gun? Can't yer see the big, red flashes, if yer only shut yer eyes, And jest smell the burnin' powder, sweeter'n breaths from paradise? O you boys, gray-haired and bearded. O you youngsters grown ter men, We can't buy them kind of crackers now, nor never shall again! Fer the joys thet used ter glitter through the fizz and puff and crash, Has, ter most of us, been deadened by the grindin' chink of cash; But I'd like ter ask yer, fellers, how much of yer hoarded gold Would yer give if it could buy yer one glad Fourth like them of old? How much would yer spend ter gain it—that light-hearted, joyous glow That come with yer fust fire-crackers, when yer bought 'em long ago?  

 

     WHEN NATHAN LED THE CHOIR 

  I s'pose I hain't progressive, but I swan, it seems ter me Religion isn't nigh so good as what it used ter be! I go ter meetin' every week and rent my reg'lar pew, But hain't a mite uplifted when the sarvices are through; I take my orthodoxy straight, like Gran'pop did his rum,   (It never hurt him, neither, and a deacon, too, by gum!)   But now the preachin' 's mushy and the singin' 's lost its fire:   I 'd like ter hear old Parson Day, with Nathan leadin' choir. I'd like ter know who told these folks that all was perfect peace, And glidin' inter heaven was as slick as meltin' grease; Old Parson Day, I tell yer what, his sermons made yer think! He'd shake yer over Tophet till yer heard the cinders clink. And then, when he'd gin out the tune and Nate would take his stand Afore the chosen singers, with the tuning-fork in hand, The meetin'-house jest held its breath, from cellar plum ter spire, And then bu'st forth in thunder-tones with Nathan leadin' choir. They didn't chime so pretty, p'r'aps, as does our new quartette, But all them folks was there ter sing, and done it, too, you bet! The basses they 'd be rollin' on, with faces swelled and red, And racin' the supraners, who was p'r'aps a bar ahead; While Nate beat time with both his hands and worked like drivin' plow, With drops o' sweat a-standin' out upon his face and brow; And all the congregation felt that Heav'n was shorely nigher Whene'er they heerd the chorus sung with Nathan leadin' choir. Rube Swan was second tenor, and his pipes was kinder cracked, But Rube made up in loudness what in tune he might have lacked; But 'twas a leetle cur'us, though, for p'r'aps his voice would balk, And when he'd fetch a high note give a most outrageous squawk; And Uncle Elkanah was deef and kind er'd lose the run, And keep on singin' loud and high when all the rest was done; But, notwithstandin' all o' this, I think I'd never tire Of 

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