Sir Slosson and companions three-- With hearts that reeked with careless glee-- Strode down the golden sand, And pausing on the pebbly shore, They heard the sullen, solemn roar Of surf on every hand. Then Lady Florence said "I ween"-- "Nay, 'tis not half so grand a scene," Sir Barbour quickly cried, "As you may see in my fair state, Where swings the well-greased golden gate Above the foamy tide." Sir Slosson quoth, "In very sooth"-- "Nay, say not so, impetuous youth," Sir Barbour made his boast: "This northern breeze will not compare With that delicious perfumed air Which broods upon our coast." Then Lady Helen fain would say Her word, but in his restless way Sir Barbour nipped that word; The other three were dumb perforce-- Except Sir Barbour's glib discourse, No human sound was heard. And even that majestic roar Of breakers on the northern shore Sank to a murmur low; The winds recoiled and cried, "I' sooth, Until we heard this 'Frisco youth, We reckoned we could blow!" Sir Slosson paled with pent-up ire-- His eyes emitted fitful fire-- With rage his blood congealed; Yet, exercising sweet restraint, He swore no vow and breathed no plaint-- But pined for Good Old Field. The ladies, too, we dare to say, (If they survived that fateful day), Eschew all 'Frisco men, Who, as perchance you have inferred, Won't let a person get a word In edgewise now and then._ The subject of the good-natured and clever satire was our mutual friend, Barbour Lathrop, with whom I had been associated in journalism in San Francisco and who is famous from the Bohemian Club literally around the globe and in many of its most out-of-the-way islands as a most entertaining, albeit incessant, story-teller and conversationalist. Pretty nearly all subjects that interest humanity have engaged his attention. He could no more rest from travel than Ulysses; and he brought to those he associated with all the fruits that faring forth in strange lands could give to a mind singularly alert for education and experience under any and all conditions. His fondness for monologue frequently exposed him to raillery, like the above, in the column where Field daily held a monopoly of table talk. But the episode with the "Garrulous Sir Barbour" was not the rhyme of chief interest (to Field and me) forwarded by "this courier." This was confided to a third envelope even more elaborately addressed and embellished than either of the others, as follows: For the valorous, joyous, Triumphant and Glorious Knight, The ever gentle and Courteous Flower of Chivalry, Cream of Knight Errantry and Pole Star of Manly virtues, _Sir Slosson Thompson_, who doth for the nonce sojourn at _Mackinac Island, Michigan_,