Connecticut western news., 1874-07-24
John Paul to the Comet.

EcceCtrlc OrD, shOt madly rom thy sphere, Planet without plan, dost travel on thine ear Through wide expanse of space?
 Out on bender, Known to be nebulous, indefinite, f1uctuating, Of volume vast, but thin wide-circulating Thou holy, high translated Legal Tender, Approach, come higher; obliging acqui-
 esce,
 For To- the waiting swell-mob of the Press
 Would fain go through thee, And I, youth, bald, honest, simple, gushing, Of poor but honest parents born-not flush though born in Flushing
 Am here to interview thee. Tell us thy lineage as I've told thee mine We have one end already of thy aqueous Line
 Thy sire,
 Coggia CThou cans't not read that rhyme withouten ire), But tell us of thy dam,
 A most transparent permeable sham, In all tradition linked with woe and slaughter Thou we'll mightst be son, scion silver, An offspring of the bad dam of Mill River,
 But no,
 
 Yet tell us, Comet, dpropos Of water-thou'rt considered cross and crab bed Ere thou com'st nearer, tell us, art thou rabid i?
 Has Sirius bit thee? (Sure 'tis enough to puzzle one, They let that star ramp round without muz- gle on). But whether mad or not Don't dare to wag thy tail or thoult be shot; For oor sweet stars '-cops, peelers, worthy Celts, Muss round with rusty pistols in their belts; And, thinking the more dogs they kill the merrier, They might declare that thou'rt mad sky terrier,
 And blaze away and hit thee.
 If so, take thou crack,
 And just blaze fercely back Until thou melt the lying, mangy pack
 Confound 'em-
 Like tallow candles down into their shoes Or if thou burnst with more vindictive
 views,
 Expound 'em!
 This 'mad-dog" cry
 hate the hack word,
 But turn it round and spell it backward,
 And it describes the lie. If naughts the matter With thy medulla oblongata, Tell us how goes the mart up there; What are the movements now of bull and bear i? Is tay name Daniel Drew? That milky-way, where all the small stars meet, Ist there, o Comet, that thou milkst the
 street :?
 Aquarius with his pot, Who waters, waters, with one ceaseless
 drip,
 And only rests at times to dry his scrip,
 Is his name Sage or not? Are earnings of your railroads ever
 ''pooled?"
 The little fishes, are they ever fooled? And the Great Bear, is his true name Jay
 Gould? Thou cans't not tell! yes, yes, one ought to Thou Tt up in heaven-the Board meets down below! What papers have they there above the moon In thee I seem to see glorified Tribune, Shedding radiance rich and pure and sweet Thy tail, what is it but the triple sheet? That tail, o Comet, gives another text For questions; ends it here, complete con- vexed, Or is t ito be continued in the next ?"- In the next world, like Braddons, Wilde Col ins', And that confounded History" of Rollins, Which, when I thought I'd beaten it's last column, Always outfanked me with another volume Is t thy intent to pass us with no spiteful thrust, Or eke to ''bounce" us, ''bust our ancient crust? ?" Erect mansard on this planets brow, Raise Cain, turn Jack-in brief to have row |? If that's thy game, put up thy fins; why, dumb it, Old Earth's full of grit and you can't come it, Comet! But if your tail swept by and failed to twist me, 'Twould be just the first thing in life that ever missed me! No,r YopZ. T,.;7,,,,o