like hound t' th' trail,
Worn ol' Mac.
Jes' like an ol' farmer a-swingin' his flail,
Jes' like ol' Abe Linco'n a-splittin' his rail;
D'ye think a MAN like him c'd ever spell f-a-i-l,
'R fall back?

No, Sir! He worked till he struck a new vein,
Brave ol' Mac!
This time he held tight th' "millionaire" rein;
Swore as he'd never be foolish again;
Then he got drunk. I tell it with pain,--
Scooted back

East. An' I read in them Papers one day,
Klondike Mac
Had gone t' them "diggin's" anunder th' clay;
An' he was a pauper ag'in! Talk of Play----
"Life's jes' a stage!" as Spokshare mought say;
That's a fac'!

Most of 'em Kings as I've heer'd on went bust,
Jes' like Mac.
None of 'em carries the'r crowns int' dust;--
They sport 'roun' a while, but die they all must;--
An' I don't know as one of th' king-bunch I'd trust,
Lookin' back,

Like th' King of th' Klon! Him we knew
As ol' Mac.
Rulers like him y'll find ther's d----n few;
Ther's lots of 'em sportin' a Crown ain't true blue.
But Mac? he was royal--a King through an' through,
An' no "Jack"!

Up No'th they'll 'member him an' things he done
Way back.
We won't give his Crown t' no Son-of-a-gun;
Ther's no entail on Kings t'other side of th' sun,
An' pre-ce-dence ther' will go, ten t' one,
T' King Mac!

GHOSTS

Deep lies the snow on the white, white plain,
And frosted the fretwork on window-pane.

The Storm King has laid his icy clasp
On th' lock o' th' Year: 'tis an iron hasp.

The camp fire gleams, and its ruddy glow
Throws shadows quaint on the drifting snow;

My heart leaps up, for I see a form
That makes the blood in my veins run warm:

A woman is standing beside my bed,
And these are the words, I swear, she said:--

"YOU MAY WANDER AFAR; BUT, GO WHERE YOU WILL,
THE GHOSTS OF THE PAST WILL FOLLOW YOU STILL!"

Another comes--a girl-face, worn,
And of every good resolution shorn,--

She utters no word; but her eyes of blue
Are burning, piercing me through and through!

Yet another comes and takes Her place----
I close my eyes lest I see HER face----

For the flush of youth on the girlish brow
Is lost in the wanton wo