HARD-LUCK ADAM.
Adam had no Easter hat to buy for Mrs. Eve;
Adam had no “cost-of-living” troubles to aggrieve;
Adam had no job to hold by slaving day or night,
Adding columns, beating carpets, planning stuff to write.
Adam had a hectic cinch, played across the boards—
Everything that nature and an idle life affords.
And yet I wouldn’t change with him, whatever be my loss:
He never saw a triple drive the winning run across.
Adam had no dress to buy to calm his spouse’s grief
(All that Adam had to do was go and pull a leaf).
Back in Father Adam’s day, long and long ago,
There was not an Aldrich nor a crusty Uncle Joe;
Raving politicians never roamed about the land,
Double-crossing voters in a way to beat the band.
But with it all poor Adam never had a chance to dream
Of bold three-hundred hitters and a pennant-winning team.
Adam lived on Easy Street, dreaming in the sun;
Never a policeman there to cut in on his fun;
Never had a cook around threatening to leave;
“Bridge” was not invented in the days of Mrs. Eve.
Take it up and down the line in those golden days,
Adam had it on us in a hundred different ways;
And yet with all his blessings, what a dull and massive pall—
For poor old Father Adam never saw a game of ball!
DENTON (CY) YOUNG.
(The Grand Old Man of Balldom faces his twentieth season as a major league slabman with every indication that it will be among his best campaigns.)
Fame may be fleeting and glory may fade;
Life at its best is a breath on the gale.
One hero passes, another is made;
New stars arise as the old one sets pale.
So when a stalwart steps out from the throng,
On with the tribute, let garlands be flung.
Here’s to the sturdy and here’s to the strong;
Here’s to the king of them all, Denton Young.
Anson has passed like a star in the night;
Richardson’s name from the line-up is cast;
Rusie and Latham are out of the fight;
Mighty Buck Ewing is buried and passed;
Clarkson the wizard, and Kelly and Gore
Linger no more on the fan’s fickle tongue.
Only one name flashes out as of yore—
There on the red line of battle is Young.
Tiernan and Tucker? We wait for reply.
Jack Ward and Pfeffer are out of the game;
No cheer arises when Brouthers steps by;
Even Van Haltren is only a name;
Meekin and Hoffer and “Kind Bid” McPhee—
Their day is over, their songs are all sung.
Lo! like the roar of the storm-harried sea
Swells the wild chorus for Denton (Cy) Young.
Herman Long’s only a memory now;
Big Del is under the myrtle to-day—
No more the laurel is bound to his brow;
Bob Lowe and Zimmer have passed from the fray.
Where are the heroes saluted of old—
Heroes to whom through the years we have clung?
Have all deserted the Clan of the Bold?
Not while the echoes are ringing for Young.