The Latest Chinese Dutrage. It was noon by the sun; we had finished our game, With a look on his face 'twixt a grin and a frown, And he calls, "Drop your shovels and face right about, For them Chinees from Murphy's are cleanin' us out— With their ching-a-ring-chow And their chic-colorow Then Jones-my own pardner-looks up with a sigh Mixed up with remarks like "Hi! yi! Chang-a-wong," the trees, Revealed in their war-togs four hundred Chinees! Four hundred Chinee; We are eight, don't ye see! To just one o' we. They were dressed in their best, but I grieve that that same Was largely made up of our own, to their shame; And my pardner's best shirt and his trousers were hung What once held the pride Pitched down the hillside! Then we axed for a parley. When out of the din. He washee him pan On bottom side hillee And catchee-how can ?" "Are we men?" says Joe Johnson, "and list to this jaw, Without process of warrant or colour of law? VOL. I. K 146 The Latest Chinese Outrage. Are we men or-a-chew?"—here he gasped in his speech, For a stink-pot had fallen just out of his reach. "Shall we stand here as idle, and let Asia pour Her barbaric hordes on this civilised shore? Has the White Man no country? Are we left in the lurch? And likewise what's gone of the Established Church? But this 'yer's a White Man-I plays it alone!" And he sprang up the hillside-to stop him none dare— Till a yell from the top told a "White Man was there!" A White Man was there! We prayed he might spare They fled, and he followed, but no matter where; And then, with slow tread, We crept up, in dread, But found nary mortal there, But there was his trail, and the way that they came, And yonder, no doubt, he was bagging his game. When Jones drops his pickaxe, and Thompson says "Shoo!" And both of 'em points to a cage of bamboo Hanging down from a tree, with a label that swung Conspicuous, with letters in some foreign tongue, Which, when freely translated, the same did appear Was the Chinese for saying, "A White Man is here!" And as we drew near, In anger and fear, Bound hand and foot, Johnson Looked down with a leer! In his mouth was an opium pipe-which was why They had shaved off his eyebrows, and tacked on a cue, And rigged him all up in a heathenish suit, And Ah Sin, to boot, Had left him there hanging Like ripening fruit. At a mass meeting held up at Murphy's next day "Can the work of a mean, Believer in Buddha Be held as a lien ?" Truthful James to the Editor. (YREKA, 1873.) WHICH it is not my style To produce needless pain By statements that rile Or that go 'gin the grain, But here's Captain Jack still a-livin', and Nye has no skelp on his brain! On that Caucasian head There is no crown of hair; It has gone, it has fled ! And Echo sez "Where?" And I asks, "Is this Nation a White Man's, and is generally things on the square?" She was known in the camp And folks of that stamp Hez no rights in the law, But is treacherous, sinful, and slimly, as Nye might hev well known before. But she said that she knew Where the Injins was hid, |