Which ane, an' which ane, An' which ane for thee?-- Here thou hast thy vera choice, An' which sall it be? Ye hae the Holy Brither, An' ye hae the Scholarly; An', last, ye hae the butt o' baith-- Which sall it be? Elbuck ye'r bag, mon! An' pipe as ye'd burst! Can ye gie's a waur, mon E'en than the first?-- Be it Meister Wisemon, I' the classics versed, An' a slawer gait yet E'en than the first? Then gie us Merriment: Loose him like a linnet Teeterin' on a bloomin' spray-- We ken him i' the minute,-- Twinklin' is ane ee asklent, Wi' auld Clootie in it-- Auld Sawney Lintwhite, We ken him i' the minute! An' which ane, an' which ane, An' which ane for thee?-- For thou shalt hae thy vera choice, An' which sall it be?-- Ye hae the Holy Brither, An' ye hae the Scholarly; A' last, ye hae the butt o' baith-- Which sall it be? THE EARTHQUAKE CHARLESTON, SEPTEMBER 1, 1886 An hour ago the lulling twilight leant Above us like a gentle nurse who slips A slow palm o'er our eyes, in soft eclipse Of feigned slumber of most sweet content. The fragrant zephyrs of the tropic went And came across the senses, like to sips Of lovers' kisses, when upon her lips Silence sets finger in grave merriment. Then--sudden--did the earth moan as it slept, And start as one in evil dreams, and toss Its peopled arms up, as the horror crept, And with vast breast upheaved and rent across, Fling down the storied citadel where wept, And still shall weep, a world above its loss. A FALL-CRICK VIEW OF THE EARTHQUAKE I kin hump my back and take the rain, And I don't keer how she pours; I kin keep kind o' ca'm in a thunder-storm, No matter how loud she roars; I hain't much skeered o' the lightnin', Ner I hain't sich awful shakes Afeard o' _cyclones_--but I don't want none O' yer dad-burned old earthquakes! As long as my legs keeps stiddy, And long as my head keeps plum', And the buildin' stays in the front lot, I still kin whistle, _some_! But about the time the old clock Flops off'n the mantel-shelf, And the bureau skoots fer the kitchen, I'm a-goin' to skoot, myself! Plague-take! ef you keep me stabled While any earthquakes is around!-- I'm jes' like the stock,--I'll beller And break fer the open ground! And I 'low you'd be as nervous And in jes' about my fix, When yer whole farm slides from in-under you, And on'y the mor'gage sticks!