Hoosier Lyrics Part 10

Any color--so long as it's red-- Is the color that suits me best, Though I will allow there is much to be said For yellow and green and the rest; But the feeble tints, which some affect In the things they make or buy, Have never (I say it with all respect) Appealed to my critical eye.

There's that in red that warmeth the blood And quickeneth a man within, And bringeth to speedy and perfect bud The germs of original sin; So, though I am properly born and bred, I'll own, with a certain zest, That any color--so long as it's red-- Is the color that suits me best!

For where is a color that can be compared With the blush of a buxom la.s.s-- Or where such warmth as of the hair Of the genuine white horse cla.s.s?

And, lo, reflected in this cup Of cherry Bordeaux I see What inspiration girdeth me up-- Yes, red is the color for me!

Through acres and acres of art I've strayed In Italy, Germany, France; On many a picture a master has made I've squandered a pa.s.sing glance; Marines I hate, madonnas and Those Dutch freaks I detest!

But the peerless daubs of my native land-- They're red, and I like them best!

'Tis little I care how folks deride-- I'm backed by the west, at least, And we are free to say that we can't abide The tastes that obtain down east; And we are mighty proud to have it said That here in the critical west, Most any color--so long as it's red-- Is the color that suits us best!

HOW TO "FILL."

It is understood that our esteemed Col. Franc B. Wilkie is going to formulate a reply to Mrs. Ella Wheeler Wilc.o.x's latest poem, which begins as follows:

"I hold it as a changeless law From which no soul can sway or swerve, We have that in us which will draw Whate'er we need or most deserve."

We fancy the genial colonel will start off with some such quatrain as this:

"I fain would have your recipe, If you'll but give the snap away; Now when four clubs are dealt to me, How may I draw another, pray?"

POLITICS IN 1888.

The Cleveland Leader must be getting ready for the campaign of 1888. We find upon its editorial page quite a pretentious poem, ent.i.tled "Alpha and Omega," and here is a sample stanza:

"Whose name will stand for coming time As hypocrites in prose and rhyme, And be despised in every clime?

The Mugwumps."

Well, may be so, but may we be permitted to add a stanza which seems to us to be very pertinent just now?

And who next year, we'd like to know, Will feed the Cleveland Leader crow, Just as they did three years ago?

The Mugwumps.

THE BASEBALL SCORE.

A boy came racing down the street In a most tumultuous way, And he hollered at all he chanced to meet: "Hooray, hooray, hooray!"

His eyes and his breath were hot with joy And his cheeks were all aflame-- 'Twas a rare event with the little boy When the champions won a game!

"Twenty to 6" and "10 to 2"

Were rather dismal scores, And they wreathed in a somewhat somber hue These cla.s.sic western sh.o.r.es; We shuddered and winced at the cruel sport And our heads were bowed in shame 'Till Somewhere sent us the glad report That the champions won the game!

Our Baby says it'll be all right For the champions by and by, And the twin emotions of Hope and Fright Gleam in his cod fish eye; And Spalding says (in his modest way) That we'll get there all the same; So let us holler, "Hooray, hooray,"

When the champions win the game.

CHICAGO NEWSPAPER LIFE.

It pleases us to observe that the shocking habit of hurling opprobrious epithets at each other has been abandoned by the venerable editor of the Journal and the venerable editor of the Tribune. At this moment we are reminded of the inspired lines of the eminent but now, alas! neglected Watts:

"Birds in their nests agree, And 'tis a shocking sight When folks, who should harmonious be, Fall out and chide and fight.

"The tones of Andy and of Joe Should join in friendly games-- Not be debased to vice so low As that of calling names.

"Bad names and naughty names require To be chastized at school, But he's in danger of h.e.l.l-fire Who talks of 'crank' and 'fool.'

"Oh 'tis a dreadful thing to see The old folks smite and jaw, But pleasant it is to agree On the election law.

"Let Joe and Andy leave their wrongs For sinners to contest; So shall they some time swell the songs Of Israel's ransomed blest."

THE MIGHTY WEST.

Oh, where abides the fond kazoo, The barrel-organ fair, And where is heard the tra-la-loo Of fish horns on the air?

And where are found the fife and drum Discoursed with goodliest zest?

And where do fiddles liveliest hum?

The west--the mighty west!

Sonatas, fugues, and all o' that Are rightly judged effete, While largos written in B-flat Are clearly out of date; Some like the cold pianny-forty, But whistling suits us best-- And op'ry, if it isn't naughty, Will not catch on out west.

From skinning hogs or canning beef Or diving into stocks, Could we expect to find relief In Haydns or in Bachs?

Ah, no; from pork and wheat and lard We turn aside with zest To sing some opus of some bard Whose home is in the west.

So get ye gone, ye weakling crew!

Your tunes are stale and flat, And cannot hold a candle to The works of Silas Pratt!

His opuses are in demand And are the final test By which all others fall or stand In this the mighty west!

APRIL.