"Your hands are horny, your clothes are old
And tattered and torn, and I'm even told
That you work for hire! that I can't forgive!
On my coupons and bonds and rents I live.
You fellow, how dare you look at me?"
Said the thingamajig to the thingamaree.

Then the 'ree got down on his marrow bones,
And he abjectly kissed the dusty stones
Where the 'jig had stood, like a slavish thing,
Who bows in awe of a tyrant king;

And the ninkums all laughed and jeered to see
The craven looks of the thingamaree.

"We all must work for our daily bread;

Those who will not work may not eat," they said;
"And whether a man, from pride or shame,
Would shirk his duties, we equal blame;
And no greater difference can we see
"Twixt a thingamajig and a thingamaree
Than 'twixt tweedletedum and tweedletedee."

'Twas a long time ago, in a distant land,
Where ninkums lived, you will understand.
We manage things better here, and to-day
Those who work the least get the biggest pay;
And the ninkums are those who the work must do,
Who must toil and slave, and go hungry, too;

And we neither wonder nor laugh to see

A thingamajig or a thingamaree.

-Portland Oregonian.

OVER THE DIVIDE.*-MARION MANVILLE.

Wal, Kern'l, this 'ere's th' shanty, an' this all 'round's th'

camp;

It don't look over-invitin', 'spacially when it's some damp. But a feller who's come here concluded he'll try on his luck

in a mine

Can't look fer ter find things regardless, ner got up overly

fine.

We aint got no modern improvements, ner antikitys here

we can spare,

Onless ye maught count in th' grizzlies, er ten er twelve reds on a tare.

From "Over the Divide and Other Verses," by permission of the Author.

201

An' as fer th' trades represented in shanties hereabouts, as

I've found,

It maught be the head ranch o' a sexton, with shovel an' pick-axe around.

But we don't undertake fer ter furnish that kind o' a wictim out here,

Onless he's a claim-jumpin' rascal, an' then ye jes' bet he pays dear!

An' as fer the sort o' a business we does undertake fer ter do, Why, every last man among us is bound ter see th' thing through,

Onless, in th' course of discussion, he gits some lead inter his hide,

An' then he jes' quit-claims th' shanty, an' passes on 'cross th' Divide.

Wal, yes, I've ben here fer somethin' like twenty-five year, But when I cut out fer th' diggin's 'twas a mighty cute trick ter git here.

We couldn't pull out from St. Louis, booked through in a boss sleepin'-car,

Though many a poor chap's a-sleepin' on the road 'a-twixt here an' thar.

An' th' only Pullman we fellers could boast on th' Overland

Trail

Was pull every man fer himself, sir, an' never give up an' say fail!

Th' cayotes they howled round our camp-fires an' prairiedogs yelped in a pack,

But we'd set our faces to west'ard, an' thar wa'n't no easy back-track.

We slept in our prairie-schooners, with a choice a-twixt them an' th' groun',

An' thar wa'n't more feather pillers than we needed a-lyin'

aroun'.

But th' roof we had up above us-don't ye make no mistake

an' fergit

Was a blamed sight finer than any it's ben my good luck ter

see yit.

An' when all th' stars sot a-shinin', so peaceful an' quiet, up thar,

I've seen many chaps lookin' east'ard, an' they wa'n't look

in' out fer no star.

No, sir! they was every one trudgin' back over th' long trail again,

An' while all th' stars was so chipper, some eyes had suspi

cions o' rain;

Fer they was a-settin' an' thinkin' o' some o' th' folks left

behind,

An' somehow that sort o' reflection is rough on th' average

mind.

9*

So when some feller was quiet fer a spell, an' then cross as a bar,

We guv him th' whole o' th' prairie, fer we knew what it was to be thar!

I must hav' had some experience? Wal, yes, I take it I must. Thar's consider'ble lively excitement, an' a feller must hang on er bust.

Ye see, we jes' whoop 'er up lively, an' things rattles roun' fer th' best;

In th' States they'd call it high tragic, but it's comedy here in th' West.

We carries our barkers an' rifles, an' a knife er two tucked in each boot,

An' th' feller that tells th' best story is bound ter be quick on the shoot.

Me tell yer a story? Wal, yes, I s'pose I maught try ;

An' now, come ter think, here's a true one, that's queerer than any durned lie;

So if ye hav' time fer to listen, jes' fill up yer pipe an' let go; Drawr up ter th' fire, fer it's chilly, an' that wind is a-howlin' fer snow.

It was back in the fifties,-I reckon somewhars about '52,An' latish-like in the autumn, an' trains had a time gittin' through.

Me an' my pardner, Bill Ed'ards, had staked out a claim in th' gulch,

An' although we was somewhat discouraged, we didn't intend fer ter squlch.

Bill was th' han'somest chap in th' diggin's,--that is, on th'

whole.

He come from a high-snuff old fam'ly, an' had a full roun' at th' school

Out thar somewhars in th' Catskills,--West Point they call it, I think,

An' 'mongst th' rest o' his schoolin' he' larned fer ter gamble an' drink.

An' so he cut loose fer th' Rockies, an' his folks-they cut loose from poor Bill.

D'ye see that pine-tree a-standin' up thar at th' top o' th' hill?

Purty dark fer ter see it distinctly; if it wasn't we'd jes' take a stroll

Fer ter read what it says on that tree-trunk a-standin' up thar on th' knoll.

Bill was a rough one ter tackle, although he run smooth as

a clock,

But when ye had riled him a little ye jes' sot down hard on

bed-rock.

He was rough, as we most o' us air, sir; git hardened out here in th' hills,

A-takin' cold lead fer our ailin's, instead o' refined sugarpills.

But Bill he could talk like a grammar, an' was handy ter give ter th' poor,

An' ekilly handy at pistols; we chaps mostly air, ter be sure.

Wal, me an' him was a-settin' in this ere same room ye see here,

It was gittin' late in the evenin', an' latish-like in th' year.
I wasn't overly cheerful, an' Bill didn't set up fer to light
Th' whole o' th' neighborin' regions; things wasn't a-goin'
jes' right.

Not but what we was agreein', fer I never quarreled with
Bill;

Although he was chuck full of temper, it didn't take much fer ter spill.

Wal, we was a settin' an' talkin' in sort o' a ramblin' way, Fer when Bill was in with his tantrums he didn't go much on th' say,

Th' wind was a-howlin' an' wailin', an' it didn't look cheerful outside,

Fer ye never could tell in what corner o' darkness some mischief might hide.

An' out in th' gully th' roarin' o' th' Little Chick water was

plain,

A-makin' a heap o' a racket, fer th' river was riz with th'

rain.

We sort o' quit talkin' an' listened, an' arter a spell we both heard

Th' sound o' a cry in th' distance; it maught be a wolf, er night-bird,

Er mountain-panther a-yellin'; we often heard them out o'

door,

But somehow we felt 'twas a som'thin' we never 'd heard

thar before.

An' so we both on us dreaded a-wal, we didn't know what, But listened sort o' expectant, as thar in dead silence we sot. Th' wind blew up cold an' gusty, a bleakish sort o' a storm, When sudden, a-fore th' winder, thar flitted a shadowy form. Bill jumped—he was quick as chain-lightnin'- an' hurridly opened th' door,

When in thar staggered -a woman! an' fell with a moan ter th' floor.

Wal, Kern'l, I tell ye, if ever two fellers was paralyzed still As if they was nailed in ther coffins, them fellers was jes'

me an' Bill.

A woman!-by jingos! 'twas so long since we'd either seen

one,

That if we'd a-follered our instincts I reckon we'd both cut

an' run.

But thar th' poor thing was a-lyin', as still as if she was

dead;

So Bill he jes' kneels down beside 'er, an' lifted 'er poor little head,

An' unwound a long fixin' around it, an' then we could both see 'er face,

As purty an' sweet in 'er feature, an' somehow about 'er th' trace

Of a lady,--a sure-enough lady. I tell ye it guv us a start, But Bill he lifts 'er up gently, an' lays his ear over 'er heart. "It beats, but it's faint," sez he, softly. An' then we made 'er a bed,

An' Bill he stripped off his jacket fer ter roll it up under 'er head.

An' we rubbed 'er little cold fingers, an' covered 'er up by

th' fire,

But it seemed fer a spell she was waitin' fer only a word ter go higher.

An' while we was wonderin' together if she'd fallen down out o' the skies,

An' whisperin' softly about it, she jes' opened up her sweet

eyes.

Sort o' dazed she looked, an' unconscious, too weak fer ter try fer ter speak;

But as Bill was a-bendin' over she jes' laid her hand on his

cheek,

An' looked at him, straight an' intent-like, as if she was tryin' ter place

Som'thin' she had in her mem'ry, an' was huntin' fer it in his face,

An' then she burst out a-cryin' an' sobbed, Oh, what should

she do?

An' Bill he spoke up like a parson, an' said we would both see 'er through.

So high-falutin' an' booky he poured out his words fer a

while,

That finally she let up a-cryin', an' looked sort o' minded ter smile.

But when she told us her story, about how th' train was

attacked,

Wal, ye would 'a said if ye'd heard it that none o' th' details it lacked;