For "personals" the old Pacific House was just the place,-- Pap Abell knew the pedigrees of all the human race; And when he'd gin up all he had, he'd drop a subtle wink, And lead the way where one might wet one's whistle with a drink. Those drinks at the Pacific, When days were sudorific, Were what Parisians (pray excuse my French!) would call "magnifique;" And frequently an invitation to a meal I'd get When I helped 'em run the local on the "St. Jo Gazette." And when in rainy weather news was scarce as well as slow, To Saxton's bank or Hopkins' store for items would I go. The jokes which Colonel Saxton told were old, but good enough For local application in lieu of better stuff; And when the ducks were flying, Or the fishing well worth trying-- Gosh! but those "sports" at Hopkins' store could beat the world at lying! And I--I printed all their yarns, though not without regret, When I helped 'em run the local on the "St. Jo Gazette." For squibs political I'd go to Col. Waller Young, Or Col. James N. Burnes, the "statesman with the silver tongue;" Should some old pioneer take sick and die, why, then I'd call On Frank M. Posegate for the "life," and Posegate knew 'em all. Lon Tullar used to pony Up descriptions that were tony Of toilets worn at party, ball, or conversazione; For the ladies were addicted to the style called "deckolett" When I helped 'em run the local on the "St. Jo Gazette." So was I wont my daily round of labor to pursue; And when came night I found that there was still more work to do,-- The telegraph to edit, yards and yards of proof to read, And reprint to be gathered to supply the printers' greed. Oh, but it takes agility, Combined with versatility, To run a country daily with appropriate ability! There never were a smarter lot of editors, I'll bet, Than we who whooped up local on the "St. Jo Gazette." Yes, maybe it was irksome; maybe a discontent Rebellious rose amid the toil I daily underwent If so, I don't remember; this only do I know,-- My thoughts turn ever fondly to that time in old St. Jo. The years that speed so fleetly Have blotted out completely All else than that which still remains to solace me so sweetly; The friendships of that time,--ah, me! they are as precious yet As when I was a local on the "St. Jo Gazette." IN AMSTERDAM. MEYNHEER Hans Von Der Bloom has got A majazin in Kalverstraat, Where one may buy for sordid gold Wares quaint and curious, new and old. Here are antiquities galore,-- The jewels which Dutch monarchs wore, Swords, teacups, helmets, platters, clocks, Bright Dresden jars, dull Holland crocks, And all those joys I might rehearse That please the eye, but wreck the purse.