The record-union., 1896-01-28
LOCAL WALKS AND TALKS.
The Critic InaiGtS an Alleged Poem Upon
the Scribe.
An Outrage Upon the Genius of Gifted
Woman The Song of the
Microbes.


Microbes
sT see that you had the cheek to print
what you and I talked about the other
day" said the critic as he strobe into
the scribe's den.
Yes, it was thought to be worth
pushing along"
4 ssWelI, E" replied the critic, as he settled
in an armchair and planted his muddy
feet in pile of fresh exchanges, 'it is
too rainy for our spin about town to-
day, so have brought you something
to fill up -''
MY dear boy, do you know" replied
the scribe, that there is never any
difficulty in filling up as you call it?
The real trouble comes in when- the
newspaper man has to determine what
to leave out so as to get what must go
into the columns"
'sYou don't say?''
What have you there?"
" A poem"
why it is not spring YETI"
$50? You know Tom Fitch, the sill
yer tongued? Yes? Well, he married
Mrs. A NJ. Shultz. a gifted woman.
Once on a time she wrote The Song or
the Flume' 1t goes like this:
'Awakei awakei for the flaming east
Is red with the coming day;
My struggling breast dfsdaiTs its rest,
And haste Ger the hills away
Up from the valleyt Up from the plain
Up from the rivers side!
For / come with gush, and torrents
And there's wealth in my swelling tide. :
"Fine, isn't it?''
"Oh, yes; it is a California classic
is that song"
''Well, was down to see the big water
in the river this morning, and as /
noted that the Trustees have bought q
strip Of land recently on which to plant
another pump to bring in more of the
river water for the people to drink, and
as saw the nastiness floating in the
turgid tide of the stream, Mrs. Fitch
Shultz's poem came into my head, and
I went into corner joint and scratched
off this parody"
Leave it, and I will determine"
well, If you use it, entitle it The
Song of the Microbes and dedicate it
to the city dads" and the critic shook
out his umbrella and strode off into the
storm
Awake awakei for the flaming west
Is red with the coming day;
Our bacterial breasts disdain their rest,
And we haste down the stream away.
Up from the Valley Up from the plain!
Up from the rivers side,
Here we come with gush and mi
And there's death in our "bacillean"
tide.
We are fed by the ''zoeidic" ribs that start
Where deadly ''spirillum" gleam
Our course IS free, and with greatest glee,
We breed in the suns broad beam
Though torn from cesspools deep and old.
And the dank fermentations still,
Yet as schtzomyceteS' we glide,
And there's death in our ''vibro" thrill.
We seek the shore of the ''zymotic"
stream
BY the city's water main;
thews,
We dance in the rivers stain.
We are sucked up in winding way,
Are fettered in pipes like slaves,
Ana as serfs OF old we're sold for gold,
So they barter our "cplenic" waves.
Through the dim main. down the dark
pipe.
Shot to the hydrant gate,
We break away to the light of day,
To enter ON our newborn fate
Fever and pain, peccant sptomainer-
Breed them with eager haste,
For our .'bacilif'' shower is sold by the
And the drops are too dear to waste.
Into the stomach of youth and age
Fathom the maids blue vein;
Wen search the red blood for lifes chief
food
Ere we sink to the river again
With ntagia'-"zymotic" disease
Bacillus anthracis-
Though they brave our strength we
triumph at length,
And health the ''zooid" doth kiss.
Ours is no stern and warrior march,
Nor stormy trump and drum;
Our banners tule rot and prison pot
fostering flesh and sewege scum
We infect the robust, smite the strong,
Till they own monarch's S sway,
As with "sporic' hand, from a conquered
land,
We bear their health away.
Mourn! mourn the dead, 0! We loving
Follow still the funeral car;
There are fearful eyes in the homes you
prize,
And men pity you from afar.
But what care we, ''Leptothrix" so free
From slough and drain and dumps:
For we come with a foetid gush, and tor
rents rush
TO feed the city's microbe pumps.