, says he, it's a game
That's got but one stake;
If I put up that same,
It'll bust me or make.
At fifty the foot
I've entered my pile,
And the whole derned cahoot
I'll let soak for a while,
And jest loaf around here,—say, Jim, will you smile?
Tom Fakes was the chum,
Down in Frisco, of Sam;
And one mornin' there come
These here telegram:
"You can sell for five hundred,
Come down by the train!"
Sam By-Joed and By-Thundered,—
'Twas whistlin' quite plain,
And down to Dutch Flat rushed with might and with main.
He had no time to sarch,
But he grabbed up a shirt
That showed bilin' and starch,
And a coat with less dirt.
He jumped on the step
As the train shoved away,
And likewise was swep',
All galliant and gay,
Round the edge of the mounting and down to'rds the Bay.
Seven minutes, to pass
Through the hole by the Flat!
Says he, I'm an ass
If I can't shift in that!
But the train behind time,
Only three was enough,—
It came pat as a rhyme—
He was stripped to the buff
When they jumped from the tunnel to daylight! 'Twas rough.
What else? Here's to you!
Which he sold of his feet
At five hundred, 'tis true,
And the same I repeat:
But acquaintances, friends,
They likes to divert,
And the tale never ends
Of Sam and his shirt,
And to stop it from goin' he'd give all his dirt!
Diversions of the Echo Club.
The following admirable parody of Bret Harte's pathetic poems on miner's life in California was written by Mr. Charles H. Ross, the Editor of Judy. It is a favourite recitation with Mr. Odell, the popular actor:—