And yet 'tis a study to see The rage gladiatorial of Rome And grim Spanish bull-baiting glee Adopt an American home! That blood-thirsty, murderous spite Men loudly condemn--and possess! Besieged New York City last night, With first-class financial success! * * * * * Hands gloved--to comply with the law; Gloves hard--to comply with the crowd; Fists savage as murder could draw; Cheers heavy and fervent and loud. Stern hisses, and shoutings of "Woman!" When either too tender they found; Tremendous applause when a foeman Dropped, more than half dead, on the ground. * * * * * 'Twas the soul's blackest hell-woven fibre, All thrilling intensely and fast; The curse of the Tagus and Tiber Arrived in New York Bay at last! And victor and vanquished, I learn, Came off with more glittering spoil Than teacher or preacher could earn In years of the hardest of toil. * * * * * A spectacle pleasing and bright, Full many good people delighting-- So many good men love a fight, When somebody else does the fighting! And "'tis shameful!" we mildly agree, And shout our complainings afar; But the facts are no worse than are we: They show to us just what we are! VIRTUE. [_From Farmer Harrington's Calendar._] OCTOBER 1, 18--. Wind in the south-west; weather fit to stay; A sweet, old-fashioned, Indian-summer day-- When Heaven and Earth both seem to look at you Through hair of gold and misty eyes of blue. My wife said, as we talked of it together, It seemed as if some of our old farm weather Had got tired of the sober hills of brown, Hitched up a cloud, and driven into town! We went to church, and heard a sermon preached, Which all the way from Earth to Heaven reached, And lifted us up toward the town divine, Till we could almost see the steeples shine, And hear the mighty chariots as they rolled Along the massive turnpikes made of gold. We had some music, so sweet-lipped and true It made me think of every flower I knew; And when, with benediction, the old pastor Said "Good-bye" for himself, but not his master, It put my resolution to the rack, To head my poor old tears, and drive them back!