The Vermont watchman. [volume] (Montpelier, Vt.) 1883-1911, 1895-09-18
Twain's Obituary Museum.

darkest, often turn for relief"
Twain held up a handful of manu-.
script which he took from the drawer
at his right.
"This little nest of mortuary senti.
ment," continued Twain, came to me
bit by bit during my career as city ed
itor in San Francisco.
There is frankness which touches,
and sincerity which dazzles me, in
every one of them, and l would not
part with the collection for the world.
To me they are priceless. You may, if
you please, copy two or three. They
will serve to uphold your spirits here
after at times when life's burdens seem
more than you can bear"
The writer eagerly besought him to
read these sombre gems by all means.
Here is belated chant on the part
Of the near admirers of youth who
evidently passed away while in the very
heyday, as it were, of the horn habit.
1t is smooth and serenely calm, and
would seem to cover the case. 1t runs
thus:
He used to blow b cornet
Through all the drear night tide.
Until dear Willie died.
W,
On that far golden shore,
And since he went to heaven above
by the Neghbors.
"That sort of thing always touches
me-" observed Twain, as he dashed
drop from his eye. Don't mind my
emotion; it's always relief to me to
weep after reading testimonial like
that Here is another from little hud-
die of waits, whose parent and pro-
tector had been cut down, and whom
they were about to file away in the
tomb. 1t tells its own homely story of
heartache and tilia griet:
Fathers in heaven; his body is dead,
And silent, and cold and still.
we STPhans get back from the graveyard
by His Children.
"This," said Twain, when he had
again grown calm, "comes from a
stricken women. 1t is only four lines,
but it tells the whole sorrowful chap
ter:
eed ana n. my me- Which was sad before
For, when Algernon sought the shining shore,
BY His Divorced Wife.
"There," remarked Twain, quite
composed now. 81 stood that better
than l hoped. l feel stronger now.
Alb, now comes one which is warm and
instinct with an unbribed solicitude.
There are few to whose sympathies it
would not appeal. 1t is the little mat
tiers such as this, fresh from the best
nature of man, which make the green
tree and the fountain-the oasis, if you
please-in the arid wastes of human ex-
istence. Listen:
Our hearts sad and lonely
since the gel eral went away
To climb the stairs of pearl and gold.
And find eternal day.
He was an earnest worker,
With throat forever dry,
We wonder how he's making out
With the seraphs In the sky.
We hope the generals happy,
Seraphs don't make gin Rickeys
Nor give settler on the side.
by His Barkeeper.
"THIs tribute is the heart-moan of
a wife," observed Twain, while a mist
again began to cloud in his eye. "When
you hear it you will say it is cry from
the soul" -:
Dear Henry's dead, and Pm borne down
must collect the life insurance,
And settle what to wear.
would You'll not Ca call him G Back n'"'
won't seem bad as widow, and
look beautiful in black.
BY His Bereaved Helpmeet.
"Now," concluded Twain, as he
carefully returned the treasures to his
desk, 81 feel immensely better. There's
something about those little poems
which refreshes me as might the cold
waters of spring"
Then he filed cob pipe and changed
the subject.-Washington Post.