Santa Fe daily New Mexican. [volume] (Santa Fe, N.M.) 1885-1897, 1896-02-17


"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 huddle of waits whose parent
and protector had been cut down and
whom they were about to file away in the
tomb 1t tells its own homely story Of
heartache and fllial grief:
Gathers in heaven. His body is dead
And silent, cold and STILL
When we orphans get back from the grave
yard,
We're going to bust the will.
BY His Children.
"And here, continued Twain musingly
as he selected third, sis the prattling
. innocence of childhood. Jimmy is dead,
and his little companions offer the follow
ing explanation. Dickens Death of Little
Nell failed to move me as this has done:
'Jimmy ate an unripe pippin.
He knew it wasn't right.
The angels fioated down to us
And collected James that night,
And since then all us boys have been
Behaving out OF sight.
BY His Playmates.
his face with his handkerchief and prefer
ing the manuscript with the disengaged
hand, you read. The grief of artless
childhood cuts me to the heart and I'M
mans me-"
Compose yourself" said the writer.
"You will soon be able to go on"
"This," said Twain when he had again
grown calm, "cemes from stricken wom-
an. 1t Is only four. lines, but it tells the
whole sorrowful chapter:
che died, and my life, which was sad before,
Beheld its tears increased,
For when Algernon sought the shining shore
My alimony ceased.
BY His Divorced Wife.
"There," remarked Twain, quite COM
posed now. ~ stood that better than 1
hoped I feel stronger now. All, now
comes one which is warm and instinct
with an unbribsd solicitude There are
few democrats to whose sympathies it
would not appeal. 1t is the litdle matters
such as this, fresh from the best nature Of
man, which makes the green tree and the
fountain, the oasis II you please, in the
arid wastes Of human existence. Listen:
sour hearts are sad and lonely
Since the general went away
To climb the staira of pearl and gold
And find eterna4 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.
Still, unless the folks have lied,
Seraphs don't make gin rickeys
Nor give settler Oh the side.
BY His Barkeep.
"This tribute is the heart moan of a
wife, observed Twain, while u mist again
began to cloud his eye. "Whon you hear
1T, you will say it is a cry from the soul:
"Dear Henry's dead, and I'm borne down
BY an avalanche Of care.
must collect the life insurance
And settle what to wear.
His pain is DER. He's happy now.
would not call him back.
won't seem bad as widow, and
look beautiful in black.
by His Bereaved Helpmeet.
"And now" said Twain, 1--WE come to
the last It does not wiring me like the
Others. 1t speaks Of grief, but there is
sordid monotone Of money through 1t all
which makes it ignoble Still even the
creditor class mas rights. myself always
try to treat creditor with respect, even
kindness. The regret expressed in this
verse may be sincere It Is at least en-
titled to the softening effect of the doubt:
sour tears fall fast above the little mound
Which hides his breast.
John owed us $4,000
When he found rest.
"He never left a penny when he winged
To realms aloof
whateer went with him's gone, alas, unless
Twas freproof.
"And 30 we moan and mourn together
For John who's dead,
For, while twas John who pinned and suffered,
twas we who bled.
BY His Creditors.
Now, +" concluded Twain as he careful
" returned the treasures to his desk, II
feel immensely better. There's something
about those little poems which refreshes
me as might the cold waters Of spring"
Then he filled a cob pipe and changed
the subject. -Hartford Post.