But I am digressing-- I was going to say, That just as Kleinfelter Got in good way, The Baron, hearing Kleinfelter’s song, Thought he was piling it on rather strong, So taking along a burly old vassal, He quickly sneaked up to the top of his castle He lay down on his stomach And stuck his head over, And there was Miss Hinda And below was her lover. He gritted his teeth and he held his breath, And he inly vowed Kleinfelter’s death. So jumping up and wheeling about, He picked up a barrel of sour kraut, And frantic with rage he hurled it over, Plump on the head of the wretched lover. Of course it ended Kleinfelter’s strains, For it mashed his skull and scattered his brains, And knocked the musician _out of time_ Into Eternity--horrible crime! So ended Kleinfelter, and so ends my rhyme. DR. JOHN A. BROADDUS. Modest, firm, bold, and sage as Socrates, Two Johns in one, the Harbinger and Seer, He stood a High Priest by the holy Ark, Aspiring as the upward-soaring eagle Quitting the sluggish vapors of the dark, To drink in heavenward flight the morning breeze, Clear dews, and golden sunshine of the dawn, And moist from fountains fresh and salted seas. He preached with reason lucid as the light Which flashed o’er chaos at Creation’s birth, When Eden threw its splendor o’er the night And the Divine Word said, “Let there be light!” Chasing foul phantoms from the infant earth; Strange was the power of that pathetic voice Whose sympathy made aching hearts rejoice. The mellow winding of the shepherd’s pipe Seemed from the fruitful Mount of Olives borne To ears of gentle women and strong men. It shamed and hushed the scoffers’ ribald scorn, It charmed the city’s lucre-loving throng, And melted all with Calvary’s lofty song. No painted web of rhetoric he wove; His speech was all sincerity and love, But sharp and pointed as a surgeon’s lance. Tender his touch, and searching his quick glance; A living faith to every work he brought, And lived the simple doctrines that he taught. The Man of Sorrows ever was his theme, Who taught by Galilee and Jordan’s stream; So in the Temple Jewish rabbis heard The wondrous Christ-Child speak his Father’s word. The admiring world oft tempted him in vain, And offered greater guerdon than his chair, In posts of honor and in golden gain, To him gay bubbles floating on the air. Far up the Mount he heard the warning cry-- “Excelsior!” the watchword of the sky, The solemn mandate of Eternity.