* * * * * You kin talk about yer cities where the politicians meet-- You kin talk about yer cities where a decent man gits beat; With the general run o' human kind I beg to disagree-- The little town of Tailholt is good enough f'r me! Chicago was a pleasant town in eighteen-eighty-eight, And I have lived in Washington long time in splendid state; But all the present prospects are that after ninety-three The little town o' Tailholt 'll be good enough f'r me! * * * * * "I wunst lived in Indiany," said a consul, gaunt and grim, As most of us Blaine delegates wuz kind o' guyin' him; "I wunst lived in Indiany, and my views wuz widely read, Fur I run a daily paper w'ich 'Lije Halford edited; But since I've been away f'm home, my paper (seems to me) Ain't nearly such a inflooence ez wot it used to be; So, havin' done with consulin', I'm goin' to make a break Towards making of a paper like the one I used to make." * * * * * Think, if you kin, of his term mos' through, An' that ol' man wantin' a secon' term, too; Picture him bendin' over the form Of his consul-gineril, stanch an' grim, Who has stood the brunt of that jimblain storm-- An' that ol' man jest wrapt up in him! An' the consul-gineril, with eyes all bleared An' a haunted look in his ashen beard, Kind o' gaspin' a feeble way-- But soothed to hear the ol' man say In a meaning tone (as one well may When words are handy and ----'s to pay): "Good-by, John; take care of yo'_self_!" GETTIN' ON. When I wuz somewhat younger, I wuz reckoned purty gay-- I had my fling at everything In a rollickin', coltish way, But times have strangely altered Since sixty years ago-- This age of steam an' things don't seem Like the age I used to know, Your modern innovations Don't suit me, I confess, As did the ways of the good ol' days-- But I'm gettin' on, I guess. I set on the piazza An' hitch around with the sun-- Sometimes, mayhap, I take a nap, Waitin' till school is done, An' then I tell the children The things I done in youth, An' near as I can (as a venerable man) I stick to the honest truth! But the looks of them 'at listen Seems sometimes to express The remote idee that I'm gone--you see! An' I am gettin' on, I guess. I get up in the mornin', An' nothin' else to do, Before the rest are up and dressed I read the papers through; I hang 'round with the women All day an' hear 'em talk, An' while they sew or knit I show The baby how to walk; An' somehow, I feel sorry When they put away his dress An' cut his curls ('cause they're like a girl's)-- I'm gettin' on, I guess!