[Illustration: O]n page 101, Part VII., of _Parodies_ there is a poem called _The Settler’s version of Excelsior_. It was taken from a MS. copy, lent by a friend. The following is probably more correct. It is an American attempt to translate _Excelsior_ into plain English:―― HIGHER. The shadows of night were a-commin’ down swift, And the dazzlin’ snow lay drift on drift, As thro’ a village a youth did go, A carryin’ a flag with this motto,―― Higher! O’er a forehead high curled copious hair, His nose a Roman, complexion fair, O’er an eagle eye an auburn lash, And he never stopped shoutin’ thro’ his moustache, Higher! He saw thro’ the windows as he kept gettin’ upper A number of families sittin’ at supper, But he eyed the slippery rocks very keen, And fled as he cried, and cried while a fleein’―― Higher! “Take care, you there!” said an old woman; “stop! It’s blowin’ gales up there on top―― You’ll tumble off on t’other side!” But the hurryin’ stranger loud replied, Higher! “Oh! don’t you go up such a shocking night. Come sleep on my lap,” said a maiden bright. On his Roman nose a tear-drop come, But still he remarked, as he upward clomb, Higher! “Look out for the branch of that sycamore-tree! Dodge rollin’ stones, if any you see!” Sayin’ which the farmer went home to bed, And the singular voice replied overhead, Higher! About quarter-past six the next afternoon, A man accidentally goin’ up soon Heard spoken above him as often as twice, The very same word in a very weak voice, Higher! And not far, I believe, from quarter off seven―― He was slow gettin’ up, the road bein’ uneven―― Found the stranger dead in the drifted snow, Still clutchin’ the flag with the motto―― Higher! Yes! lifeless, defunct, without any doubt, The lamp of his life being decidedly out, On the dreary hillside the youth was a layin’! And there was no more use for him to be sayin’ Higher! ―――――――― DIOGENES! The carriages were filling fast, When o’er a railway platform pass’d A youth who bore, with tread precise, A paper with this bold device, DIOGENES! His arm a parcel held beneath; He drew a number from its sheath, And shouted, with well-practised lung, Accents that through the station rung, DIOGENES! In happy hours he saw the light,―― The Cynic’s lantern glowing bright; Resolved to make its lustre known, His lips soon gave the welcome tone, DIOGENES!