r?s> YV6 TABLE OK CONTENTS. NAME. PAGE. GLADSTONE BYRON name. Page. EAST TENNESSEE OSMAN DIGNA NAME. PAGE GUITEAU IN HOOPS.. . KANT WATTE R SON BEECHER CAPEL CHARLEY WEAK HERACLITUS. GORDON PLATO JOSEPH COOK 1NGERSOLL . KITTY FIELD, Spinster.. '•• LES BLASPHEME". . . CRYING EVIL RUSKIN. TALMAGE .HOLMES ARTEMUS WARDUS MARKUS TWAIN LONGFELLOW TOSH BILLINGS MAD MUSE DeGRE'T BEYANT NIGGAH DAN .HOKY SMOKY or MISS MURFREE ISLE OF RIGHTS CRITICS- REV. $$$ c. c. c PA LEY.. COMTE BIBLE DANTE MALLOCK SPENCER ZANTIPPE BOSTON CELSUS CARLYLE LOUISVILLE VOLTAIRE...' PAN . PORTER. APOLLO. HAECKEL. BRUNO RICHEPIN CONFUCIUS DARWIN MOSE MORMONS... HARTS TRIUMPH OF CHASTITY PAINE 'VIST.. BUNYAN ~ON RINK ^ND G. D. PRENTICE UNCLEAN BEAST HUXLEY.. . . LOTZE HRADLAUGH. B1LLNYE PTOLEMY CAM PAN ELL A ... FREMONT TEMPLE.... HAIL TRUTH! ALAUX and others. . ALEX. POPE K Entered according to act of Congress, in the year 1886, by L Pilcher, in the office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. All Rights Reserved. & * *<#■ - x v I- HQI7GH ARGUMENT. My body has been dead for seventeen years, and my spirit has never been enabled to make good its escape. I am four miles under the ground, the sole occupant of a palace, carved in a strange forma- tion, unknown to geologists, whose digging tem- erity stops at their library. The architecture is massive and plain, yet brittle throughout. When I first found myself in this abode, I walked in- cessantly for years through the halls and cor- ridors, ever finding myself again and again and again at the terminus, which is this library where 1 now sit. I do nothing but play with my toes. The books which are piled about me are titled in an unknown tongue — probably English — and all are sealed — are ''dummies." I am wide awake — forever it seems. I neither hunger nor thirst, and only tire after counting my toes for hours. No human being ever disturbs me here, and no sound ever reaches me. On certain days earth worms transformed into beings of speech, come rolling in upon me, and keep me in- formed as to all the sayings and doings of the dwellers upon the earth. They also inform me of the secrets of mankind. One of them said it had made a study of the secret thoughts of Gladstone, and that he was the Prince of Dem- agogs. That he knew it, and was rendered miserable by the fact that he was in such a fix ; that he could not shake it off, but prayed pit- eously for the relief of death — which was denied him, Another earth worm shouted, "Long live Gladstone !" and thereupon informed me that I had neglected to count my toes. I set energet- ically to work again, to make good the time lost on politics. There is one miserable pest of a Spirit, with the trick of doggerel and sad rhyming, that takes demoniacal delight in reading it to me, against my protestations and prayers. It cuts me like a saw, and desist it will not until I am hacked to utter dumbness. Then it unlocks my ears. I shall certainly die sometime. I cannot go on counting my toes and hearing this pesky spirit forever. If I laugh, alas ! the bard takes it for applause, and sets out again to repeat the punishment. The poet says he pours so many meaningless words into mine ear, and grinds them out my nose, for nothing else to do, and all this while my toes remain uncounted, and honest labor suffers. I have only three toes to count: two on my little finger, and one on my trunk. An earth worm thinking I would like to hear from my home, said : "They are building a church, and the ladies are going to give a dinner," thereup the pesky spirit read : A dinner they will bake ! That their good Lord shall thrive ; His spirit kept alive Upon a ginger cake. Then a baby worm said: "Your children ride on rollers; I wish that I had some too." Earth worm to me : "Skating rinks are all the rage, and the preachers are scandalized." Me to earth worm: "They'd better fight them than Science," and thereupon the poet demanded silence, while he delivered thus to me : "The parson would stop science !" Said the scient with a wink: "Ha! ha ! his frail appliance Can't stop a skating rink!" HUMMED BY A BELLE. Get ready for the skating rink, I haven't time to hardly blink ! Rink tink, tiddle, I too ! I'm off to the rink, and so are you; I am as sure as truth is true, Rink tink, tiddle, I too ! I'm in the rink, and so are you. Rink tink, tiddle, I too ! I'm in the rink to show you my — shoe Rink tink, tiddle, I too ! Mollie, look ? Well, I declare, Rink tink, tiddle, I too! How the hateful things do stare ! Rink tink, tiddle, I too ! First on one leg, then on two, Some on — never mind for you; Rink tink, tiddle, I too ! Moll is here and so is Poll ; Cap and bells, sport and fol, Rink tink, tiddle, I too ! Every boy and every girl, Heaven — is this giddy whirl, Rink tink, tiddle, I too ! HUNCH. Rink tink, tink, Rink tink, wink ! Rink tink, blink ! (I feel a Princess — I see stars ! Stops a moment for repairs,) Rink tink, tiddle, 1 too ! The graceful skater I will wed ; She goes on skating — on her head, Rink tink, tiddle, I too ! They are here from everywhere, Except the preacher — he ain't there, I do not care if he does care, Rink tink, tiddle, I too ! On I'll skate tho' he may swear. That all the imps of— you know where, Are holding high carnival there. Rink tink, tiddle, I too ! The best classes are here I say, Rink tink, tiddle, I too ! Be3t classes of America! Rink tink, tiddle, I too ! Oh ! look at Bett, and look and Hett, We'll sin, and then send our regret, Rink tink, tiddle, I too ! The gods and fairies watched it all, And men as well as women fall. Then ag'in it are so good, The timid wouldn't if they could, Rink tink, tiddle, I too ! Tomorrow ? doctor's bills to pay, Splint ! Oh, rub the arnica, Rink tink, tiddle — how blue! Earth worm : The hebdomedal Nosewipe I see reports a sermon in which your old pastor says he knows there is a God, and the gnostics are willing to swear to it. Some people do not know that they know nothing. Me, to my ver- miculous friend: "Pray desist, if you please. Knowledge is worth pursuing if never attained It gives mortals employment where they have a grudge against manual labor. Its a fool's er- rand ice know now too well." Poet to Reverend Neverend : You know, you know there is a God, Is a God, is a God ; You know, you know there is a God, Your sermon I construe. Now, therefore if there be a God, Be a God, be a God ; Now, therefore if there be a God, I'll bet he knows not you. Then the worm : The poet and the parson once were synonymous, now they are at war. They should be wedded rather than divorced. Then me to earth worm : The preacher should tell the world what it is — should be a news- paper in short, while the poet should tell the world what it should be. The poet should honor the parson. I had hardly ceased before the poet taking the cus, read : Honor to the parson, Who tells the good old story ; Honor to the preacher, Till the last galoot's in glory. Earth worm to poet : Read your Bible more, and you will rhyme better. The poet retorts ! "Read your Bible" said Byron, Unto you I say, Read Byron not, Neither will you obey. Have mercy for Christ's sake ! appeal to the poet. Then he to me : was my "For Christ's sake! Ha ! ha ! ha ! Jesus Christ is stiff upon his cross, Is warmed to life by lowly men. Is stiff as hell upon his cross anon." A critical earth worm : your figure is ill chosen, "stiff as hell !" The poet: Why? Hell is death; (R. V.) death is stiff; and hell itself is "regions of thick ribbed ice", says Shakspere. So the figure is a duality of aptness: Hell is changing as of old, It once was hot, it once was cold ; With some a region of the blest, Anon 'tis allied to a jest ! To make the same a sell Is — sheol. If there Is or Is not 'tis Right, Soul or none, 'tis Right, Heaven or none, tis Right ! On all these lay it strong, If there is Hell, its wrong. A knock is heard, and the poet invites a del- egation of earth worms to come right in and make themselves at home, and inquired what news the deputation had in store. The Colonel of the company said : There was nothing oc- cupying the minds of mortals at present, but the tariff, the leader, you know, is R 11. He recently invaded the South with thousands of "backers." The poet to the Colonel : Randall has subsidized thousands of men. Then marched to the South and back again ! Then one of the party drew forth a copy of the Nose Wipe, fresh and hot from the press, and read aloud all the news, being frequently disturbed by his hearers, the poet being the foremost to note as well as comment. One of the earth worms, a wealthy one, better known as Worm of the "Dust," conversed with the poet while the others listened. Bernhardt's marriage with the French poet was touched upon. The Frenchman was said to be a shal- low poet, while "his wife," said the Earth Worm, "is as slim as your poems." HUNCH. "The mind cure," said another, "has taken hold of Boston and East Tennessee ! Senator Edmunds is righting vice at long range — the Mormons; and Osman Digna is dead again." Beecher on Evolution and Revolution and all the news of the day was read aloud, while I listened passively. The poet was not idle, alas! and / knew what was coming. When the party got ready to retire he said : Your attention, pray, while I regale you with my latest poems. He began, and as all things must, finally finished amid some enthusiasm by the hearers. His rhyme touched all the themes spoken of, and epitomized the Nose Wipe, as follows: Rejected Authors, the sudden rise of Charles Weak, Negro Lore, Woman's Rights, the Death of Dan, Faith Cure, the Eminent Prelate, I Will Explode, to the off-side of Is by the Mad Muse, and so on. Everything- hinted at in the Nose Wipe was embalmed in verse: Earth Worm to companion. — The Nose Wipe rejects a poet, I see. Seems to me this only helps the hurt. To lock-out a leader only helps his cause. Then the poet : REJECTED SONGS. I will have done with poetic trend, My little verse is neglected, Forty printed will not mend The pang of thou rejected! There's Charlie Weak who straddled a [pen And made a name, And Sarah Green, it will be seen Is shod with fame, While I with pen felicitous and deft, Am left! Give me pen! — more paper! more ink! And I'll give you all that I think. My innermost thought I'll confess, For I yearn for one night's rest! O, give me the printer — the press, That sleep may bless me again! That I may be out of my pain, For once — only once more again! Puff! Puff! goes the train of my' thought, And I measure the midnight sky And "rejected," regarded as nought, "With thanks" — them all I decry, As dolts, and nothings, and rot I AM! and they'll be forgot. The roosters are crowing for day, Such thought thought out and said, By man will never repay, For one single throb in the head! Thump! thump! thump! thumpetee thump! I am a gump! gump! gump! gumpetee [gump! The poet to me: Did you ever read my poems on tangled heads? Never? Silence! Fashions change as seasons run Carlyle may frown all undone: "The world's a blank," (Heraclitus) Now Ollie Holmes with smile and pun Plays make-believe with many a prank: "The world is fun!" (Democritus.) Once all was long-faced Bunyanesque, Abnormal too. Anon Artemus Ward and Markus Twain Look quizzingly at you Wrong again. But come it will, tho' rather late, The human phiz will reach a normal state; Hasten the day When groans and giggles pass away ; When all abnormal cranks Make room for rounded man, give thanks! Feed from one store Optims pessimistic lore! And vice versa. Then he that at the fountain drinks Should Lord ha* mercy Mix his thinks! Wilt thou never be earnest for a moment, O, Poet! I cried, Striking his breast and attitudinizing, he thus to all: Earnest — ha! ha! ha! ha! A poet said, "Life is a jest," Another, "Life is earnest." Each held a side of truth, These poets double: Said Josh Billings in his youth, "Life is fun and trouble." To man of brains, Life is full of joy and pains, While to a philosophic mind, Life's sublime ! But to the poor, O, to the poor, In intellect, life's a bore. "Read more, cried I, cried several in deris- ion. Read us something shallow, something on matrimony, ha ! ha ! ha ! "Command, and I obey, Count the meter on thy toes. I proceed : HUNCH. TO RICHEPIN, A poet sat in a corner, A tear was in his eye; "With neither fame nor honor," He moaned, " hi-yih, hi-yih ! A poet sat in a corner, "O this is half a life, And O, to be a poet With no corner on a wife." Poet flew to hedonic France, Stopped at giddy Parie, Saw Sarah prance — After a plan — they marry. A poet sits in a corner, "Ah me ! alack a day," He has a wife — the scorner! To see too often, a ha ! Poet said unto himself, "Fool ! did not I know it?" Now the wife too frequently Sits down upon poor poet Poet at the farthest corner Of earth is sad and meek, And whiles away the hours Watering his cheek. "The muse is mad, alas !" groaned the Colonel. "Mad? mad? attend thine ear, O. Colonel, of an unknown regiment : list thou ! THE MAD MUSE. Whence is the whing-whangs, why ? The wasness says, the Mole Cule Is now wentted, my, oh my, Moan ! 'tis tha brey — Mr. Mule. Whither the goneness of which- vhackess? Help infusorias muchness, The hour is come — hung it in blackness. But the media dare not 'fess. Served a warrant on a gnomer, quick ? Be did — it is done, it be dude, I'm sick ; Sick of the suck-much cigarette, Long I to live ; fore yet ! Go it to Goneness ! glimmer ! git! Give up the gib, jab, jibs, Yet, dare not touch the long-felt yit, Nor tickle his royal nibs ! Wet be the eye of the healthy moan, Dry as dust is the exit, Swallow space dough, spit out the bone, Future ! Can't catch it to fix it. Sh ! " " whence this language dire ? ' 'Slam! " — 'tis the — ' 'bang" — quick, ' • — [whizz !" Son of a Noble Sire? Checked to the oft-side of Is ! O, enthusiast in thy lonesomeness A hermit crab; go away cranfish ! Go it, Oh, Boots, on thy thin-rined Guess, Starve on a bloated wish. Sublet a let to a lonesome strange, Atom eludes the germ, Force the annulose into range, Go in for the long term. Let the thingness groan at the Ego, And the Nowtime smile at the Pastliness, Let the Sheous trail the where'er Hego, 'Tis all for the Bestliness. Let the what-much dance upon the moon, And the whoop-up say his say, Let the insect sigh of his aftsoon, Let the Goneness go to stay. Let the Bummer bumble-bee the bum, Let the Basilmathurgis pass the hat, And yearn for the but yet kingdom come, Let death get out of That. Let the Let let up and light On his legs, let him light and stand; Let Plato sleep in dark, dark right, And Pardner, here's my hand. THE GRIP YARN. "You know Dan nigger Dan ridiculous "Dr." Baker, At Nich S n ear Lex , the Old Veranda Hotel— Never there? What you've missed! — narry fakir, But you have — and you — I've a story true to tell. Have a light — take a fresh — all Havana filler, No boys, 'tis no sell — shant say more — 'tis a killer. Well, Dan, barber Dan, the comical, stammer- ing nigger, On hand day or night, ever well, Heard him laugh four squares — I should snig- ger. The bluest he could quell. All he'd do'd be to touch the trigger, And explode — it just beat," — here a figure. Well Dan, porter Dan, that proud, quick-step- ping dark, Bow-legged, white-vested, and on his head a P lu g> The very sight of which would break you all up, such a lark, Shining eye and ubiquitous mug, "Gem'm-m-men, scip-scip-sip — hash! Suippity — supity — ha! ha! ha! for decash!" He could sing — such volume was never heard, And dance — his heel never went back on him. HUNCH. And preach — in fun — and never get stuck for a word. And talk — talk a man plumb up a limb ; And eat — to see him hide "red" was a sight. Black? oh, no! — as starless night! Polite? — a Lord Chesterfield in midnight. I never went there on a trip, That something amusing and new, Didn't come forth from his lip, Or die in attempting to. The circus perhap, had been there, Or poet repeating the bells, Or a rope walker gliding through air, Qr something to give "Doc" the spells. In the the cage ever dauntless he goes, And feeds the lions with raw ; Or a lecturer for his board owes, There was nothing to see but he saw. His fun was of a queer kind, That sensitiveness must obey, It was natural, jubilant, blind, Lodged in him, lodged there to stay. To greet him and see him attempt, To make a witty reply, The struggle that then ensued, That always shook him awry, And tickled his rib there to die. When he dies his wit and ever happy reply on his breath, May come frem the dumb lips of death. Be baptized in de p-p-p — hoi' yo' bas'! " 'Rack out,' Brudder Sam, trot or pace! Pass de hat, ef Kathrine did, An' always beware ub de wid'! Then arguts some criminal cases, Repeats from Richard III ; Hab er brace, Dr. B , and he braces. This black, ornithological bird! What a rest to the traveling man! To see this ethnological figure, Dance through the offices! Dan Was none of your half-and-half nigger. Oh, he was a "Dan"-dy — a hummer, For drinks and stray dimes, He could "do" the toughest old drummer. I was young, and these were great times; No monk ever cut such shines. Such a mouth that was pulled too soon Fcr words but for mimicry rare, "Boys, dare goes the lates' new coon, On de lebel and part on de sq-sq-ha! ha! ha!" square, He doubtless meant to say — And his 'omurn, Dora by name, As fat as her jolly, good lord, A few of them called it a "shame," That "law" had not said the word: S'pose it had, he couldn't answer. Seven other Dans Had got here a little too soon For law; why laugh? — and more black and tans Are growing to laugh like the loon. The law now says that Dan must dance, sir! Was a joke, and the jailer consented, And the bugga-boos banded together; And Dan all that night repented, Saying he was under the weather. The turnkey, to make the joke take, Told Dan that the ku-klux would call, To pretend that he wasn't awake, "Turn your black face to the. wall!" The negro believed it in fun, When frightful masked men shook and pulled At their victim; then one begun, And several kinks from his head culled, To send to Dora for she, Would like to fergit him by, A commanding voice then said he, Would see that they "closed his eye." Then Dan never moving a muscle, Laughed to madness — the brink For 'closing your eye,' meant a drink, A toddy, a straight, or a wink: "Come boys, pull him out, for the day Is here, we'll be caught, let's away! " Then there was a terrible tussle, Among the klan, as to who Would relax his muscle And check his carcass through. Said one, "He is 'possuming well, Raise his head. Instead of a joke we've played hell!" Dan was dead. HIGH EUPHONY Vs. PLEBIAN SOUND. BIG HOKY SMOKY. (After Chas. Egbert Craddock.) A velvety darkness is in the West. The flickering fire fly suggested fantas, Magovicalskeletonics emanating from fluckition. Distance was a vast vague, sickening, Nauseating suggestion and snare; The air carried reminiscential suggestions Of distant hail, mingled and Interlaced, and intercepted with linings, Bespangled and fretted, and rubbed Down, until mingled odors of dogwood Blossoms and a dead mule arise. The pale emaciated, pellucid, pallucid, Consumptive moon was slipping up Behind Big Hoky Smoky. A few vagrant rays, serene and HUNCH. Denuded, flying in hieroglyphical Disorder, struggling for existence, with The crevasses, playfully dangling Ever and anon, hard by on the Back of the bull frog, swelling, Spreading, till monarchial spectres, Ghastly, ghostly divine began to Appear to those who had been Drinking too much "first shots." The katydid iterated with facial Contortions, far out of the limits, Which was reiterated by the bull frog. The forlorn leafless branches, with Hollow sockets and seldom foliage, Stirred mutiny and riot among The drowsy crickets and wormy Assemblage, which in turn Filled the strange gloom, and Black back ground, set in Indigo blue, with fitful contrast On the authority of the bluejay And the peckerwood. They saw it all through their Nictitating eye-lids. The moon journeyed tired and sweating in the Collar and hames, great drops of Pellucid sweat that glistens like a silver Sea drop lit by electricity, and moon Light and fox fire which joined in, To make the shimmer suggest the Indigo ennui flash in a pig's eye. At intervals, cocks crew triumphantly, the Democratic candidate for constable Having come in by twenty-three, Out of the forty-one floaters in the Bald ; And the nocturnal grasshopper responded, While the approval of the pig, pachydermatous, With his gruntulation of swine sagacity, Caught and held, and glorified the most Serpient and sneering. Hard by or up, came a sound of unspoken Poetical emotion, neurotic of hysteria; It regurgitated from the sad sedate O'Possum. Then the mountain flooded With gold, slipped adown athwart Across according to, from the Moon — the stiff, cardarerous planet, That has outlived its usefulness, Baptizing the domestic menagerie, and An an exotic lightning-rod man from Way Back, and the moonshine distillery. Only one specimen of the vast cranky, Ethnological congregation of Baptists, saw The wondrous scene, Flap-jack. He was extracting the snowny, skiey-bluey Milk, trom a liberal cow, with a sore On her fore limb. The cow had a Dull, glassy, blue-mass, ultarmarine Expression in her iris, upon which The moon shine reflected, ligh f , played, Giving a new vision »f color set Off in prismatic glittering gems. A sound caire o'er the world : "Thar now brin'l devil take The Keow !" It was the voice of Suckey.- A dull, dun mist crept over Big Hoky Smoky, followed by a veil of Shimmer, worth 1 6 y^ cents a yard, athwarting The beclouded disc. The billy goat hung his head in slavery's Symbolical way. The streamlet shivered Adown the brooklet, mingling intermingling, And associating with the slop from the Distillery. Silence rules at the world's Universal suffrage a second only. It would have been a success had Not the bull frog belched in sacrilege, As he raised his horny crest. The blue jay Looked god-like scorn a moment withering The b. f. into cold, clammy no more. "Soo! cow, soo! rung out upon the Circumambient rarified, clarified, airified Air! It was matchless, unhaltered, untrained Voice of the Heroine. She wore a cotton- ade Sunbonnet, and a cloak of sunlight, and Moon shadows and a brass ring. Beatific she looked! A flame of glorious Sapphire lept from her eye, sending Forth a wierd suggestion of an ignis Fatuus, don't-come-after-us, jack-o'-lantern Hands-off ! Surrounding here were Dark, portentous abysmal openings, With ponderous jaws; vastnesses bridged Ivory set in a suffusion of crimson, Translucent, glamourous, dream-like, Tempting the gilded license of fantastic, Weak-minded imagination, too delicate to Be focused by the pen of $3 writer. A horny grub worm crawled out of a Vermiculous saw log and crawled Back again. Hist! the tinkling Nabulation of a No. 9 brogan mingles With all Nature that is not hushed. It is Jo Bung-bore. She loved Flap-jack. She married Jo Bungbore. The latter sent the former into speculation From his milk pail. The moon was hid by a delicate skein of Fleecy cloudlets, photographing strange, Characters undecipherable except to The prophetic ken of the initiated eye. Big Hoky Smoky rose up like a Han't From the sea of aboriginal night, and Glistened like the iridescent bubble That Mark Twain used to play on our Feelings with. CONCLUSION. A new beauty was abloom in her cheek suf- fused In radiance. More vibrant iterations rose From the katydid. The sound vague, fugue, Wierd, uncanny woke her from a dreamy, Somnambulistic haze into which she had fal- len. It was the isolated screech owl, built HUNCH. In defiance of evolution. An illumined Silver gauze flickered about his screech Rendering it soft as oriental hymns of Night: ' The cowpatch with its modulating Zigy-zagy serpentine deviousness was Brushed by the zephyrs that played upon It, making its grain rich in disorder Of agitation filling it with sparklers. It was translucent, opalescent, giving out Many hues and colors in rich and Mechanical variations of its minimum Often built in defiance of rectangles, Curiously set in bespangled forms angelic And fantastic, scintillating in a hazy, mazy, Dozy dance before the eye. The tintinnabu- lation, And silvery bellulation rose at intervals, Constipating the air from the bull bell O'er the lea. His ejk was flushed With the golden zone of sunset and Success. The pig in the parlor was Profusely caparisoned and lolled About on curious divans trom poetical Handicraft. A hog was swathed and Smothered in seas of lace and edgings All covered over with the golden hue, It takes time to paint. A plain Mountaineer whose vote could be bought For $2 and a quart of rot-gut, is Thinking of her whose delicate, artistic, Cone-shaped fingers are toying with An adolescent wart on her left nose. They are rich. The mountain their carpet, The serene indigo sky their ceiling. The Moon wonder throws a rich, oreole and Divine din pan aback of his head, Glittering and shining like amoral, Bald head light, emitting curious jetties, And wondrous pyrotechnic lights and Flummery. The earth in its lostness And vastness their altar; the sunkissed Sea their font of holy water. He goes On cutting his corns and adjusts his Shoes, utters an oath and goes home To abuse his other wife. The wood cut is set in a million dollar Frame. The story is built in defiance Of rectangles like the chimney, from Which the smoke curls up. Look on this chimney and then on That smoke. It is plain smoke Smoky, Big Hoky Smoky. Where There is smoke, there is fire. Fox-fire at least! DE GRE'T BEYANT. Pant O, sister, pant, O pant, Gwine to the Gre't Beyant ; Rant O, brudda, Rant O, rant ! Gwine to the Gre't Beyant. Sa'lin' erwa', sa'lin' erwa' Fadin' erwa', fadin' erwa', Eenter de Gre't Beyant, Beyant Eenter de Gre't Beyant. Shout O, chillun', shout O, shout ! An' look ter de Gre't Beyant. Trim yo' wings and den look hout ! An bow ter de Gre't Beyant. O sarpints, O' sin, O sarpints, O' sin, Gwine ter de Gre't Beyant. Git yo' 'nintment, rub hit in, Gwine ter de Gre't Beyant ! Ter de Gre't hi yAm. Wastin' erwa' rastin' erwa', Meltin' erwa', tricklin' erwa', Eenter de Gre't Beyant, Eenter de Gre't Beyant. Hiss O, sarpint, hiss, O hiss ! Gwine ter de Gre't Beyant; Dey neber hit yo', er lie' er miss, Flyin' ter de Gre't Beyant. Slidin' erwa', glidin' erwa', Ridin' erwa', hidin' erwa', Ter de mist ob der Gre't Beyant, Ter de mist ob der Gre't Beyant. Si' O, people, si' O si' Dis side de Gre't Beyant; Die Oh, sinner, die, Oh die, Dis side de Gre't Beyant. Hastin' erwa', hastin' erwa', Stoffin' erwa', hungrin' erwa'; Enter de Gre't Beyant, beyant Enter de Gre't Beyant. DE NOWTIME. Whar is you gwine de yistidday, Whar is you fum dis notf, Which am de tother, which am de which. Ever which, er whar, Dear Sow? (Sir,) 'Tis fo' shux ! I swow, I svvow ! Den git 'long in De Now ! Which am de if, whar am de go, Nothing in now time, lingers long, Doan know nuffin, whether or no; De bugga will sing his song. Whence comes de groan (iterwhich?) Who 'vented de grunt? If wharas am de wharfo' fKerwho?) What ham de use ob de now an de 'den, Or de by gone, or de dar fo'? I gin hit hop, hits pas' my gib, An' gem'men, let me say, Hit fotch no meat ter tickle de rib. De devil he ham to pay ! 8 HUNCH. A PRINCELING SON OF A PAUPER MA, Capel. We give you the best that we've got, You float on the top of our pot, We give you fine raiment and food, . Thou dandyfied, clerical dude! We filled your head with Ego, We stuffed your gown with our cash; Reverend Sir, don't you know, That in bad taste is your lash? Again when you come among us, To spout distortion and rot; Thou stuck-up, clerical cuss, We'll pay thee to lecture us not ! This country's the home of the free; And all is well that ends well. Go to, or just leave us be, Puny Monseigneur Capel !. Capel says : "I've met with derision and laughter," (Before our Freedem, O bow !) "They'll not a vague something hereafter, But give me hades in the Now." Be ye pious flesh-fleshly or pope, Go you with or without your hope, Honored, or in disgrace. Be ye formal or be ye non con. Be your mentis compos or non. Let us have have a fitness of things, Only stay in your place The bird of Libertv sings! Be ye frisky, or cranky, or freak, Ever so modest or cheek; Go you the wide or stingy route, When you go up the spout; Be ye almond-eyed Pagan or Turk, Or flighty-eyed Christian at work, Only stick to your wing?, The bird of Liberty sings! Be ye "Rev." or Bob, or Capel, Monolith of St. Stuff Infidel, Emblem of truth or a liar, Son of a — gun or a daughter, Clerical or heretical; You'll a taste of our fire, When out of your font of water ! We gave you fine raiment and food, You do not like our election; And now you think us quite rude, Because you get food for reflection! PRAYER ANSWERED. De skerriest yarn dat eber war tolt, So feardest war h'l dat my blood got colt, War bout de niggah 'dout enny soT, Dat an anchill 'ud be ! Onkle Silas Lasses war his name, Gettin' ready for heb'n, and poufful at prar; Sich a niggah I nebber seed I swar. Gemmen, hit war er shame! "Oh Laud," he grunt, "come git me quick, For h'l yam ob dis sin Ian' sick, HT want ter Ab'hams booz'zu'am 6tick," 'Fee didn't you may kilt me. Well, one night late, jist arter fo' A woice hit lean hergin his do'. An' saad he's jist from de odder sho', An' scratched with his tail gin de cabin do', An' belched wit his bref good Laud afo'! An' friz Si's blood to be sho. Si ansed narra a word, While hit nimoskilt me. "Yer want ter be an anchill," de woice hit saad, An libe like hangels in dar bread, Ole man iz ye in? we want yo' head, An your name hits Sifias," — boom ! Den hop jumped Silas liker er buck, An said, "ha, ha ! honay, such truck Aint de message for dis here duck; You'b hit at de wrong do'. But if ye wants dat niggah now, Dat once war making dat pow-pow I'll tell ye whar he's stoppin' sow, When las' he heerd from enny how, We drapped him in his tume ! Den hTsaid, "Lasses mighty slick; Den h'l said, Lasses mighty sly; Den Silas Lasses jist as quick As powter said, "dat niggah lie." De Laud he gin ter praze his name, An ax Him not ter be ersham'!" I had noticed during these recitals, that quite a number of the poet hearers were taking notes. They seemed ashamed and confused to catch my eye, as if I naturally looked upon them with disfavor. The poet then continued his satire or mock- heroic, or whatever the critics term this mangy "style" of composition clog-geveh The Mormon faith grows apace We are not guilty though worse may take its place. Their religion is the vice, Not Polygamy — their paradise. More than one woman to a man, Is an accident, dispute it if you can! That must miscarry Until all bad disposed men are forced to marry. "I fear the Slave (see how I shake!) to any creed, Says Uncle Sam, "I hate the sins of such a breed, — Such slavery is quite disgraceing To Freedom's altitude menacing." They have wives, you have none! Many better half way ones by the score 'Tis said — and peradventure, — paramour. In Utah less females than men! HUNCH. 9 The rooster far exceeds the hen Teach men to hitch — hist teazing pole, oh pray Establish matrimonial agency! [Enter Mormon Comic Mad Muse] Beads and weeps: In the States a mishap Seducer straight shoots her pap. "Christian home" in the toils Of so many domestic broils. The husband shoots his wife's seducer For stealing her all, Unless the lawsuit mollifies his feeling. The patient wife detects her "hub" after some huss. Pistol herself, oh such a muss! And even in their land the blest Baldheaded fathers guilty of incest. Many great men have no Daws And husbands minus pap-in-laws. From Maine to Florida misdeads, Leave thousands of Buds to grow up weeds. If reverend sir naps at morning late, An infant miracle greets him at the gate. Men yearn to propagate their species To look just like their dad Find a barren wife — that's bad. All this jumble we leave behind To those who see so much to be so blind! He who enters here will find, No fear nor leave his hopes behind. Peace — prosperity and gentleness Is the crime for which we now confess. Divorces, infidelity, filth, want and disease, Let "wisdom" chose, excuse us please! The Mormon polity is just The envy of the puzzled publicist Here all, are fed and clothed and housed Crowned with peace and health, Has Vanderbilt an iota more of wealth? Besides we have sufficiency Laid by for belated rainy day. Sing the songs of science It all we decry! The cunning Edmunds now with justice bar- ters And gives us a few more religious martyrs. The "saint" and not the priest would he con- demn, One loves at least; the other scorns woman. We are behind the times, no bawdy houses, Assignations, asylums nor poor houses, Each does not figlit all others But "pull"— "We're a band of brothers!" Upon this subject to you so dry We have no whisky shops public or on the sly. You besetted or bemused in awful pains Brag of copper visceras to steal away your brains! We have several wife or none or one, And it is said you're true to none! Here industry we bridle While your hand in despair runs riot — strikes hurt the idle! We give you chance to make a place Nor force you to stripe of disgrace. Refuse you work, force you to steal, That you may their vile justice feel! O, harken unto us — leave your rot Let us gather you in as we do our wives, Oh, Halifax! who would not! The Mormon at Justice now connives. The Mormon politics (damn their religion) compare with our nation. We curse it — humph! worthy of imitation. Man to man, there's justice for Chinee; While Freedom — see its refined brutality! Let Mormon humanity take the place of our greed, And beak and claw; the very seed Of damnation — chaos — blank oppression! Gentlemen, let us call a session, And learn wisdom at the feet of fools, Where equality, if not tame "morals" rules, Nor maddening casuistry twist your head; Nor science leave that head without a bed! Where many heads official in U. S. Are "bodies" without brains — acephalous. Oh! "body's" oh! publicists quite "able," Leave our bill of fare.on (empty) table! The triumph of Chasity should repair To L e to find her image there! Tho' Colonel Henry Watterson Is virtuous and misses lots of fun ! While his preceptor, G. D. Prentice, he Nursed the — muses on his knee. These long-haired hypocrit's, these "write ur s" — what a pity, That they see a sin no bigger than a gnat in all of Utah City, And overlook The UNCLEAN BEAST, glutted to his fill, In all its hideousness — I mean at Louisville, With 5, coo courtezans (alas! for them a tear!) With as many "double faces," lust turns out every year, For religious dudes "necessary evils" who ply Their dull arts sing "I'll be an angel bye and by!" With all its churches, pretentions and sham; The wolf, the hyena! by it Salt Lake is a lamb! This Babylon— this "Falls" City on the banks of Ohio, To turn its nose and say to them, "Thou art a seraglio!" Home of the del auchee, and libertine, The eminent moralists with promiscuous con- cubine. O, wise, erudite, topheavys, circumspect, I wouldn't have your — 'neuralgia, for all your intellect. MORMON CONFESSION. Mary pleases me, Sarah teazes me, Fannie amuses me, Hettie abuses me, 10 HUNCH. Annie cheats me, Irene heats me, But < harlotte fires me, And never tires me. A little hard sense now and then, Refreshing is to rhymers' pen; Who turn from commonplace, from the true, To fantasies — now let us d n connu, And puff the midnight oil, and the flambeau, And choose the darkness, it consoles at least; Let us grope in darkness, there, and feast; It is a change, and that is good, we know. Let's call the rhymer crazy that will give The critics all a chance, for they must thrive. They aid your circulation, bless their gizzards, They make the circulation sort of wizards. All fleshpots know, with the exception of just a little, Gained by absorption, we boil from others' ket- tle. If there be a thought expressed here, not hinted at before, Now mind it; You may — I cannot find it; Acknowledge all at once — rather than weary notes behind it. • You write me a disciple of B n, Let us your little likeness try on; I suffered more, have lived in more despair, Am mortal — he was a child of air, Lived less, tho' longer, he lived every day Of his life; to him it was a play. I groped in Dullness, Dunceness, Inanition — He yearned never; yet fulfilled ambition. Teachers many, and the very best,- I the worst, but this 's no test: Then none — such men are blessed. He walked the heavens — was sent to hell Imaginary, and we have never fell; I oft chagrinned, for pride what a god- send! I read his book, here let the likeness end. Byron quite conservative, nor cowed nor bought, Yet never said the half'he really thought. He could be sweet as all men know ; Nor was he half as bitter as his writings show. I've long lost interest in wicked bard, With heart so soft, with head so very hard; Tho' I wonder more and more and more Than I wondered at him years before. His hair is gray at thirty, eye is cold And penetrating; at heart he's still a four year old; A man in all things with much conn tilled, And yet his heart is with ihe small boy filled. The knowledge struck, still increases; Now for a little piece. Once it was a solid chunk, Now it is a little hunk.t Specialists, all in our day, The broader for the narrow way, Know all about a spider in a cave; Nor know how our neighbors may behave. Rake the bottom of the sea for evidence, The thousands suffering "no consequence," For knowledge. Just a little bit, We will not grant them it, By Federal aid or even by subscription "Knowledge for the fools?" Why, they take a conniption! As if it were exclusive for the wise, Who need it truly; but the fools shall have no eyes, And leave them worse than nature's bastards. Indeed, aren't the responsible all dastards? Hail, Man-monkey, haifdivini, Hail Charles Swing-Hing-Chee Darwini! Hold! "Heredity," "Adaptation," everything in its place, (New Deities, Brother Hteckle, before the same say grace!) Or rather the "place" grows a thing as it is E'en to abnormalities! Monism, dualism, metaesthetism, panaes- thet, Choose not, there are many yet. 'Intuitional, creational, special, evolutional, We know not whether boy or gal or imper- sonal, Or, bi-exceplional, perhaps asexual, Or many more hypotheses. If you see not what you want, call for it if you p'ease! ] Leave now your rot, your twaddle, 'tis fan- tasm. Down on your knees to Deo — Protoplasm. Striving 'gainst the wind, let the pa'son pass Science seins the ocean, explores the parasites in a gnat's eye; Goes into secret parts, then into— nebulae, Insect or mind the kind of ozone is he! Causes abysmals to ope mouth wide, Divides capillary 'twixt west and h— 11 west side. All things now 'd be understood, From bacillus we drink to lacteal fluid, Treat the past as dull, hopeless blind, Finesse of adept in an insect's before! The science of heart and soul and feeling Now dead, for fluids, solids, gases, Length, breadth and thickness o'er us stealing, Space, Time and horrors! Man no longer from the past borrows, Once gazed at the celestial with wonder, Now looking into lenses, by thunder! The sun may not, but matter "do move," Instability of the homogeneous they prove! Rest is in movement solids are fluids, Centers are turned into orbits, Things are not what they seem, The wise are donkeys. Evolution and selection, The proper study of mankind is monkeys! Microscopist observing the dimensions of a drop of water, HUNCH. 11 Is it asexual son or daughter? Are you male or female, Mr. Planet, Miss Sun, If so, how long have you been one? Physics like metaphysics, always lead To a uuerilla warfare, And sows among opposite the seed Of heresy; doubt us if you dare! If an infinitesimal body Flying through the sky Hit an infinitesimal fragment, All things go awry. Look then at the molecule Pitiful expression in its eye. The injured tone of voice, With waves of biliousness so high! Then see the lamed mind leaning upon a crutch And sighing, I fade away and scatter. Alas! nothing lives for aye, But the indestructibility of matter! " And force always overcoming, then retreating. Hard is its fate — its cheating! O Unknown Anonymous Hand, I catch you at your pranks, You teaze, When you cough, I will not sneeze! Do you acknowledge this to be your act and • deed? Humph! a mere half-breed! Whom we regard: There is a ''God idea" to not worth a cuss, Then, there is One, hut this is the last of us! Rides on scientific sea his craft, Freebooter Cook, when they were lost they laughed! Then shows bones of vertebrate sub-kirgdom, Curiosities in Cook's Hub-museum. Mixes is three professors' statements, With all his futile beratements. His theory of evolution he saddles, On Huxley! Then Joseph straddles, His homological ass the auditors, Who knew in infancy, here give us pause Enough to overthrow the British, Of Joseph Cook the charlatan be skittish ! Disproving by vituperation, Clouds up the Spencerian sky. And goes to Lotze for his heredity! Just like one dove-tailed homology, Lotze and Spencer quite agree! Still Fremont Temple fills! ah rae, Religionists who all agree! Then Cook, Posson Jo, quite heated, Cries lustily, "Can you (experts!) be cheated?" "In all this land there remains Not scattered out so many brains." Why then so much need of a teacher? The cultured? Lighted by a preacher! Makes Huxley announce A view which Cook cannot pronounce! Quotes from the 9th edition of Enc. Brit., Learns from Huxley to disprove it! Built an intellectual world that mystery has downed. Faith in theology lies dead and damned and gone, All systems of philosophy is found, Half-poetry — mere trickery, all wrong. The founders themselves disgusted if not shamed, Their personality deified, and then profaned! The experts — fair science has too many ways And systems no one will follow; No one expects the thing for which he brays, In oblivion bemused now we wallow. To morals we have only added weakness, Boldness is not tempered yet with meekness. The workman has his laboratory tools, But the victory is counted for the fools! The intellectual world is gone, And the poetical has doubting few, The metaphysical set at its dawn, The moral world is left for me and you. The inner world, what has it to say? The toiling world hasn't time to pray, If it had the will or inclination; The social world must study dress and fash- ion. All have gone to h — 11 or to the skies, Save criticism — that thing never dies. Fine spun words too frail to freight a thought, Euphoneous, not sense, but sound, Nor much that the ear has caught Or held — a euphemistic gossamer compound, That belongs to poetry and other things that's weak, Not homely truths in it resound, Nor words that meaning speak. High-sounding words he ne'er employs, Risks making nothing rather than a noise. Give us mild, intentional confusion; beat About the bush — shameless tergiversation, cheat — Bridled, tied down, is his plan — He hates the lawless idead man, That reigns and soars so free, Prefers the prim to such liberty. A mere guerrilla warfare that he scorns, A hot-hcuse variety with pricks — free things have horns And hoofs bent on spoliation, How "ruined" is this unhaltered nation! Or "gospel of dirt," said Carlyle and effected to despise, Evolution — ethnic dust in his own eyes. They "know" that they have a soul eternal. Tho' the Bible has its evidences quite carnal. In all religion (save Brahma) what confusion, While we have parsons we must have delu- sion. Hail truth! new truths, later ones till we note without surprise, They all at last are based upon charming pro- digious lies. The world we think c*ould be spared great Pope's rhyme, Yet I have swore when they rejected mine! 12 HUNCH. Well fares that land to hastening ills no prey, When fools fall out if they'd each other slay. Their silly, twaddling strife, Their demise doubly bless themselves and social life. Ill is that land, by such rakes infest, Who count their thousands from a few weak jests. Some preachers, some great infidels, Money and great fool-compels, While sick-eyed Want and yellow-blown De- spair Ask bread: a stone, a serpent sting their fare. When he arose and ope'd his mouth and spake Words that showed a head as well as heart, When he spoke out in meeting, so to speak, And said the parson's a fantastic freak, A foetus of the womb of a dark age, And drew the clearer line upon the stage, And struck it to them right or wrong, The people laughed a hearty, honest song. He was their tongue, the multitudes, And spoke what many thought, In words to suit, better than they dared think, To the horror of hypocrites and prudes, Who ne'er before had smelled of such a stink! Then straightway prayed they to their God,s To save mankind, the young, the rash, Their homes, firesides — and all the odds And ends — and raise their salaries in cash. Not only prayed but prophesied out loud, That God would change the chemicals Of the soil; jealous He and proud, So we were taught amid much noise — And give the soil a rest Because we fostered such audacious pest, Until corn would be 19 cts. a grain, Famines and scourge and narry rain; Not only prayed, but prophesied in vain! And doubt themselves; we still have every season, And common sense is no longer treason. Guiteau in pantalettes who prays To God — wondrous are hoops ways! If thou be my Redeemer, Send Robert to eternity — by steamer. A voyage on the ocean he proposes, All our prayers thou hast for years rejected, (God, and not womankind disposes). This very case so very long negleted, ' O, can it be, O hearken, me, Put this vile tongue in equity! " Puissant One to neglect grovvn, Hears not suggestions — Bob smiles on And all the devils out of hells And gods that on Olympus roost Disport themselves, the shame repels, And drinks his toast! The woman is a murderous gump, Long live great Bob — a bump Er fills with justice — equity and hope And progress — man no longer grope, In superstition's sickening slime; Bob is much nearer the Divine. TAL. IN HIS TAB. ON TA'F. Mickle muckle mickle, Tal. in a pickle: Rub-a-dub-dub, Tal. in a tub, Brim full of troub; Rub-a-dub dab, Tal. in his Tab. Blab-a-blab blab, Tal. in his Tab; Gab-a-gab gab Jab-ajab jab, Sucli a Tab, Is a "scab." A-B— ab in a Tab! What confab-fab-fab What prattle, prattle, prattle, Jabberish, Gibberish, Chatter, chatter, chatt er, Chatterbox, Tab, tab, tab, [Tableaux!] PROBLEM FOR ROOSTERS. Man is a cell, man is a sell, Excuse, I pardon beg, There always is a hen a hen Before there is an egg. The belief of Cause or Origin has changed, Unreasonable to one deranged! Herbert Spencer: "There is an unknowable (is/) power behind all. Noah Porter: "Spencer is a fool." He writes him atheist, A reverend professor with a theologic tongue and fist. Misrepresents then optics set above(?) Would transform all by law of love! Is this merely a verbal trick, Hitting Herby a love-lick? We witness the fanatic to "philosophic calm," Who must receive it straight — the theologic d— n. Go on philosophic rant, Assume, but never make God, Mr. Kant, And this he calls Reality, stale Common Sense, I vow, Please tell us how, please tell us now! Agnostic, prognostic, sceptic all along, Now spoils it all — the debate to renew to pro- long, Oh, Mr. Kant, 'twill never do, Noah whacks you up in Pious Review. God's existence hangs dangling, By a postulate is strangling. Alas! alas, that a spec- ulator hangs up Deity by the neck! And then alas! all our laws Go working on without a Cause! This is faith quite rational, (All religion is emotional;) HUNCH. 13 Based on ideational supersensuous Quite contentious, ontological proof. Every idea —what a one — is a Truth Anchored to teteology — good! Moral too — when it would. A fine-spun theory of dialectics, subtle, pro- found, To use their phrase "falls to the ground." I want a First Cause, I demand it — Anon his Paw — bastard? understand it! Kant's cured by borrowing self-knowledge, Professors have to pack their college. Oh, Noah, Noah, lay it strong, Heart right, tho' head is wrong. Lead! Be tongue to mighty surging throng, With heads quite right, hearts brave and strong, God's not belittled — now debated, Only enlarged — illuminated! The Few for the millions (monetary) the swarms for the penny, Self-abuse for the few, Self-neglect for the many. Now Beecher in his pulpit With much less sense than wit, Much larger than his church of course, Not quite as big as all out doors, For evolution now he drums, Then after it a tune he hums, Physical, evolutional, Nor knows that there is one also mental; Destroys the creeds, kills the church, Upon the Bible now, see perch The Vulture stuffed with Study, From — Nowhere! Its clear waters would muddy. Upon the Good Book now he roosts To smirch it, I deduce, That his mere touch of sacred wings, Would quite befoul. Secular things, Trailed in the dust at his touch. Then pious songs! It is too muchl A drummer from some fresh Review, Assumes to teach both me and you! And get the credit, my what robbers These preachers are! very jobbers, Dealing in, now if you must have the theory in short, Go to Fiske; Henry is a mere abort; I hardly think he read his Master through, Spencer — Nor I, had I else to do! Fiske! strong men, to make a rhyme Firked to the frailties of his time. "Beecher's for the theory!" Alas! 'twill drive the best away. A "rat" that would reach to either side, Colossus — they'll split him open wide! Knows less of the subject he attempts to teach, Than it of conclusions it would reach, Yet soi disant Generalissimo This broad land goes forth to sow The truth that he has lately found; His evolution is not sound. But noisy mouthings — a second growth His mind has taken, on my oath. The only difference between Bob and Henry, Is wide as you will shortly see. Both fight the church, both it divide, One out, the other in the inside, And when the ruin falls, the cheat Is lost; Bob views it from a safe retreat. One, a manly foe ; the other wolf As a lamb arrays himself In raiment light, and to deceive Is his business: don't believe. Yet scorns the honest doubter, Will him abuse And wink — "it's only a smart ruse, I turn in, you turn out, And then the field we route, You do not drive them in, just see me drive them out!" m Such monkey shines und never fail Does he to show his growing Tail, Tho' he wears a long tailcoat is cut Lie out of whole "Cloth" — shows his butt, To all that seriously incline To solve his real ancestral line. The motive, here is quite plain, The fools rush in if he proclaim, No matter what in America Is going on, we go to see. His "Revolution" I maintain, Marched up the hill and down again, His "Revolution" raised no smoke, Nor fire — if joke, a quite poor joke, Tho' rather amusing, So let me stop abusing, For what's the use Of attempting to abuse, Abuse! When he opens mouth quite wide, Out steps Egotism, Pride, Mixed with it a little Wit; Profound are never caught at it. Then panagyrics the man of Sinai, As half — that Christ was whole divine. Christ was the son of God 'tis true, No more or less am I or you. He first to recognize his pap, Tho' came He by the route mishap. With Henry Ward I now am through, Now Colonel Bob I turn to you, And all I have to say is go it Boots! the flow, the fire, if not the form of poet. Now I am through, I will have done, Fun never came from sadder one." [Exit. The hearers now had all the roses of medical science and ratios of hysterics and hypo. The poet was white with anger. Alas! he is not through! "Imagination — thou edged tool, To hard head as well as fool, 14 HUNCH Fancy has quite asoft, Cracked hard head as soft. Good old fanatical Gordon For prophesying got locked up in Soudan. Entered into an alliance With lunacy, fantasy and prescience, A Christian Prophet with a gun! To coax Egypt to Man the Son. O, Gordon, thou Son of Fancy, Thy Teacher taught nc t militancy; All mankind He would release, Not hy Krupp guns, but gentle Peace. Christians now possess the merit Of blotting letter and the spirit, Bringing chaos out of order, By quiet, gentle Christian murder. Mormon in the prime of life, Talmage: "Sheridan, gun and knife. Turn canister and shell and shot Upon this miserable rot; Turn bayonet and shot and shell Upon this seraglio of hell. Blot out the filthy prostitute!" Toot, O, Talmage, toot and toot. War-horse, battle gash and bullet, Trample Rooster likewise Pullet; Christ the man corrected ills With the Word, not leaden pills. ■ Tabernacle froths upon the border, Of cold-blooded, sickening murder! Morally Talmages' shoes Dangle from legal noose. Foolish fool who pipes and pipes, Not content with all his stripes : "Phil, toot up thy bugle, toot," Tal. will send his substitute. Send Talmage to the walls behind? Nay, pilgrim, institute weak mind. 'Tis peace that guards monogomy, And war that breeds polygamy; Yet these good men and pure, Employ the cause, effect to cure! When women war in valleys van, Then census shows up, Polyan' When sexes you equally divide, Poland Polyg's heads you hide. But when you shoot down the men, Promiscuity is born again. Between torty males and forty females, One will have one — not many tails. One will have one, for it is right, Court! beats fighting out of sight. Kate Field is raising sand, Poor child, she needs a man — a man. Stay at home at night, Rather than dodging deadly Danite. The little weakly Mormon yoke, Supplies man with a little joke. Statesmn, preacher, never mind 'em, Come home they will with tails behind 'em. Census should not flight the mind, Since i860 has declined. And among the sexes — three, Males, females and parsons see? If, if my memory serve me right, I've heard it whispered — haven't you? Parsons like a taste or two, Let him no more the question beg, Rise up camp-meeting chicken leg. Few old codgers, healthy to boot, Cut a caper with forbidden fruit. Let men deride, and women say "fools," Raise children — for the Sunday-schools. Infidel might raise the right To settle hash with cuff and fight. Strikes me he should not use the rod Who hopts and prays to be like God. Talmage quite a small potater, When Christ he is an imitator. Dismal failure every hour He shows up suchmimitic power, Oh, Tal who cut up caper, Not imitator, but mere aper. Here the honor lies : Fulfil your part, Fight the devil within your heart. Talmage, turn, you are hell bent, Here is the stool, heie, here repent! Repent, repent, repnt and live! "God" may, but man will not forgive. What a charming paradox, When christianized fight pagan cocks, England with her war and wealth. Shows Christ in her poor in health. "God rules" Gordon can't reject, Though God and England him neglect, So long as eucharist can reach him, Experience vainly tries to teach him, Still rides up on his muscle, Rations only blood corpuscle. Doesn't know he's in a "pinch," "1 20,000,000, 000,000 of 'em to cubic inch." Rejects transubstantiation, trim, Eucharist gave enough for him. Give Gordon credit — he's not a quack, Plain, stark, wild-eyed maniac. Here let us close the story Of the Christian predatory. Settled fact that such prescience Is founded on pure nescience No man is a Mormon, good one, In the faith the female fails, For its excess is not of males, Utah, then, a dire omen, Will men therefore war on women? Because forsooth, because high strung, They fell in the arms of B(r)ig(h)amy Young? Why should "pars" smart under rubs, Because among fair women there are scrubs. Once bowed down arise and prance, Cable wretched Rechepin in France! So much science has to say, Poet, here is poetry! Science would intercept thy theme, Nescience, hence "Les Blaspheme" Rechepin as he grows strong, Mark it, will likely change his song. HUNCH. 1: Kick as he does causality, Damn damnation ingeniously; Let him go, it will not hurt, Let him snap and tear his shirt. Let him turn poetic verse, At order let him howl and curse! At harmony let him shake his head, In garret and behind wood shed. Let him glare, let him point, His scorn at Superstition stiff in joint! Hostile let him go at front and head, Fool will find yet its long since dead! Then, not till then, will he begin To kill the fool in Rechepin! Rechepin his god has lost, In space his soul by grim fate tossed, Fear or hope he will not own, "Disciples " — goes it not alone! Why then hope, why then pray? Wretchedness wants company! Men who desire to destroy Religion along with its alloy, Who set their pens against delusions Black and back ground set in fair illusions, Who rob the wretched of his Blest, Who knock ''Supreme" both hell and west, Take by his horns devil Deist, Ruffle front arranged by Pantheist, Wrench the fang of the Within Men like Rechepin, Jean. " Who lay stiff ad conscience pangs, And snatch 'em bald by their bangs Rob ideal of its glow, Tear duct dry! No nose to blow! Down with this silly strife, Which builds a cab for future life ; Down at once all present pain, Fatme is a lie in vain! Drown the whisperings seductive, To present order so destructive. Even that trick appliance, " That apotheoses science! Oh, how he gloats in extreme, In triumph kills Divine Obscene! Laughs at, curses, hisses the hoax, On it builds a thousand jokes, Turns again at midnight hour, Hurls his force with savage power, Then anon in sadness moans, Bears his life away in groans. Wrong is thy plan to destroy all glory, Hie thee to thy laboratory, Quit riding such a stupid donkey, Study anatomy of ape and monkey. Employ your — ha! ha! mind — find the True, As we Sons of Britain do! Be sure you're right be sure, be sure, This, Frenchman, is the cure. Hold: Go liberate yourself from strife, And breathe for once one breath of life, Now nature is a jargon mutter, Music she distinct will utter. From thy racket stop an hour — What a treat, A second, man — sour? Now how sweet! If atheist, why cut up so, Why kick, if you have the true? Why rage, foam and threat and surge, Is possession such a scourge? Preachers and preachers all out of breath, Parsons' Conventions that talk "God" to death, Then poets' verse makers to be sublime, Always put "God" in the last line. For is not evolution — do not fear, The Universal Cure-all panacea? The rage for knowledge grows apace, A pace, and jolly thrilling is. To-day the whole of our race. On science up to snuff she is, She gets so deep in institute, That churches crumble from neglect, Dresses mind in this new suit Damned, now turns out the elect Children are now bo ; sler- Ous. No longer pine in cloister, Cuss all divine spiritual, Unless it fits sensational, Un'ess St. Paul can stand experiment — St. Paul Must go to the (devil) wall — must fall, In science never was such fun, Found before, since world begun, H'm! poetic, but not so, World begun! oh, no, oh, no! If church ever annoyed the mind, It was when it was behind The times. Now we only confess To Priestly Biogenesis; Girls who wept on mourners' stool, Now join Huxlev's Sunday-school; Exchange at once, "article" effete For molecules so dear and sweet, Tear off neck charms, her beads now dull, A necklace of some dug up skull. Crania, Patagonia, Neandethal so thick, Acephalous race! sit on dalicko, and brand. yc- cephalic, Oh, my, how cute, shouts every dear, We fall in love with protozoa, and you think queer, We have life— our existence Rolls in waves of least resistance. We are now so strong and able, Fie, eucharist! for dissecting table. Religion out! we do not mope, Since Microscope and Spectroscope, Quite forgotten are our prayers, We have other avatars. Darwin cleared the world of smoke, And revealed — shame on if — hell a joke! Creeds— true men have robbed and killed the creeds, In '-Nineteenth Century" they give us screeds. We now no longer fear Old Nick, Fashion to be a heretic. 16 HUNCH. We are free at last ; it makes us furious To think "Belief" so queer, so curious, That our forefathers could not see Relationship to the chimpanzee. The fever caught at the Boston school, Sweet girls dote on molecule. Come all seekers of the true, What? we cannot monkey with you? Then go and live in night half-breeds, Your ignorance scieuce far exceed.-.! Go to superstitions eel!, Leave us to our — well, Go, be like the country fright, Who live(?) in deep, abysmal night. Be not a man, be a mouse, It may keep thee out of mad-house. This way you get your due, Then the Good Lord pity you. A mind thus to heart takes strife, Knows not a-b-c of life. Who break their necks to Sunday-school, Who never met a molecule, -* * •:■:■ * * Richepin, you are undone, Here's life — join us in the fun. Then, O, man, would you lose sight Of the whole religious fright? Look through scientifocscope, Look — live — know, then grope. Look once — 'tis due— freely by touch The magic spring — you've suffered much, Your mind no longer shall be blank, v Look! you won't? Must science spank Music, drama and the stage, Last relics of the insane age, Mark it, intellectual Has outgrown the mad emotional, Is a step into the clear, From the mist, incongruous, laughter, anger, fear. Enmity, scorn, revenge and rage, Were possessessd by the savage. Courting, jealousy and love, These links reach not the above. They play their part — once necessary part, Man walks on feet, not head and heart, Walk erect — straight, aplomb, Man has gained his equilibrium. ARGUMENT. When the Poet finished I know not ; 1 only know that I discovered the lo^s of my toe to my trunk, which gave me exquisite suffering. I traveled for nine years in earth, sea and air, without success, to find the missing member upon my return just where — where it had been all the while. I upbraided it for thus deceiv- ing my sight, and then began my occupation with zeal and hope. The Poet greeted me and informed me that a convocation of philosophers and scientists had been seeking admission ever since my depart- ure. They entered, and for days nothing but the two themes were broached, the Poet reading his jangle ever and anon. The poet rehearses : It is the way of those inured To suffering to be caricatured. For if they suffer for a lie, The lie .we nail, we crucify ! " Stop ! " shouted nineteen earth worms sim- ultaneously, " stop, we implore thee our Master, and hear us !" Alas for me — they too had caught the rhyming fever, and now of course must read them ! I roared much for one given over to so much gravity. Yes, I roared in a tickle that went to the very ends of my fingers for the Poet was dejected! He no longer had a monopoly; he now must listen — and I could not have selected greater regimen for the pesky spirit that had kept me in such painful disgust for days. "Hold," they cried, then seven arose to read at once! Then there was trouble — aye, angry words as to who should be heard first. I was called upon to decide! Eight hundred other earth worms having jcined the ranks of rhymers all with their rhymes fresh and hot from their brains. I settled it thus: All who had rhymes to read were to crawl into the palm of my hand first — then we would see. My! how they did come. After getting a grip on all of them I sniffed them up my nose, only, alas! to hear them rehearsing each his own, as they crawled out my ear. Then I took my lit- tle toe to my trunk and unlocked it and depos- ited the poets in the bottom, where only one at a time was admitted through the key hole, the strongest of course being first to read, while the weaker ones had thus the more time to pre- pare, erase, re-read and so on. They did not suffer by being held back. Only it was very mortifying to those that were released — all the appreciative hearers being locked up! As each one read he retired, and in a short while it seemed to me that they each and all were reading the very same rhymes. I was un- able to distinguish between them. About preachers and scientific terms, and Socrates and such stuff. There seemed no connection between the matter presented, some beginning where an- other had left off. But hear them in alphabet- ical order: ? A. EARTH-WORM: [FROM GKUBLESS STREET.] Every thought (never mind the sense), Every whim, will have its audience; Since man the Thoughtful sought nor found, In brooding less confusion, hence more sound. Socrates' voice is louder heard To-day, oh! ink-slingers, he never .vrote a word ! HUNCH. 17 Yet permeated with divine spark, (With his tongue he made his mark.) He merely talked — nor ever laugh Was heard. Soc. was no walking pantagraph. ? B. EARTH-WORM. Then Pope, oh! what a drudging ass was he! Out of a thousand, a dozen lines we see. C. EARTH-WORM. To teachers new mankind is ever prone, To teachers true, and every man his own God, Christ, philosopher p&r se, Diagnostician his own M. D., And no longer in the Past we grovel, We hail tht* e Chief, if thy book be novel. Then come! receive at once a blaze Of Glory — victims of the latest craze! With ears polite — the surging throng, Will crop them where they are too long. Then come; we want exception to the rules, The field is ripe — now reap the crop of — The word is dull and meaningless to-day, The fool may be the wise in fol array. "But we should have a spank. — Yes, a spanking machine for every crank. But if this shouid come from Church or State, Pray who'd be left to operate! D. EARTH-WORM. A mild complaint — no doctor, for it will not kill, And, if it be serious, he works no miracle. E. EARTH-WORM. The preacher and the layman — two fools met, Which is the bigger — that's to be settled yet; You are the dupe, say not a word agin it, Every lime lie shakes your hand he finds a dollar in it. Let it go empty a time or two, And his cordiality will be as empty, too. Slaves to preachers in this country, A foolish woman, what a fool is she! Doctrines that dethrone the little brain; Creeds that are washed in bloody stain; Put on your face, rush to the steeple, To get your creed for maddening the people, And pay the robber — cannibal is he, That eats his Jesus, flock, and enemies all three! F. EARTH-WORM. Fight errors in truth; no sin, Nor hide a blotch in his Bible is bold, In theology the evidence is long since in, Not so of science we all can hold. Accept the truth wherever found, The pagan, all is holy ground. Christ ain't Peace, theology is night, Some more theological irenicons or Stagyrite, Th« n ethnic god of fragmentation, Oil apod — crazy-quilt — stagnation; Or scolloped, filigree, fantastic, vain, Oh, give it to us straight and plain, The scient says, "I'm with you, raise my hat, But man's a lump of protoplasm for a' that.' ! G. EARTH-WORM. Pleasure is a sin — now this thought treasure That sin is pain always, and not a pleasure. ? H. EARTH-WORM. Your silly parsons, who c e minds quite fill A sib< hat, while out of it is nil; And then I like the agnostic well, And damn the egotistic infidel. Your "truly good" that they ate our betters, Because forsooth, their thought is buund in fitters, And circumscribed, as if space had a limit With themselves, and nothing more was in it. I. EARTH-WORM, There are many "crying evils" preachers — can it be A laughing evil's Robert G? They ciy out to their God, who, if he hears an- swers not,' If he hears not is a "dummy." Mein Gott! J. EARTH-WORM. A literary trick, so juvenile that Fame smiles And wonders — while he all great reviles; So \oung, precocious; and then he grows To dullness; his puberty ain't prose. Christ, the "loafing tramp," he that kissed the rod Of Religious Persecution, and got a job as God. The Prince of Martyrs kissed the rod Of Religious Persecution and got a job as God. The later Christs are in their graves; Their hands are stiff and cannot save. We have done with them have out-grown Them all; now every man's his own. 18 HUNCH. K. EARTH-WORM. Highest type of Circassian race, Put the Negro in his place; Contest the lie with might and main, Bible fits a nigger brain. Same too easy to believe, Fourteen years will it receive, Cast away at seventeen, Originality is here I ween. All arguments — To rounded man is an offense. They do not do nor satisfy, For meat on it "preach" rely. Yclept smart men say it is true As gospel — well, that will dc! Many smart men of it drink, No telling what smart men will think. Many good man by it die, And live on useless piety. Have your religion, the sport is blind, Mine? h — m! has escaped my mind. Science, then; why abuse it? We know enough, but do not use it. Science still is on the boom, Mad-house has limited room. From spectrum analysis appliance, To talking science as a science; If life is short, if it be long, Do something, though you do it wrong! To believe takes no capacity, * Much learning is mendacity. Scientsliv^, if they deride, Why believe a lie to be "on the safe side?' Science now has freely boasted: "Believe a lie — rather be roasted!" Go where you will, what will you find, In crazy-quilted, miscellaneous mind? Copy' returned, rejected, Miscellaneous mind is so neglected. L. EARTH-WORM. Man in error upon every hand, Denies what he does not understand. Will Error her way ne'er mend, Nor damn what it can not Comprehend? Libraries, tomes of every nation, Contain much error — little information; Patience, science with eye upon the True, Illuminates but hides the scientist from view; Sees God in every thing, and brings a rupture, Because he is obscured by the Holy Scripture. God there is in tape worm, planet and germ, not Bib., The measly thing in that is infirm fib. Let mankind ra'her go it blind, Prophesy is infirmity of the mind; Science, laws of health now every puter, Write it down as neuter. In our day so many things are sin, That we must shut out Nature to let religion in. That Pope, so full of learning, should be so so very blind, To write for the few — and thereby miss man- kind. He wrote quite perfectly — His MSS. the sky— Man, write upon the ground, if you would catch the eye. Write right along — write truth, and write it plain, Then, when mortals look, they do not look in vain Be what you are, be it in the text, Nor hide in subtilty in mistifying context. Say what you are in daylight, nor h de ; To get up .steam pull the throttle wide. Write at your mark and strike it sure; That weakest sin of learning is to obscure. ! Socrates, Apostle of Talk, Piato, ditto of Chinning, Aristotle "about did walk;" This trio set mankind to sinning. ! Apotheosis of Steam — Conservation of energy, Correlation of forces in one synergy. Kinetic and, potential damns dynamic. And now we see biology — qui e physic. D mn all spiritual as gross demerit, Except the pushing modern spirit. The pulpit to-day rates Intellectual light-weights; Still Beecher s ill extorts On politics and such cavorts. To-day great giant Henry Beecher, For infidelity is its teacher. ! In morals let all be told, A healthy heart will not a secret hold. The villain knave in secret whisper low, A Good man wi 1 not a secret know. Nature one can interpret, B sh ! that Nature is all secret. To her go — and appeal, Every secret will she reveal. In morals would you be wealthy? Simply ask "is it healthy?" 26 HUNCH. Many morals on'y blight! If it's healthy, it is right. Tho' the bigots — heresy hunters all, Raise a most unearthly squall. Long man in purgatory was confined, Religion, last infirmity of the mind; Reason is science wise mother, Religion is her fooli-h sister. Now it is not even right, To speak "God" to etrs polite. Mea still will refine his conscience, Tho' with God they have no patience. Calvin hid his Servetus thry say, Seems to me it was the other way! Orthodox might know that something would come after. Torch and grave accompaniments — they face the sceptic's laughter. Common sense always in minority, Presidents elected by majority! ! Laws are now in vogue, Thu disarm the subject; but arm the rogue. Laws like Nature wrong seem-;, by her means, But let her kill and slay — she elevates the ends. And what she wastes in men the pest, They will not be missed, so she saves the best. To the play of man this is the prologue, Judge not because now it's— you-know-what on the frog. ! Sh, Socrates, gifted with confab, "Shut your mouth," he replies; himself he would not stand Gab. ! Minn's are the same, we differ tho' in taste, Same stuff turns one skeptic, another goes to — Grace. Believer damns agnostic for his views, Push him and he turns into your shoes. Try it if you will and every ism. At last takes refuge in agnosticism. "God is past finding out; oh, we simply know Nothing at last, is not that so?" Yes; says agnostic — see whit is in a name! Whig is not a Tory tho' they talk the same; Call a man a Democrat that means the Elect, If never Elected, Agnostic — hm! sort of new — insect? ! Call me a Philistine, if you will. The Philistine's business is King Sham to kill. Tho' to these Exquisites, it brings a painful sigh, Because we slay instead of worshiping a lie. Philosophy was badly split, From Plato to Kant on one side — from Aristot to Locke the opposite. This yawning gulf, then came the plan, Herby Spencer made the span, And all at once was hailed as Sage, "Greatly in advance of age." And for it all his thought transcendent, Academy of France made htm correspond - ent! Now Spencer — though he does not cuss, Accounts for it as fortuitous, And doubtless lories for ablution, From this downward evolution! Solved the trouble through the basal inorganic sphere, The principle of heredity — hardly comes in here. He reconciled transcendental and experimental fuss, Now he must be reconciled, for what France did for us. Man no longer is exempt From thinking: hurcli is in contempt. Hail to science — sane to sanity! To take the place of Christianity(P) Exit church, ta-ta, Belef! Bad to worse Now. for Relief. Virtue is monotonous, vice is a charm, While there is contrast have not alarm. Good as the best — bad as the worst — and in- different, Homo to hetero is natural, says the scient. All good and no climax to the story, Many kinds of men to make history. Spice of life lies in varieties, Great is enhanced by contrarieties. Honesty per se is nothing new, Probability tells us what to do. ! Man blow your nose — bazoo — not honest horn, Divine when in a pinch "hooked" somebody's corn. Greely knew table manners I suppose, He also knows the taste of adipose Nevermind Commandments in your measure- ment of men, Christ h ms;lf could not he measured by the Ten. Man still will have his moral query, Vice, not Virtue \s hereditary. Man has his a ms likewise his ends, And the way to reach — depends. Health. Hope and Hash-self-abuse and wreck, Another puny sin is sel-neglect. Therefore to be a perfect goose, Neglect not self, nor self seduce. Man's reason so very dear, Bemused in woman's atmosphere. W»lt. Whitman lost the use of it, Did phyllophagus when nosing an arm pit. Gourmand Sand, gluttonous George, Enough? "Too much-give me a gorge." So very weak, she went it blind, Yet she was hailed as masculine! Hear her rail ar mankind — the wretch, Weaker than the frailest of her sex. HUNCH. 27 Wisdom ever will consent, Fools for good Self-government. Fools Grand, Square, Upright and Tame, Genius glories in its shame. When we brag of our day, Our day is in decay. When we give a sure lament, Sure sign we are not hellward bent. M