St. Paul daily globe. [volume] (Saint Paul, Minn.) 1884-1896, 1888-03-12
NO HONORS FOR JOHN Il.
The Windsor Bell Boy and Porter
Have Their Sunday Afternoon
Chat.

Have Inelr sunday Afternoon
Chat.
''Tell me good, sir, how now shall our
high eagle roar with pride and with an
undimmed eye glare at the fiery sun?"
remarked the bell boy at the Windsor
hotel to the porter yesterday, as the two
sat on chairs in the corridor for their
Sunday afternoon chat. "How may
our armies walk with victorious foot
o'er our own native soil; our flag fly
proudly to the winds on foreign shores?
How may the sons and grand
sons of those heroes who for
their freedom fell ON Bunker Hill
withstain the naughty look, of the
proud BritOn. swelling and putting with
this newborn source of pride. Alack,
good sir, we are undone, we bite the
dust, sit sorrowful in sackcloth, and
with our chin upon our breast, speak
woe unutterable with our silent lips"
'What er yer givin' us. now," said
the porter interrupting the bell boy.
"What er yer givin' us?'
"Hast thou not heard, or read it, for
tits blazoned in the public prints, how
our own favOrite son, that Hercules,
bred on Boston's shore, that kingly duff
fer, with knuckles built like brass,
that marvel, type of all the
muscle in these federated states, that
giant, piece Of enginry, called John L.,
was met upon foreign soil, and van
Quished, as it were. Have you not read
how, like Eutellus, whom the poet sings,
this Sullivan put on the cestus, and
with barbaric yell, challenged the uni
verse? Is it not written or thy memory
that this great god of war hath in times
past, urOse up in might, begOtten OF the
bean pots juicy fruit. and with his
giants who opposed him, whereat our
eagle Screamed"'
"Oh sure, John l.. used to be daisy"
replied the porter, ''but I'm glad to see
him run across one man he couldn't
thump."
"How now,' replied the bell boy,
"Thou speakest as one who, in his lack
of love for native land, had bet his
shekels on proud Albion's son.
Thou knOwest not the grief thy words
inspire; how like poniard they have
run me through. Thou makest me
tired" ;
"That's all right said the porter,
John L. was a duffer that thumped the
woman that was his wife, and Pm glad
he found out he wasn't related to the
powers that are running this universe
Just now. Just wait till he comes home
and he'll find it's cold day."
AYE, now thou sayst it," replied the
bell boy sorrowfully. "When he comes
back to his native shore, how then shall
he be honOred? No more in old At
lantic's wave shall city fathers pour
libations from the bean pots. No
more shall all the pOmp and
pageantry of glorious war flicker
behind his chariot wheels. The monu-
ment by which he played in youthful
days shall look, with it's brown granite.
at him, cold and lifeless. The bird of
freedom shall no longer scream his
wild scream above the champions head,
but crows shall cav into his waiting
ears their dOleful measures. The pOpu-
lace that once sang psalms in his praise
shall hoot and yell and hiss till summer
days seem chill as arctic SHOWS, and
zephyrs from the bay whistle like biz
yards round his shivering frame. For
this weep"
Eyes, that's what I said: it'll be a
cold day for him when he lands in Bos-
ton," replied the porter.