And I have been thinkin' and thinkin', the whole of the summer and fall, If I can't live kind with a woman, why, then I won't at all. I see that you are smiling, sir, at my givin' her so much; Yes, divorce is cheap, sir, but I take no stock in such ; True and fair I married her, when she was blythe and young, And Betsy was always good to me exceptin' with her tongue. When I was young as you, sir, and not so smart, perhaps, For me she mittened a lawyer, and several other chaps; And all of 'em was flustered, and fairly taken down, And for a time I was counted the luckiest man in town. Once when I had a fever-I won't forget it soonI was hot as a basted turkey and crazy as a loon— Never an hour went by me when she was out of sight; And so I've talked with Betsy, and Betsy has talked She nursed me true and tender, and stuck to me day with me; And we have agreed together that we can never agree; And what is hers shall be hers, and what is mine shall be mine; And I'll put it in the agreement, and take it to her to sign. Write on the paper, lawyer-the very first paragraph Of all the farm and live stock, she shall have her half; For she has helped to earn it through many a weary day, And it's nothin' more than justice that Betsy has her pay. Give her the house and homestead; a man can thrive and roam, But women are wretched critters, unless they have a home. And I have always determined, and never failed to say, That Betsy never should want a home, if I was taken and night. And if ever a house was tidy, and ever a kitchen clean, Her house and kitchen was tidy as any I ever seen, And I don't complain of Betsy or any of her acts, Exceptin' when we've quarreled, and told each other facts. So draw up the paper, lawyer; and I'll go home tonight, And read the agreement to her, and see if it's all right; And then in the morning I'll sell to a tradin' man I know And kiss the child that was left to us, and out in the world I'll go. And one thing put in the paper, that first to me didn't occur; That when I am dead at last she will bring me back to her, And lay me under the maple we planted years ago, When she and I was happy, before we quarreled so. And when she dies, I wish that she would be laid by me; And lyin' together in silence, perhaps we'll then agree; And if ever we meet in heaven, I wouldn't think it queer If we loved each other the better because we've quarreled here. GONE WITH A HANDSOMER MAN.* I've choked a dozen swears, (so's not to tell Jane fibs,) When the plow-pint struck a stone, and the handles punched my ribs. *Copyright, 1873, 1882, by Harper & Brothers. I've put my team in the barn, and rubbed their | And when he is tired of her and she is tired of him, She'll do what she ought to have done, and coolly count the cost; sweaty coats; I've fed 'em a heap of hay, and half a bushel of oats; And to see the way they eat makes me like eatin' feel, And Jane won't say to-night that I don't make out a meal. Curse her! curse her! I say, and give my curses wings! May the words of love I've spoken be changed to scorpion stings! Oh, she filled my heart with joy, she emptied my heart of doubt, And now, with a scratch of a pen, she lets my heart's blood out!' Curse her! curse her! say I, she'll some time rue this day; She'll some time learn that hate is a game that two can play ; And long before she dies she'll grieve she ever was born, And I'll plow her grave with hate, and seed it down Good-bye! I wish that death had severed us twoapart. You've lost a worshiper here, you've crushed a lovin' heart. I'll worship no woman again; but I guess I'll learn to pray, And kneel as you used to kneel, before you run away. And if I thought I could bring my words on Heaven to bear, JOAQUIN MILLER. "THE POET OF THE SIERRAS." IN the year 1851, a farmer moved from the Wabash district in Indiana to the wilder regions of Oregon. In his family was a rude, untaught boy of ten or twelve years, bearing the unusual name of Cincinnatus Heine Miller. This boy worked with his father on the farm until he was about fifteen years of age, when he abandoned the family log-cabin in the Willamette Valley of his Oregon home to try this fortune as a gold miner. A more daring attempt was seldom if ever undertaken by a fifteen year old youth. It was during the most desperate period of Western history, just after the report of the discovery of gold had caused the greatest rush to the Pacific slope. A miscellaneous and turbulent population swarmed over the country; and, "armed to the teeth" prospected upon streams and mountains. The lawless, reckless life of these gold-hunters-millionaires to-day and beggars to-morrow-deeming it a virtue rather than a crime to have taken life in a brawl-was, at once, novel, picturesque and dramatic. Such conditions furnished great possibilities for a poet. or novelist. It was an era as replete with a reality of thrilling excitement as that furnished by the history and mythology of ancient Greece to the earlier Greeks poets. It was into this whirlpool that the young, untaught-but observant and daringfarmer lad threw himself, and when its whirl was not giddy and fast enough for him, or palled upon his more exacting taste for excitement and daring adventure, he left it after a few months, and sought deeper and more desperate wilds. With Walker he became a filibuster and went into Nicaragua.-He became in turn an astrologer, a Spanish vaquero, and, joining the wild Indians, was made a Sachem. For five years he followed these adventurous wanderings; then as suddenly as he had entered the life he deserted it, and, in 1860 the prodigal returned home to his father's cabin in Oregon. In his right arm he carried a bullet, in his right thigh another, and on many parts of his body were the scars left by Indian arrows. Shortly after returning home he begun the study of law and was admitted to practice within a few months in Lane County, Oregon; but the gold fever or spirit of adventure took possession of him again and in 1861 we find him in the gold mines of Idaho; but the yellow metal did not come into his "Pan" sufficiently fast and he gave it up to become an express messenger in the mining district. A few months later he was back in Oregon where he started a Democratic Newspaper at Eugene City which he ran long enough to get acquainted with a poetical contributor, Miss Minnie Myrtle, whom he married in 1862-in his usual short-order way of doing things-after an acquaintance of three days. Where "Joaquin" Millerfor he was now called "Joaquin" after a Spanish brigand whom he had defendedgot his education is a mystery; but through the years of wandering, even in boyhood, he was a rhymester and his verses now began to come fast in the columns of his paper. In 1862, after his marriage he resumed the practice of law, and, in 1866, at the age of twenty-five, was elected Judge of Grant County. This position he held for four years during which time he wrote much poetry. One day with his usual "suddenness" he abandoned his wife and his country and sailed for London to seek a publisher. At first he was unsuccessful, and had to print a small volume privately. This introduced him to the friendship of English writers and his "Songs of the Sierras" was issued in 1871. Naturally these poems were faulty in style and called forth strong adverse criticism; but the tales they told were glowing and passionate, and the wild and adventurous life they described was a new revelation in the world song, and, verily, whatever the austere critic said, "The common people heard him gladly" and his success became certain. Thus encouraged Miller returned to California, visited the tropics and collected material for another work which he published of |