Rolling Stones Part 35

What day did Christmas come on in the year 1847?

CONSTANT READER.

The 25th of December.

What does an F. F. V. mean?

IGNORANT.

What does he mean by what? If he takes you by the arm and tells you how much you are like a brother of his in Richmond, he means Feel For Your Vest, for he wants to borrow a five. If he holds his head high and don't speak to you on the street he means that he already owes you ten and is Following a Fresh Victim.

Please decide a bet for us. My friend says that the sentence, "The negro bought the watermelon OF the farmer" is correct, and I say it should be "The negro bought the watermelon from the farmer." Which is correct?

R.

Neither. It should read, "The negro stole the watermelon from the farmer."

When do the Texas game laws go into effect?

HUNTER.

When you sit down at the table.

Do you know where I can trade a section of fine Panhandle land for a pair of pants with a good t.i.tle?

LAND AGENT.

We do not. You can't raise anything on land in that section. A man can always raise a dollar on a good pair of pants.

Name in order the three best newspapers in Texas.

ADVERTISER.

Well, the Galveston _News_ runs about second, and the San Antonio _Express_ third. Let us hear from you again.

Has a married woman any rights in Texas?

PROSPECTOR.

Hush, Mr. Prospector. Not quite so loud, if you please. Come up to the office some afternoon, and if everything seems quiet, come inside, and look at our eye, and our suspenders hanging on to one b.u.t.ton, and feel the lump on the top of our head. Yes, she has some rights of her own, and everybody else's she can scoop in.

Who was the author of the sayings, "A public office is a public trust,"

and "I would rather be right than President"?

Eli Perkins.

Is the Lakeside Improvement Company making anything out of their own town tract on the lake?

INQUISITIVE.

Yes, lots.

POEMS

[This and the other poems that follow have been found in files of _The Rolling Stone_, in the Houston _Post's_ Postscripts and in ma.n.u.script. There are many others, but these few have been selected rather arbitrarily, to round out this collection.]

THE PEWEE

In the hush of the drowsy afternoon, When the very wind on the breast of June Lies settled, and hot white tracery Of the shattered sunlight filters free Through the unstinted leaves to the pied cool sward; On a dead tree branch sings the saddest bard Of the birds that be; 'Tis the lone Pewee.

Its note is a sob, and its note is pitched In a single key, like a soul bewitched To a mournful minstrelsy.

"Pewee, Pewee," doth it ever cry; A sad, sweet minor threnody That threads the aisles of the dim hot grove Like a tale of a wrong or a vanished love; And the fancy comes that the wee dun bird Perchance was a maid, and her heart was stirred By some lover's rhyme In a golden time, And broke when the world turned false and cold; And her dreams grew dark and her faith grew cold In some fairy far-off clime.

And her soul crept into the Pewee's breast; And forever she cries with a strange unrest For something lost, in the afternoon; For something missed from the lavish June; For the heart that died in the long ago; For the livelong pain that pierceth so: Thus the Pewee cries, While the evening lies Steeped in the languorous still sunshine, Rapt, to the leaf and the bough and the vine Of some hopeless paradise.

NOTHING TO SAY

"You can tell your paper," the great man said, "I refused an interview.

I have nothing to say on the question, sir; Nothing to say to you."

And then he talked till the sun went down And the chickens went to roost; And he seized the collar of the poor young man, And never his hold he loosed.

And the sun went down and the moon came up, And he talked till the dawn of day; Though he said, "On this subject mentioned by you, I have nothing whatever to say."

And down the reporter dropped to sleep And flat on the floor he lay; And the last he heard was the great man's words, "I have nothing at all to say."

THE MURDERER