THERE'S the rustle of silk on the sidewalk; Just now there passed by a tall hat; But there's gloom in this "boom" and this wild talk Of the "future" of Poverty Flat. There's a decorous chill in the air, Joe, Where once we were simple and free; And I hear they've been making a mayor, Joe, Of the man who shot Sandy McGee. [Illustration: _There's the rustle of silk on the sidewalk; Just now there passed by a tall hat_] BUT there's still the "lap, lap" of the river; There's the song of the pines, deep and low. (How my longing for them made me quiver In the park that they call Fontainebleau!) There's the snow-peak that looked on our dances, And blushed when the morning said, "Go!" There's a lot that remains which one fancies-- But somehow there's never a Joe! [Illustration: _But there is still the "lap, lap" of the river_] [Illustration: _There's a lot that remains which one fancies_] PERHAPS, on the whole, it is better, For you might have been changed like the rest; Though it's strange that I'm trusting this letter To papa, just to have it addressed. He thinks he may find you, and really Seems kinder now I'm all alone. You might have been here, Joe, if merely To _look_ what I'm willing to _own_. [Illustration: _He thinks he may find you_] WELL, well! that's all past; so good-night, Joe; Good-night to the river and Flat; Good-night to what's wrong and what's right, Joe; Good-night to the past, and all that-- To Harrison's barn, and its dancers; To the moon, and the white peak of snow; And good-night to the cañon that answers My "Joe!" with its echo of "No!" [Illustration: _And good-night to the cañon that answers My "Joe!" with its echo of "No!"_] _P.S._--I've just got your note. You deceiver! How dared you--how _could_ you? Oh, Joe! To think I've been kept a believer In things that were six months ago! And it's _you_'ve built this house, and the bank, too, And the mills, and the stores, and all that! And for everything changed I must thank _you_, Who have "struck it" on Poverty Flat! [Illustration: _I've just got your note. You deceiver!_] HOW dared you get rich--you great stupid!-- Like papa, and some men that I know, Instead of just trusting to Cupid And to me for your money? Ah, Joe! Just to think you sent never a word, dear, Till you wrote to papa for consent! Now I know why they had me transferred here, And "the health of papa"--what _that_ meant!