A DAMPENED ARDOR

The Chinatown at Bakersfield

Was blazing bright and high;

The flames to water would not yield,

Though torrents drenched the sky

And drowned the ground for miles around —

The houses were so dry.

Then rose an aged preacher man

Whom all did much admire,

Who said: “To force on you my plan

I truly do n't aspire,

But streams, it seems, might quench these beams

If turned upon the fire.”

The fireman said: “This hoary wight

His folly dares to thrust

On us!‘ Twere well he felt our might —

Nay, he shall feel our must!”

With jet of wet and small regret

They laid that old man's dust.