“No poet ever felt such thrills In touching of his lyre As I did when I found there came A message through the wire. That wire I cut, and ’tween my teeth I held it—ay, with pride— And with my tongue the current clicked To the wire on t’other side. “On one side came the message in From some man in New York: ‘_Buy if you can, at ninety-five,_ _Five thousand sides of pork._’ And this same electricity I changed as in a flash: ‘_Send down an engine right away,_ _Or we shall go to smash._’ “The engine came, and all were saved— Yet life is but a Dream. I live—thou livest in a cloud: We are not what we seem. Still craving for the Infinite In Time’s ideal lodge, I grasped a truth—yet after all ’Twas but an earthly dodge.” I gazed upon that spirit grand, Upon my knees I sank, And from mine eyes the burning sand The scalding tear-drops drank. Then soft she smiled: “If deeds like this Can yield such victory, And I am in your line, my love, Then, love, I yield to thee.” Ho, maidens of Vienna’s show! Ho, matrons of Lucerne! Look out for us next summer, when We give your shop a turn. I have won my soul’s ideal, I have booked her for a wife; And the Fancy and the Real Are united in my life. AN AMERICAN COCK-TALE PROFESSOR LUTHER CRANMER BANGS Has travelled in Europe more than a year, And no one need ever be troubled with pangs At telling him aught which he thought was severe; For there’s ne’er a Yankee of any size, No matter how sharply he chaffs or slangs, That can boast he ever has taken a rise On Professor Luther Cranmer Bangs. _He_ was the man whom Dr. Snayle Read a lecture to on a morning call— Read it clear through from bill to tail; And Bangs like Old Piety bore it all. Said Snayle, when the sheets were all up-read, “I’m a-going with this to Boston, you know”— “I’m glad to hear it,” his listener said: “I always _did_ hate those Bostonians so!” Well, last week on a City Atlas ’bus The Professor and I went riding down, While the driver politely gave to us Opinions on things about the town. And finding my friend was “prone to receive,” And came from the Western land afar, He told him just what one _ought_ to believe In politics, piety, love, and war. Then glancing at Bangs, who sat to leeward, Looking as mild as cambric tea, He said: “I once ’ad—but I soon got cured Of—a wish to go to Amerikee. I was tired of always a-drivin’ these cusses, And so I thought I would like to range”—— “You were right,” said Bangs. “In our Yankee ’busses It’s the _driver_ who takes (and keeps) the change!”