For where is a color that can be compared With the blush of a buxom lass-- Or where such warmth as of the hair Of the genuine white horse class? And, lo, reflected in this cup Of cherry Bordeaux I see What inspiration girdeth me up-- Yes, red is the color for me! Through acres and acres of art I've strayed In Italy, Germany, France; On many a picture a master has made I've squandered a passing glance; Marines I hate, madonnas and Those Dutch freaks I detest! But the peerless daubs of my native land-- They're red, and I like them best! 'Tis little I care how folks deride-- I'm backed by the west, at least, And we are free to say that we can't abide The tastes that obtain down east; And we are mighty proud to have it said That here in the critical west, Most any color--so long as it's red-- Is the color that suits us best! HOW TO "FILL." It is understood that our esteemed Col. Franc B. Wilkie is going to formulate a reply to Mrs. Ella Wheeler Wilcox's latest poem, which begins as follows: "I hold it as a changeless law From which no soul can sway or swerve, We have that in us which will draw Whate'er we need or most deserve." We fancy the genial colonel will start off with some such quatrain as this: "I fain would have your recipe, If you'll but give the snap away; Now when four clubs are dealt to me, How may I draw another, pray?" POLITICS IN 1888. The Cleveland Leader must be getting ready for the campaign of 1888. We find upon its editorial page quite a pretentious poem, entitled "Alpha and Omega," and here is a sample stanza: "Whose name will stand for coming time As hypocrites in prose and rhyme, And be despised in every clime? The Mugwumps." Well, may be so, but may we be permitted to add a stanza which seems to us to be very pertinent just now? And who next year, we'd like to know, Will feed the Cleveland Leader crow, Just as they did three years ago? The Mugwumps. THE BASEBALL SCORE. A boy came racing down the street In a most tumultuous way, And he hollered at all he chanced to meet: "Hooray, hooray, hooray!" His eyes and his breath were hot with joy And his cheeks were all aflame-- 'Twas a rare event with the little boy When the champions won a game! "Twenty to 6" and "10 to 2" Were rather dismal scores, And they wreathed in a somewhat somber hue These classic western shores; We shuddered and winced at the cruel sport And our heads were bowed in shame 'Till Somewhere sent us the glad report That the champions won the game!