RED.

ANY color, so long as it's red, Is the color that suits me best, Though I will allow there is much to be said For yellow and green and the rest;

But the feeble tints which some affect In the things they make or buy Have never — I say it with all respect — Appealed to my critical eye.

There's that in red that warmeth the blood, And quickeneth a man within, And bringeth to speedy and perfect bud The germs of original sin;

So, though I'm properly born and bred, I'll own, with a certain zest, That any color, so long as it's red, Is the color that suits me best.

For where is a color that can compare With the blush of a buxom lass; Or where such warmth as of the hair Of the genuine white horse class?

And, lo! reflected within this cup Of cheery Bordeaux I see What inspiration girdeth me up,— Yes, red is the color for me!

Through acres and acres of art I've strayed In Italy, Germany, France; On many a picture a master has made I've squandered a passing glance:

Marines I hate, madonnas and Those Dutch freaks I detest; But the peerless daubs of my native land,— They're red, and I like them best.

‘ Tis little I care how folk deride,— I'm backed by the West, at least; And we are free to say that we can n't abide The tastes that obtain down East;

And we're mighty proud to have it said That here in the versatile West Most any color, so long as it's red, Is the color that suits us best.