The Wit and Humor of America, Volume VII

Till success has crowned his research, should receive a just reward.
The Machine's a great invention, that's continually clear,
Out of nothing but corruption making millions every year—
Out of muck and filth of cities making dollars neat and clean—
Where's the fellow who invented the Political Machine?

Hail the complex mechanism, full of cranks and wires and wheels,
Fed by graft and loot and patronage, as noiselessly it reels.
Press the button, pull the lever, clickety-click, and set the vogue
For the latest thing in statesmen or the newest kind of rogue.
Who's the man behind the throttle? Who's the Engineer unseen?
"Ask me nothin'! Ask me nothin'!" clicks that wizard, the Machine.

OMAR IN THE KLONDYKE

BY HOWARD V. SUTHERLAND

"This Omar seems a decent chap," said Flapjack Dick one night,
When he had read my copy through and then blown out the light.
"I ain't much stuck on poetry, because I runs to news,
But I appreciates a man that loves his glass of booze.

"And Omar here likes a good red wine, although he's pretty mum;
On liquors, which is better yet, like whisky, gin, or rum;
Perhaps his missus won't allow him things like that to touch,
And he doesn't like to own it. Well, I don't blame Omar much.

"Then I likes a man what's partial to the ladies, young or old,
And Omar seems to seek 'em much as me and you seek gold;
I only hope for his sake that his wife don't learn his game
Or she'll put a chain on Omar, and that would be a shame.

"His language is some florid, but I guess it is the style
Of them writer chaps that studies and burns the midnight ile;
He tells us he's no chicken; so I guess he knows what's best,
And can hold his own with Shakespeare, Waukeen Miller, and the rest.

"But I hope he ain't a thinkin' of a trip to this yere camp,
For our dancin' girls is ancient, and our liquor's somewhat damp
By doctorin' with water, and we ain't got wine at all,
Though I had a drop of porter—but that was back last fall.

"And he mightn't like our manners, and he mightn't like the smell
Which is half the charm of Dawson; and he mightn't live to tell
Of the acres of wild roses that grows on every street;
And he mightn't like the winter, or he mightn't like the heat.

"So I guess it's best for Omar for to stay right where he is,
And gallivant with Tottie, or with Flossie, or with Liz;
And fill himself with claret, and, although it ain't like beer,
I wish he'd send a bottle—just one bottle—to us here."

THE HAPPY LAND[5 - Lippincott's Magazine.]

BY FRANK ROE BATCHELDER

In the Land of Steady Incomes,
Where they get their ten per cent.,
There is never need to worry
As to how to pay the rent;
There they never dodge the grocer,
And in winter never freeze,
In the Land of Steady Incomes,
Where the dollars grow on trees.

In the Land of Steady Incomes,
Where the cash is ready-made,
No one ever thinks of going
To the almoner for aid,
For the coal-bin's never empty,
And the Gray Wolf dare not lurk
In the Land of Steady Incomes,
Where the check-books do the work.

In the Land of Steady Incomes,
Where the watches all have fobs,
You will see no haggard fathers
Pleading, in despair, for jobs;
You will hear no hungry children
Crying, while their mothers pray,
In the Land of Steady Incomes,
Where there's dinner every day.

In the Land of Steady Incomes,
It is easy to forget
All about that far-off country
Where are hunger, cold, and debt;
And the woes of other people
It is easy to dismiss
In the Land of Steady Incomes,
Where inheritance is bliss.

ASSAULT AND BATTERY

BY JOSEPH G. BALDWIN

A trial came off, not precisely in our bailiwick, but in the neighborhood, of great comic interest. It was really a case of a good deal of aggravation, and the defendants, fearing the result, employed four of the ablest lawyers practicing at the M. bar to defend them. The offense charged was only assault and battery; but the evidence showed a conspiracy to inflict great violence on the person of the prosecutor, who had done nothing to provoke it, and that the attempt to effect it was followed by severe injury to him. The prosecutor was an original. He had been an old-field school-master, and was as conceited and pedantic a fellow as could be found in a summer's day, even in that profession. It was thought the policy of the defense to make as light of the case as possible, and to cast as much ridicule on the affair as they could. J.E. and W.M. led the defense, and, although the talents of the former were rather adapted to grave discussion than pleasantry, he agreed to doff his heavy armor for the lighter weapons of wit and ridicule. M. was in his element. He was at all times and on all occasions at home when fun was to be raised: the difficulty with him was rather to restrain than to create mirth and laughter. The case was called and put to the jury. The witness, one Burwell Shines, was called for the prosecution. A broad grin was upon the faces of the counsel for the defense as he came forward. It was increased when the clerk said, "Burrell Shines, come to the book;" and the witness, with deliberate emphasis, remarked, "My Christian name is not Burrell, but Burwell, though I am vulgarly denominated by the former epithet." "Well," said the clerk, "Bur-well Shines, come to the book, and be sworn." He was sworn, and directed to take the stand. He was a picture!

He was dressed with care. His toilet was elaborate and befitting the magnitude and dignity of the occasion, the part he was to fill, and the high presence into which he had come. He was evidently favorably impressed with his own personal pulchritude; yet with an air of modest deprecation, as if he said by his manner, "After all, what is beauty, that man should be proud of it; and what are fine clothes, that the wearers should put themselves above the unfortunate mortals who have them not?"