The true northerner. [volume] (Paw Paw, Mich.) 1855-1920, 1874-12-18

rich hoax was successfully perpetated AT Z
dinner Of the Boston Press Club. on Saturd
evening. Several letters were read, purporting
come from distinguished IN rdividuals, among the
one from BrettHarte with two "ts, Enclosing cha
acteristic poem, which the author of the " Heath,
Chinee" would, think, be almost willing
claim as indited, If not by himself, certainly by
" double No assertion was made at the table tn
the epistle or the verses came from Bret Harte wi
one "t," but all present, the few in the seer,
jumped at the fallacious conclusion; and so Ia
several Of the papers since. The lines were,
fact, written over the initials "B. H." by
Cheeyer Goodwin, and all will agree that he was f
more than parodist, and excuse the jocose che
very willingly.
Here Is the Brett Harte poem of the occasion
PREss-ROOM BILL.
Bill was cuss
Slept all night on pile Of stock
Hard as a rock.
But whatd he care He'd no friends
That would make a muss
If he slept in the streets.
So he sends
For pot Of beer, and bite TO eat
In the prtss-room,
Where, with ies' room
TO stretch ont straight,
He'd wait
Till the boys got round in the upper regions;
And 10y legions
lie fed the sheets to the hungry maws
And iron jaws
OF the press.
You can guess
How he loved the machine and his work.
lie shirk?
when he gave his word
That settled il sure. Whatever il was
You could be poz
That he'd do as he said, ii 1t took leg.
Not peg
would ne move, whatever he saw or heard,
To break promise
Was farthest from his
Thoughts Of what was the duty of man,
And where the law of right began.
One night the boss
(Member Of Congress now, they says)
Came down stairs
Putting on airs
His usual way).
Pretty soon ne came across
Bill, who was putting the forms in place.
BILL says he,
" want copy brought up 10 me
AT four o'clock I'm any case;
For leave at five
BY an early train,
SO look alive:
"Or"-here his language became profane--
you'll do it. Bil?"
Says Bill, al will"
That night at just about half-past one,
The bells begun
The awful clangor that tells Of fire.
Twas our old place
That was being burnt.
When Bill learnt
The fact, by his linen coat tails blaze,
The room was getting about red hot.
There was Just one spot
That the hre had managed, so far, TO spare,
and the press stood there.
Bill wasn't a crier,
And when he saw
There was no use trying TO save a thing
out of the fiery dragons NAV.
He gave one spring
For the stock there wasn't an atom left.
Bill says the heft
OF his heart, when he found there wasn't one
identical sheet that he could use,
Was more'n ton.
In his two hours snooze,
He hadn't taken his garment off.
They came of now.
That is he stripped, if for n row,
Down to the buff.
Let us draw the veil,
And end this tale
With scene that morning sharp at four.
Bill knocked at the door
OF the boss's house, and ont he came,
Not knowing the place was ell afame;
" Got the paper 2" Says Bin, "You're right,
The - OH Office bur2t down to night,
There wasn't no one hurt,
And got you copy" Here he gave
The boss, VINO was Just beginning TO rave,
An impression struck of on his shirt.
p. s. Twas Bil's shirt, not the bosses
tell you Bill was one of the hosses.
November 3, 1874.