He ain't a-gone wrong Like this in a day; He's been wrong all along In the same kind of way; And the faults they have damned in "Othello" They praised in--well, "Hamlet," I'll say. So that's why I remark, And would wish to maintain, That for hair long and dark, And a voice that was pain- Ful, the Eminent I. was peculiar-- But I don't think he'll try it again. _The Figaro_, March 4, 1876. * * * * * GALAHAD. "A superficial imitation is easy enough, but I shall certainly fail to reproduce his subtle wit and pathos." (_Reads._) TRUTHFUL JAMES'S SONG OF THE SHIRT. Which his name it was Sam; He had sluiced for a while Up at Murderer's Dam, Till he got a good pile, And the heft of each dollar, Two thousand or more, He'd put in the Chollar, For he seed it was ore That runs thick up and down, without ceilin' or floor. And, says he, it's a game That's got but one stake; If I put up that same, It'll bust me or make. At fifty the foot I've entered my pile, And the whole derned cahoot I'll let soak for a while, And jest loaf around here,--say, Jim, will you smile? Tom Fakes was the chum, Down in Frisco, of Sam; And one mornin' there come These here telegram: "You can sell for five hundred, Come down by the train!" Sam By-Joed and By-Thundered,-- 'Twas whistlin' quite plain, And down to Dutch Flat rushed with might and with main. He had no time to sarch, But he grabbed up a shirt That showed bilin' and starch, And a coat with less dirt. He jumped on the step As the train shoved away, And likewise was swep', All galliant and gay, Round the edge of the mounting and down to'rds the Bay. Seven minutes, to pass Through the hole by the Flat! Says he, I'm an ass If I can't shift in that! But the train behind time, Only _three_ was enough,-- It came pat as a rhyme-- He was stripped to the buff When they jumped from the tunnel to daylight! 'Twas rough.