And the shows in those days! Ah, how well I recall The shows that I saw in Corinthian Hall! Maggie Mitchell and Lotty were then in their prime; And as for Jane Coombs, she was simply sublime; And I'm ready to swear there is none could compare With Breslau in Borgia, supported by Fair; While in passionate rôles it was patent to us That the great John A. Stevens was _ne ultra plus_. And was there demand for the tribute of tears, We had sweet Charlotte Thompson those halcyon years, And wee Katie Putnam. The savants allow That the like of Kate Fisher ain't visible now. What artist to-day have we equal to Rae, Or to sturdy Jack Langrishe? God rest 'em, I say! And when died Buchanan, the "St. Joe Gazette" Opined that the sun of our drama had set. Corinthian Hall was devoted to song When the Barnabee concert troupe happened along, Or Ossian E. Dodge, or the Comical Brown, Or the Holmans with William H. Crane struck our town; But the one special card That hit us all hard Was Caroline Richings and Peter Bernard; And the bells of the Bergers still ring in my ears; And, oh, how I laughed at Sol Russell those years! The Haverly Minstrels were boss in those days, And our critics accorded them columns of praise; They'd handsome mustaches and big cluster rings, And their shirt fronts were blazing with diamonds and things; They gave a parade, and sweet music they made Every evening in front of the house where they played. 'Twixt posters and hand-bills the town was agog For Primrose and West in their great statue clog. Many years intervene, yet I'm free to maintain That I doted on Chanfrau, McWade, and Frank Frayne; Tom Stivers, the local, declared for a truth That Mayo as Hamlet was better than Booth: While in rôles that were thrillin', involving much killin', Jim Wallick loomed up our ideal of a villain; Mrs. Bowers, Alvin Joslin, Frank Aiken,--they all Earned their titles to fame in Corinthian Hall. But Time, as begrudging the glory that fell On the spot I revere and remember so well, Spent his spite on the timbers, the plaster, and paint, And breathed on them all his morbiferous taint; So the trappings of gold and the gear manifold Got gangrened with rust and rheumatic with mould, And we saw dank decay and oblivion fall, Like vapors of night, on Corinthian Hall. When the gas is ablaze in the opry at night, And the music goes floating on billows of light, Why, I often regret that I'm grown to a man, And I pine to be back where my mission began, And I'm fain to recall Reminiscences all That come with the thought of Corinthian Hall,-- To hear and to see what delighted me then, And to revel in raptures of boyhood again.