66

"The Return of Belisarius."

(MUD FLAT, 1860.)

So you're back from your travels, old fellow,
And you left but a twelvemonth ago;
You've hobnobbed with Louis Napoleon,
Eugenie, and kissed the Pope's toe.
By Jove, it is perfectly stunning,

Astounding,—and all that, you know;
Yes, things are about as you left them
In Mud Flat a twelvemonth ago.

The boys-they're all right,-Oh! Dick Ashley,
He's buried somewhere in the snow;

He was lost on the Summit last winter,
And Bob has a hard row to hoe.
You knew that he's got the consumption?
You didn't! Well come, that's a go;

I certainly wrote you at Bader,-
Dear me ! that was six months ago.

I got all your outlandish letters,
All stamped by some foreign P.O.
I handed myself to Miss Mary

That sketch of a famous château.

Tom Saunders is living at 'Frisco,—

They say that he cuts quite a show. You didn't meet Euchre-deck Billy Anywhere on your road to Cairo ?

So you thought of the rusty old cabin,
The pines, and the valley below,
And heard the North Fork of the Yuba
As you stood on the banks of the Po?
'Twas just like your romance, old fellow;
But now there is standing a row

Of stores on the site of the cabin
That you lived in a twelvemonth ago.

But it's jolly to see you, old fellow,-
To think it's a twelvemonth ago !
And you have seen Louis Napoleon,
And look like a Johnny Crapaud.
Come in. You will surely see Mary,-
You know we are married.
Oh, ay! I forgot there was something

What, no?

Between you a twelvemonth ago.

Further Language from Truthful James.

(NYE'S FORD, STANISLAUS, 1870.)

Do i sleep? do I dream?

Do I wonder and doubt?
Are things what they seem?
Or is visions about ?

Is our civilisation a failure?

Or is the Caucasian played out?

Which expressions are strong;
Yet would feebly imply

Some account of a wrong

Not to call it a lie

As was worked off on William, my pardner,
And the same being W. Nye.

He came down to the Ford

On the very same day

Of that lottery drawed

By those sharps at the Bay;

And he says to me, "Truthful, how goes it?"

I replied, "It is far, far from gay;

"For the camp has gone wild

On this lottery game,

And has even beguiled

'Injin Dick' by the same."

Then said Nye to me, "Injins is pizen :

But what is his number, eh? James?"

I replied, "7,2,

9,8,4, is his hand;"

When he started, and drew
Out a list, which he scanned;
Then he softly went for his revolver
With language I cannot command.

Then I said, "William Nye!"
But he turned upon me,

And the look in his eye

Was quite painful to see;

And he says, "You mistake; this poor Injin I protects from such sharps as you be!"

I was shocked and withdrew;

But I grieve to relate,

When he next met my view

Injin Dick was his mate;

And the two around town was a-lying

In a frightfully dissolute state.

Which the war dance they had
Round a tree at the Bend
Was a sight that was sad;
And it seemed that the end

170 Further Language from Truthful James.

Would not justify the proceedings,

As I quiet remarked to a friend.

For that Injin he fled

The next day to his band;

And we found William spread

Very loose on the strand,

With a peaceful-like smile on his features,

And a dollar greenback in his hand;

Which the same, when rolled out,
We observed, with surprise,
Was what he, no doubt,

Thought the number and prize-
Them figures in red in the corner,
Which the number of notes specifies.

Was it guile, or a dream?

Is it Nye that I doubt ?

Are things what they seem?

Or is visions about ?

Is our civilisation a failure?

Or is the Caucasian played out?