SUTTER'S CLAIM IMITATED

Say! you feller! You— With that spade and the pick!— What do you 'pose to do On this side o' the crick? Goin' to tackle this claim? Well, I reckon You'll let up ag'in, purty quick! No bluff, understand,— But the same has been tried, And the claim never panned— Or the fellers has lied,— For they tell of a dozen that tried it, And quit it most onsatisfied. The luck's dead ag'in it!— The first man I see That stuck a pick in it Proved that thing to me,— For he sort o' took down, and got homesick, And went back whar he'd orto be! Then others they worked it Some—more or less, But finally shirked it, In grades of distress,— With an eye out—a jaw or skull busted, Or some sort o' seriousness. The last one was plucky— He wasn't afeerd, And bragged he was "lucky," And said that "he'd heerd A heap of bluff-talk," and swore awkard He'd work any claim that he keered! Don't you strike nary lick With that pick till I'm through; This-here feller talked slick And as peart-like as you! And he says: "I'll abide here As long as I please!" But he didn't.... He died here— And I'm his disease!