John Lyons, late of Tombstone, just down behind his rock, Escaped the influential effect of such a shock, And examinin’ the prospect, he very plainly sees He has worked the blast quite perfect—likewise slammed his enemies. When narratin’ the adventure which I’ve chanted in my song, If he terms them “blasted Injuns” no one calls his language strong— For their hopes were surely blasted which they fondly reckoned on, And with patent giant-powder by this Arizona John. THE BALLAD OF CHARITY It was in a pleasant deepô, sequestered from the rain, That many weary passengers were waitin’ for the train; Piles of quite expensive baggage, many a gorgeous portmantó, Ivory-handled umberellas made a most touristic show. Whereunto there came a person, very humble was his mien, Who took an observation of the interestin’ scene; Closely scanned the umberellas, watched with joy the mighty trunks, And observed that all the people were securin’ Pullman bunks: Who was followed shortly after by a most unhappy tramp, Upon whose features poverty had jounced her iron stamp; And to make a clear impression as bees sting you while they buzz, She had hit him rather harder than she generally does. For he was so awful ragged, and in parts so awful bare, That the folks were quite repulsioned to behold him begging there; And instead of drawing currency from out their pocket-books, They drew themselves asunder with aversionary looks. Sternly gazed the first newcomer on the unindulgent crowd, Then in tones which pierced the deepô he solilicussed aloud:— “I hev trevelled o’er this cont’nent from Quebec to Bogotáw, But setch a set of scallawags as these I never saw. “Ye are wealthy, ye are gifted, ye have house and lands and rent, Yet unto a suff’rin’ mortal ye will not donate a cent; Ye expend your missionaries to the heathen and the Jew, But there isn’t any heathen that is half as small as you. “Ye are lucky—ye hev cheque-books and deeposits in the bank, And ye squanderate your money on the titled folks of rank; The onyx and the sardonyx upon your garments shine, An’ ye drink at every dinner p’r’aps a dollar’s wuth of wine. “Ye are goin’ for the summer to the islands by the sea, Where it costs four dollars daily—setch is not for setch as me; Iv’ry-handled umberellers do not come into my plan, But I kin give a dollar to this suff’rin’ fellow-man. “Hand-bags made of Rooshy leather are not truly at my call, Yet in the eyes of Mussy I am richer ’en you all, For I kin give a dollar wher’ you dare not stand a dime, And never miss it nother, nor regret it any time.”