For, in less time than I write it, every member did engage
In a warfare with the remnants of a palaeozoic age;
And the way they heaved those fossils in their anger was a sin,
Till the skull of an old mammoth caved the head of Thompson in.
And this is all I have to say of these improper games,
For I live at Table Mountain, and my name is Truthful James;
And I've told, in simple language, what I know about the row
That broke up our society upon the Stanislow.
LOST CHORDS
BY EUGENE FIELD
One autumn eve, when soft the breeze
Came sweeping through the lattice wide,
I sat me down at organ side
And poured my soul upon the keys.
It was, perhaps by heaven's design,
That from my half unconscious touch,
There swept a passing chord of such
Sweet harmony, it seemed divine.
In one soft tone it seemed to say
The sweetest words I ever heard,
Then like a truant forest bird,
It soared from me to heaven away.
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