en trespassing on Jones's family vault;
He was a most sarcastic man, this quiet Mr. Brown,
And on several occasions he had cleaned out the town.

Now, I hold it is not decent for a scientific gent
To say another is an ass--at least, to all intent;
Nor should the individual who happens to be meant
Reply by heaving rocks at him to any great extent.

Then Abner Dean of Angel's raised a point of order, when
A chunk of old red sandstone took him in the abdomen,
And he smiled a kind of sickly smile, and curled up on the floor,
And the subsequent proceedings interested him no more.

For, in less time than I write it, every member did engage
In a warfare with the remnants of a palaeozoic age;
And the way they heaved those fossils in their anger was a sin,
Till the skull of an old mammoth caved the head of Thompson in.

And this is all I have to say of these improper games
For I live at Table Mountain, and my name is Truthful James;
And I've told, in simple language, what I know about the row
That broke up our society upon the Stanislow.

_Bret Harte._

"JIM"

Say there! P'r'aps
Some on you chaps
Might know Jim Wild!
Well,--no offence:
Thar ain't no sense
In gittin' riled!

Jim was my chum
Up on the Bar:
That's why I come
Down from up yar,
Lookin' for Jim.
Thank ye, sir! _you_
Ain't of that crew,--
Blest if you are!

Money?--Not much;
That ain't my kind:
I ain't no such.
Rum?--I don't mind,
Seein' it's you.

Well, this yer Jim,
Did you know him?--
Jess 'bout your size;
Same kind of eyes;--

Well, that is strange:
Why, it's two year
Since he came here,
Sick, for a change.
Well, here's to us:
Eh?
The h----, you say!
Dead?
That little cuss?

What makes you star,--
You over thar?
Can't a man drop
's glass 'n yer shop
But you must rar'?
It wouldn't take
D---- much to break
You and your bar.

Dead!
Poor--little--Jim!
--Why, thar was me,
Jones, and Bob Lee,
Harry and Ben,--
No--account men:
Then to take _him_!

Well, thar--Good-bye--
No more, sir,--I--
Eh?
What's that you say?--
Why, dern it!--sho!--
No? Yes! By Jo!

Sold!
Sold! Why, you limb!
You ornery,
Derned old
Long-legged Jim!

_Bret Harte._

WILLIAM BROWN OF OREGON

They called him Bill, the hired man,
But she, her name was Mary Jane,
The Squire's daughter; and to reign