•if If *% df m ^\ 
 
 g 
 
 m ■ - ^ 
 
 ■an. ,4"*m 
 
 
 
 TTV 1 
 
 
 Jh- ■ 
 
 &m4F J»\» 
 
 f 
 
 A TI^C^^ 1 "" 1 
 
 ||f 
 
 Ia j JL#w5 
 
 ■ 1 J 
 
 qjf "^ 
 
 i 
 
 
 
 
 %AT 
 
 i v 
 
 N8rs#l 
 
 fl*U* 
 
 * 
 
 ^ /U.-^^B 
 
N Class JES jma 
 
 Book Hi2-l$S 
 
 t90 7 
 Copyright^ L^ 
 
 COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 
 
JINGLES OF 
 A JESTER 
 
 By 
 
 CHARLES T. GRILLEY 
 
 Illustrations by 
 
 W. H. D. KOERNER 
 
 PEARSON BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS 
 PHILADELPHIA 
 
rK72 <J ^ 
 
 JUBRAHY of CONGRESS 
 Two Copies Received 
 
 DEC 17 J 90? 
 
 CopyruM Eniry 
 
 [cUSS * XXc. No, 
 
 COPY B. 
 
 1*7 
 
 Copyright, 1907, by Charles T. Grilley 
 
*5 
 
 G£o nq>. felloto members; anD coworkers 
 of $e il^ceum 
 
 WHO HAVE BEEN KIND ENOUGH TO PRESENT 
 
 TO THE PUBLIC SOME OF 
 
 THESE SELECTIONS 
 
 Wfyiz toolume is gratefully oe&itateD 
 
NOTE. 
 
 Thanks are due the Publishers of Puck, Drummer' s 
 Tarns and Werner' s Voice Magazine for permission 
 to reproduce some of the verses which originally ap- 
 peared in their columns. 
 
Proem .... 
 
 7 
 
 De Whitewashin' Man 
 
 9 
 
 Back Home .... 
 
 ii 
 
 Injuns 
 
 . 14 
 
 The Mayor of Centreville 
 
 17 
 
 A Paradox 
 
 • l 9 
 
 Worthy of Paradise . 
 
 21 
 
 At Twilight 
 
 22 
 
 The Stuttering Auctioneer 
 
 24 
 
 The Chap Who's Traveled 
 
 • 27 
 
 Livin' Pictures at Berryville . 
 
 29 
 
 A Lesson from Mother Goose 
 
 36 
 
 Everything Reminds Me So of Chicken 
 
 39 
 
 Had I Only Known 
 
 ■ 4 2 
 
 Jes' a Line to Riley . 
 
 44 
 
 My Chips 
 
 • 49 
 
 When Mah Lady Yawns 
 
 5* 
 
 The Town of Yap 
 
 • 53 
 
 My Lady Marionette 
 
 59 
 
 Constancy 
 
 • 63 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 The Chee-tau-quay ... 66 
 
 Discontent . . . -73 
 No Man Was Ever Known to 'ang for 
 
 Wot 'e Didn't Soy . . 78 
 
 The Last Straw , . . 82 
 
 The Colored Lochinvar . . 83 
 
 A Department Store Ditty . . 87 
 
 The Deserted Farm . . -93 
 
 A Boy's Complaint ... 96 
 
 October . . . . .99 
 
 Good Evenin', Mistah Moon . 100 
 
 Calamity Brown . . . .103 
 
 Little Dan Cupid . . . 106 
 "Cr. and Dr." .... 109 
 
 A Keepsake . . . . 1 1 1 
 
 Hay Fever . . . .113 
 
 Oh, Woe Is Me . . . 115 
 
 Before and After . . .119 
 
 The Tin Peddler . . . 120 
 
 The Mummy and the Dummy . .123 
 
 A Question of Authority . . 127 
 
 People are So Different . . .129 
 
 Play Ball, Bill . . . 131 
 
 Stories . . . . • I 33 
 
PROEM. 
 
 I could not call them poems, I would not 
 
 dare — 
 Should you think to criticise as such, beware I 
 I prefer to style them " Jingles " ; so Sir 
 
 Critic, if you know 
 When a jingler jingles proper, seize your 
 
 hammers, let Vr go. 
 
DE WHITEWASHIN' 
 
 MAN. 
 
 Comin' 'roun' de cohnah am 
 de whitewashin' man ; 
 Take wahnin', li'l black 
 folks, wahnin' ! 
 Brush on his shouldah, an' bucket in his 
 han' ; 
 Take wahnin', li'l black folks, wahnin' ! 
 
 If he leahns dat yo' sassy, dat yo' steal, or 
 
 yo' fight, 
 If yo' don't he'p yo' mammy, and do eva'- 
 
 ting dats right, 
 Yo' will fin' him by yo' bed on some dahk 
 
 an' dismal night ; 
 Take wahnin', li'l black folks, wahnin' ! 
 
DE WHITEWASHIN MAN. 
 
 If yo' bad, he can fin' yo', no mattah whah 
 
 yo' hide ; 
 
 Take wahnin', li'l black folks, wahnin' ! 
 
 Wid his long-handle brush he will be da 
 
 by yo' side ; 
 
 Take wahnin', li'l black folks, wahnin' ! 
 
 If he heahs yo' complainin' 'bout de colah 
 
 ob yo' skin, 
 To a ghose he will tu'n yo' wif a coat ob 
 
 whitenin', 
 An' yo'll live in a graveyahd fo'evah fo' 
 
 yo' sin ; 
 So take wahnin', li'l black folks, wahnin'! 
 
i 0.Sp 
 
 BACK HOME. 
 
 I want to git back home agin, 
 
 An' git there by th' quickest way ; 
 
 Back to good ol' Poseytown 
 I want to go, an' go to-day. 
 
 This city life may be all right 
 
 Fer them as likes its roar an' din ; 
 
 But as fer me, I've hed enough, 
 An' I want to git back home agin. 
 
 I'm sick of dodgin' 'lectric cars, 
 
 Of "Hayseed" here, an' "Rubber!" 
 there, 
 Of signs "Keep off the grass," an' rules, 
 
 An' seein' p'licemen everywhere. 
 
BACK HOME. 
 
 I want to git my nerves cammed down, 
 An' stroll agin through th' village street, 
 
 An' feel th' breeze through th* swayin' elms 
 Where folks say, "How-dy," when they 
 meet. 
 
 I want to take my evenin' walk 
 
 Down to Holcomb's grocery store, 
 
 An' join th' group thet gethers there 
 To talk th' village happenin's o'er. 
 
 Then watch th' mail distributed, 
 An' along 'bout half-past eight 
 
 Bid all good-night, then saunter home, 
 Where someone's waitin' by tk' gate. 
 
 When all is locked up fer th' night 
 I take my lamp an' start upstairs 
 
 To find th' peaceful rest that comes 
 To those who know not city cares. 
 
BACK HOME. 
 
 So gimme a ticket fer Posey town, 
 
 An' remember I want it jes* one way; 
 
 No matter how cheap th' round trip is, 
 I'm goin' back home, an' goin' to stay. 
 
 13 
 
INJUNS. 
 
 A very bad boy was Willie Green, played 
 
 hookey every day ; 
 With a yellow-back novel in his lap he 
 
 passed the hours away, 
 A-dreaming of the time when he would be 
 
 like Buffalo Bill 
 And wear long hair, a wide-brimmed hat, 
 
 and the Injuns he would kill. 
 He longed to gallop o'er the plains, hunt 
 
 Injuns day and night, 
 Hear bullets singing round his ears, would 
 
 be his heart's delight. 
 To slaughter red-skin devils and carve 
 
 them with his knife ; 
 Scalp every living Injun was his one great 
 
 aim in life. 
 
 14 
 
INJUNS. 
 
 Injuns! Injuns! Injuns! He saw them every- 
 where, 
 
 Wide awake, or fast asleep >, Injuns still were 
 there ; 
 
 Injuns at the football game, at the Wild West 
 Show, 
 
 Injun music, turn, turn, turn, wherever he 
 would go. 
 
 Modocs from the Black Hills, braves from 
 Old Town, Maine. 
 
 Injuns! Injuns! Injuns! He had Injuns on 
 the brain. 
 
 He'd walk for many a mile to see an Injun- 
 Cowboy play; 
 
 He'd eat a quart of Injun meal for break- 
 fast food each day. 
 
 When Injun Summer came around, he 
 longed to hit the trail, — 
 
 The lack of funds was all that caused his 
 warlike plans to fail. 
 
INJUNS. 
 
 But, oh, the lottery of life! when he grew 
 
 to man's estate, 
 He joined an Injun Medicine Show and 
 
 took one for a mate ; 
 And now instead of scalping them, his 
 
 mind is occupied 
 In trying to feed a dozen little Injuns by 
 
 his side. 
 
 Injuns! Injuns! Injuns! He sees them every- 
 where, 
 
 Wide awake or fast asleep, Injuns still are 
 there. 
 
 Injuns at the football game, at the Wild West 
 Show, 
 
 Injun music, turn, turn, turn, wherever he 
 may go. 
 
 Modocs from the Black Hills, braves from 
 Old Town, Maine. 
 
 Injuns ! Injuns ! Injuns ! He had Injuns on 
 the brain. 
 
 16 
 
THE MAYOR OF 
 CENTREVILLE. 
 
 I'm tall you 'bout my frien' Batiste 
 
 Napoleon Archambeau, 
 Dat come from Canadaw ten, 
 
 twelve, maybe nine, year ago. 
 He wit' hees brodder Pete dey 
 
 work in great beeg cotton A 
 
 meel f 
 
 Somewhere in dat Rhode Island State ; I 
 
 t'ink it Centreville. 
 Batiste get seeck of job an' soon back home 
 
 he mak' hees way 
 To Canadaw, an' leave Pete dere to come 
 
 some nodder day. 
 Now Pete he's steeck right to hees job, he's 
 
 what you call steadee; 
 He never drink, nor smoke cigar ; jus' 
 
 raise beeg familee. 
 17 
 
THE MAYOK OF CENTKEVILLE. 
 
 Soon Pete he have a bank book, an' when 
 
 on de street he go, 
 De boys don't call heem Pete no more ; it's 
 
 Meester Archambeau. 
 Somebody met Batiste back home wan day 
 
 upon de street, 
 An' ask him what de news has been latelee 
 
 from brodder Pete. 
 Batiste he say de last letter from Pete back 
 
 home he's sent, 
 It say dat now in Centreville Pete was de 
 
 President. 
 De man say, " President, Batiste ? Dere 
 
 sure is some mistake. 
 In little town like Centreville no President 
 
 is make." 
 Den Batiste shake hees head an' say, 
 
 " Wall, mebbe dat ban so. 
 Say, what is call a-a-a lady horse, not horse 
 
 dat's man, you know ? " 
 " Oh, you mean a mare." " Dat's hit, my 
 
 frien' ! " cried Batiste with a will; 
 " Dat's de kin' of horse my brodder is. 
 
 He's mayor of Centreville." 
 
 18 
 
A PARADOX. 
 
 A youth was born' in lowly life 
 Whose daily round was toil and strife. 
 He worked his way through college course, 
 Then started out, and by sheer force 
 Pushed on to Congress, where the laws 
 Of State are framed — and all because 
 
 He helped himself. 
 
 A second youth, with everything 
 That wealth and influence can bring, 
 Was dropped from college, would not work, 
 Then started in a bank as clerk ; 
 Next chapter finds this youth in jail. 
 The reason why ? The same old tale, — 
 
 He helped himself. 
 
 19 
 
WORTHY OF PARADISE. 
 
 A poet died, and when at length 
 His spirit came to Heaven's gate, 
 There stood an angel who would pass 
 In judgment o'er his future state. 
 
 "What hast thou done?" the angel asked, 
 " To claim a place mid the seraphim ? " 
 "I have refrained," the poet said, 
 " From writing a poem with the title 'Jim.' ' 
 
 21 
 
AT TWILIGHT. 
 
 When the twilight meets the firelight, 
 And their shadows softly blend, 
 
 Then my heart goes out in sadness, 
 To the day so near its end. 
 
 Like the lives of all us mortals, 
 Each day sinks at last to rest, 
 
 While the gathering shadows hover 
 Like a bird upon its nest. 
 
 Another day beyond recalling, 
 
 Vanished like the clouds o'erhead. 
 
 Gone ! Dost thou realize the import 
 Of the words ? To-day is dead ! 
 
 'Tis the hour for retrospection, 
 O'er the happenings of a day. 
 
 Was it well or idly given, 
 
 Canst thou answer, aye or nay ? 
 
AT TWILIGHT. 
 
 We are traveling toward the twilight ; 
 
 Like the day now gone to rest, 
 Soon we all must find a haven. 
 
 This has been God's great behest. 
 
 Ponder well your every action, 
 Twilight comes to every one; 
 
 Be prepared to hear your Father 
 
 Ask you then, "What hast thou done ? " 
 
 23 
 
THE STUTTERING 
 AUCTIONEER. 
 
 I'm nearly c-c-razy, almost w-w-wild, 
 I've been so s-s-since I was a ch-ch-child ; 
 To all things else I h-h-have been b-b-blind, 
 I've hadj-j-just one th-th-thing on my mind: 
 I w-w-want to be an auctioneer. 
 
 Th-th-there's something 'bout the way 
 h-h-he stands 
 And pl-pl-pleads and g-g-gestures 
 with his h-h-hands. 
 No m-m-matter what I 
 
 have, I deem 
 M-m-my g-g-greatest joy, 
 my p-p-proudest dream, 
 -t-t-to be an auctioneer. 
 24 
 
THE STUTTERING AUCTIONEER. 
 
 I th-th-thought one day I'd t-t-try my hand ; 
 So bought some g-g-goods and t-t-took my 
 
 stand 
 Upon a d-d-dry goods box, and there 
 I st-st-started on my way for f-f-fair 
 To be an auctioneer. 
 
 " G-g-give me an offer," first I said, 
 
 " For this b-b -beautiful walnut f-f-folding 
 
 bed." 
 T-t-two dollars was its c-c-cost t-to me ; 
 Why, they r-r-ran it up to t-t-twenty-three. 
 Oh, lucky auctioneer ! 
 
 I th-th-thought 'twas time t-t-to stop them 
 
 there 
 Or soon I'd be a m-m-millionaire ; 
 But when to holler, " S-s-sold ! " I tried, 
 I c-c-couldn't s-s-say it if I d-d-died. 
 Oh, luckless auctioneer ! 
 
 25 
 
THE STUTTEKING AUCTIONEER. 
 
 Each bidder cl-cl-claimed he'd b-b-bought the 
 
 bed. 
 " It's g-g-getting too h-hot for me," I said; 
 So d-d-down I j-j-jumped, ran to a well, 
 L-1-leaped in, and sh-sh-shouted back, 
 
 " F-f-farewell." 
 Unhappy auctioneer ! 
 
 If a p-p-policeman hadn't heard me shout 
 Wh-wh-when I disappeared, and f-f-fished 
 
 me out, 
 All covered with moss and wr-wr-wringing wet, 
 I g-g-guess, by gum, I'd b-b-been there yet, 
 A half-drowned auctioneer. 
 
 I haven't q-quit ; oh, no, not me ! 
 I don't g-g-give up s-s-so easily. 
 I trust b-b-before I come to d-d-die 
 And go up y-y-yonder in the sky, 
 I'll have a ch-ch-chance, s-s-someday, from dawn 
 Till night, to cry, " G-g-going ! G-g-gone ! " 
 Then I can say with c-c-conscience cl-cl-clear, 
 " I d-d-die a f-f-full-fledged auctioneer." 
 26 
 
THE CHAP WHO'S TRAVELED. 
 
 How easy to spot that wonderful man 
 To whom the earth is a limited span, 
 He's a bore with all the rest of his clan. 
 Who ? The chap who thinks he's traveled. 
 
 He abhors what is new in trunks or bags, 
 His suit case is plastered completely with 
 
 tags; 
 He's heard all the latest stories and gags. 
 Who ? This chap who thinks he's traveled. 
 
 ! He imagines by using the blase pose, 
 
 /7\ If he kicks good and strong wher- 
 
 ""vi ever he goes, 
 
 PT And acts horribly bored, then every 
 
 ^vW— one knows 
 
 ll\ \mt" ^ e certam ly must have traveled. 
 
 V LsS-d 2 7 
 
THE CHAP WHO S TRAVELED. 
 
 Every waiter is " George " in each cafe, 
 He longs to be back on " dear Broadway " 
 Where he knows all the stars of every play. 
 Who ? This chap who thinks he's traveled. 
 
 To himself he's a regular " man about 
 town ; " 
 
 Ten to one he's a bluff and if run down, 
 
 He's a shoe clerk from Yonkers or Tarry- 
 town, 
 
 And that's as far as he s traveled. 
 
LIVIN' PICTURES AT 
 BERRYVILLE. 
 
 'Twas due to Si Rand, of th' Berry 
 
 ville Band, who first interdooced 
 
 th' craze ; 
 It came like a bolt from a summer sky, 
 
 an' left th' town in a daze. 
 Th' Band they wanted new uniforms, some 
 
 'at was tailor-made ; 
 With these they could git a job at Troy in 
 
 th' Fo'th o' July parade. 
 So they started a paper to raise th' funds, 
 
 but found that never'd do ; 
 Not a soul outside of th' Band itself would 
 
 contribute a single sou. 
 " The critters thet play is th' ones to pay," 
 
 remarked ol' Beezy Kirk ; 
 " Th' folks thet hes to hear their noise, 
 
 they're th' ones thet does th' work ! " 
 29 
 
livin' picttjbes at bekbyville. 
 
 So things went on in Berryville till abeout 
 
 a month ago, 
 When Si went deown to Boston town, 
 
 where he saw a Vo-de-ville Show. 
 They hed what was called " Livin' Pic- 
 tures " there, that made a hit with Si. 
 Sez he, "Th' show wan't nothin' great, but 
 
 them pictures took my eye." 
 Then Si proposed thet Berryville should 
 
 hev some " pictures " too. 
 Sez he, "we could take th' profits thet we 
 
 make an' buy us them uniforms, new." 
 Th' members of th' Band, with a few f'om 
 
 outside, an' some live stock that's tame, 
 Could pose fer th' different characters an' 
 
 scenes, inside of a big gilt frame. 
 Si sed he knew jes how 'twas done, an' if 
 
 they'd let him hev his way 
 He'd give 'em a show thet Berryville 'ud 
 
 remember for many a day. 
 Th' scheme was received as th' easiest way 
 
 to raise th' sum desired, 
 An' Si was appointed a committee of one 
 
 to git everything required. 
 
 3° 
 
livin' pictures at bekryville. 
 
 He sed th' price should be popular, within 
 
 th' reach of all ; 
 At twenty-five an' thirty-five they couldn't 
 
 but pack th' hall. 
 That night he drew th' plans fer th' frame, — 
 
 'twas to be 'bout twelve foot square, — 
 An' he lay awake nearly all night long, fig- 
 
 urin' out what each 'd wear. 
 Some biblical scenes mixed in between fer 
 
 th' church-goers, Si allowed, 
 Together with groups of worldlier themes, 
 
 would be sure to catch th' crowd. 
 So he picked Chub Hurd, who played 
 
 double-bass, an' th' strongest man in 
 
 teown, 
 To pose in the role of Samson when he 
 
 tore th' temple deown. 
 Th' Bumpstead children, six in all, were 
 
 grouped in a scene called " Spring "; 
 While Maginnis, only Irishman in 
 
 town, was to do a " Scotchman 
 
 in th' Highland Fling." 
 Miss Clementina King, a sweet, sad 
 
 thing, who wrote fer th' village 
 
 press, 3 i 
 
livin' pictures at beebyville. 
 
 Was to pose as Longfellow's Evangeline, 
 
 in a milk-white muslin dress. 
 Si sed this one would be marvelous, a per- 
 fect pastural scene ; 
 So he rented a calf, fer a ticket an' a half, 
 
 to pose with Evangeline. 
 Th' calf was owned by the Widder Hunt, 
 
 an' if she hed ever known 
 What th' calf would do when it made its 
 
 " day-bu," well, Miss King would have 
 
 posed alone. 
 Th' masterpiece was "A Day on th' Farm," 
 
 a reg'lar scene from life, 
 With some hens an' a goat, flock of sheep 
 
 an' a shoat, were standin' 'round a 
 
 farmer an' his wife. 
 Well, everything went as smooth as silk 
 
 right up to th' time of th' show ; 
 Th' hall was packed, never seen such a 
 
 crowd way deown to th' very front row. 
 With his hair well iled, Si smirked an' 
 
 smiled, shook hands an' nodded an' 
 
 bowed, 
 
 32 
 
livin' pictubes at bebbyville. 
 
 Swelled up with pride, an' chuckled inside, 
 
 as he thought of th' profit in th' crowd. 
 At th' back of th' stage confusion reigned ; 
 
 the animals blatted an' crowed, 
 An' to make things worse in the middle of 
 
 it all, Maginnis arrived with a load. 
 Irishman like he wanted to fight an' was 
 
 bound thet he would sing ; 
 So Si he guessed 'twas altogether best to 
 
 dispense with th' Highland Fling. 
 When th' Bumpstead children laid deown 
 
 their wreaths, jes' fore they entered th' frame, 
 Th' goat got loose, by slipping of his noose, 
 
 an' proceeded to eat the same. 
 This was too much for Si, and with blood 
 
 in his eye he made fer th' goat like a flash ; 
 Mr. Goat humped his back, met Silas' attack, 
 
 an' they both came together with a crash. 
 Well, 'twas eight fifty-two 'fore they fetched 
 
 Si to, an' they started on picture one. 
 Si thought an earthquake ^. &■ 
 
 had struck the stage w Jj\ s> <J 
 
 but the excitement 
 
 had only begun. 
 
 33 I 
 
xjvin' pictures at beeeyville. 
 
 (J^ 55, When they got to th' scene of 
 Evangeline, Miss King 
 turned pale in th' face 
 When she saw four men seize th' calf 
 in its pen, an' drag it out to its 
 place ; 
 There she posed with her pail, while 
 th' calf whisked its tail, and wob- 
 bled and shook with fear ; 
 As the curtain was raised, th' calf seemed 
 dazed, till it heard the audience cheer ; 
 Then it let out a blat, knocked Evangeline 
 flat, quivered, side-stepped, bellered, 
 an' fell 
 Clean out of th' frame, tippin' over th' same, 
 then made fer the crowd pell-mell. 
 Th' big gilt frame when it downward came 
 struck the footlights and smashed 
 them on th' floor ; 
 In the darkness that follered, everybody 
 hollered an' made a mad dash fer th' 
 door. 
 When at last all were out, and scurryin' 
 about, tryin' to see what damage was 
 done, 34 
 
livin' pictures at berkyville. 
 
 They heard a loud roar, an' out through 
 
 th' door came th' calf, as if shot from 
 
 a gun. 
 With its tail in th' air, it ran like a hare; 
 
 its course no one dared to retard; 
 We knew mighty well, if nothin' befell, 
 
 'twould soon be in Widder Hunt's 
 
 yard. 
 Thus ended th' show of the Berryville 
 
 Band, an' " Si's Livin' Pictures " as 
 
 well. 
 Whatever became of th' money they made, 
 
 no one's ever been able to tell ; 
 But if you should happen to visit th' town, 
 
 unless you're a marksman of skill, 
 Be sure an' not mention " Livin' Pictures " 
 
 to one of th' natives of Berryville. 
 
 35 
 
A LESSON FROM MOTHER 
 GOOSE. 
 
 Is there any moral to be found in the rhymes 
 
 of Mother Goose ? 
 There certainly is, and good ones, too, if 
 
 the reader's not obtuse. 
 For instance, take the one about our old 
 
 friends Jack and Jill, 
 And their perilous adventure with the 
 
 bucket on the hill. 
 
 The moral is that when you go for liquid 
 
 in a pail, 
 Whether it be of water pure or possibly 
 
 of ale, 
 Don't take a maiden with you to help you 
 
 bring it back, 
 Or you may get all tangled up, as did our 
 
 good friend Jack. 
 36 
 
A LESSON FROM MOTHER GOOSE. 
 
 Then there was that observing miss — I 
 
 mean the one called Muffet, 
 She who always ate her meals while seated 
 on a tuffet. 
 
 The lesson is that when you see 
 # black spiders in the air, 
 
 It's time you sought a Keeley cure 
 and changed your bill of fare. 
 
 The moral in the jingling rhymes that tell 
 
 of Little Bo Peep, 
 Is never to worry when you miss such 
 
 property as sheep ; 
 Your innocent lambs, all nicely shorn, in 
 
 Wall Street you can find, 
 And the tales they tell will certainly beat 
 
 the tails they left behind. 
 
 37 
 
A LESSON FROM MOTHER GOOSE. 
 
 There's the story of the pieman who once 
 
 journeyed to a fair, 
 And the nerve of Simple Simon, who 
 
 asked to taste his ware. 
 This teaches when a fellow's broke, a fair's 
 
 no place to go ; 
 For you can't get pie and other things 
 
 unless you have the dough. 
 
 Although her name belied her gifts, old 
 
 Mother Goose well knew 
 What she was doing when she wrote such 
 
 lines as Little Boy Blue. 
 While blowing his horn she blew her own, 
 
 and now where'er you roam, 
 You will find no place without her book's 
 
 worth calling " Home Sweet Home." 
 38 
 
EVERYTHING REMINDS ME SO 
 OF CHICKEN. 
 
 Fo' 'bout a month this dahkey has been 
 tryin' 
 To shake his sinful ways and be religious, 
 But dere seems to be a hoo-doo round me 
 lyin, 
 My temptations dey have grown to be 
 prodig'yus. 
 Fo' instance, I'se a natch'al taste fo' chicken, 
 An' it seems to be my fate where'er I go, 
 Even though I may be comin' from prayer 
 meetin', 
 I'm sure to hear some rooster softly crow. 
 
 An so I makes de claim 
 
 Dat a dahkey aint to blame 
 Fo dat oV desire dafs ever to him sticking 
 
 No matter whah he'll go. 
 
 At least I've found it so> 
 Everything reminds me so of chicken. 
 
 39 
 
EVERYTHING REMINDS ME SO OF CHICKEN. 
 
 Dis mornin' while at work a fence white- 
 washin', 
 Some boys was playin' base-ball 'cross 
 de way ; 
 De langwidge dat dey used was powerful 
 shockin' ; 
 'Twas enough to make dis dahkey's hair 
 turn gray. 
 I started den to give dose boys a lickin' ; 
 When dey saw my objeck dey began to 
 howl. 
 Jus' den dat ball come bang against my 
 stomach, 
 An' I jus' remember someone yellin' 
 " Foul." 
 
 r „^. Art so I makes de claim 
 
 Dat a dahkey airit to blame^ 
 Fo no doubt dose boys dey well 
 deserved a lickin ', — 
 
 But even den I will be 
 
 bounds 
 As I lay dah on de ground^ 
 Dat "Foul " dey hollered made 
 me think of chicken. 
 40 
 
EVERYTHING REMINDS ME SO OF CHICKEN. 
 
 Jus' one more instance I am bound to 
 mention, 
 The memory of it fills my soul with 
 shame. 
 I fell asleep in church las' Sunday mornin'. 
 Since it happened, I have never been 
 de same. 
 'Bout "Angels' wings " de preacher man 
 was talkin', 
 I was dreamin' 'bout a chicken, I've no 
 doubt ; 
 When I heard him mention wings I whis- 
 pered softly, 
 " Don't forget dat hen-house do' when 
 you come out." 
 
 An so I makes de claim 
 
 Dat a dabkey aint to blame 
 Fd dat oF desire dat's ever to him stickin ', 
 
 No matt ah where he'll go. 
 
 Even at church I found it so, 
 I'here was something there reminding me 
 
 of chicken. 
 
 41 
 
HAD I ONLY KNOWN 
 
 Dear mother, now that thy loving face 
 Is gone from its old accustomed place, 
 My heart turns back with a dull, sad pain, 
 To those days that will ne'er return again. 
 And I long for the time of youth once more, 
 To hear thy voice as I did of yore, 
 Making the burdens of boyhood light 
 By the mother-love in each fond good- 
 night ; 
 And I think of rewards that were thine by 
 right- 
 Had I only known. 
 
 Brave, patient soul, through all the strife 
 And cares that fell to a mother's life, 
 Thou gav'st no token of inward grief, 
 But bore thy burdens with a firm belief 
 42 
 
HAD I ONLY KNOWN. 
 
 That we are but creatures of God's com- 
 mand, 
 
 To be moulded as clay in the potter's hand. 
 
 Thy greatest pleasure, thy constant thought, 
 
 To accept His teachings and question 
 naught. 
 
 What lessons to me by thy life were 
 taught, — 
 
 Had I only known. 
 
 'Tis hard to think of that fateful day 
 When we came to the parting of the way ; 
 And though hours of sadness have passed 
 
 since then, 
 'Twould be cruel to wish thee back again ; 
 For where thou art I know full well 
 Thy loving presence will cast its spell, 
 And there, dear mother, 1 long to be, 
 Seeking forgiveness on bended knee 
 For those duties delayed, — my debt to 
 
 thee, — 
 
 Had I only known. 
 
 43 
 
JES' A LINE TO RILEY. 
 
 I'm jes' a plain old farmer, an' my occu- 
 
 pashun's such 
 ' T I never went to college, an' I dunno 
 
 overmuch 
 Abeout the frills an' furbelows of higher 
 
 eddicashun ; 
 But readin' books for years has been my 
 
 princ'pal recreashun. 
 
 44 
 
JES A LINE TO RILEY. 
 
 Take winter evenin's, when outside the 
 
 ground is white with snow, 
 I sit in my old rockin'-chair, by the fireside's 
 
 ruddy glow, 
 And foller hist'ry's onward march, from the 
 
 earliest days of men 
 Down to the time when incubators did duty 
 
 fer th' hen. 
 
 Then I hev my nights when poetry seems 
 to soothe my tired old head ; 
 
 It brings a peaceful feelin' when I go up- 
 stairs to bed. 
 
 I like the jingle of the rhymes, they lull 
 me off ter rest ; 
 
 An' that James Whitcomb Riley is the one 
 that suits me best. 
 
 45 
 
JES A LINE TO RILEY. 
 
 His rhymes are so blame satisfyin' they git 
 
 ye from th' first ; 
 They're like a draught from some cold 
 
 spring when you're burnin' up with 
 
 thirst. 
 Th' feller seems to know jes' how to sorter 
 
 aidge his way 
 Right plumb into yer confidence, an' then 
 
 he's there to stay. 
 
 If any man can read that one abeout " Old 
 
 Man an' Jim" 
 Without th' pathos of it all a-comin' home 
 
 to him, 
 If it didn't 'feet him that way, an' he was 
 
 anywhere's near by, 
 You bet I'd buy a watch-dog an' hev my 
 
 hens roost high. 
 
 4 6 
 
JES A LINE TO RILEY. 
 
 Then " The Goblins '11 Git Ye." That's 
 
 so creepy, I'll be blessed, 
 The chills went up my ol' spine bone, an' 
 
 I yelled like all possessed. 
 I had a feelin' like it once, it made my 
 
 blood congeal ; 
 'Twas when wadin' barefoot in the pond 
 
 an' I stepped upon an eel. 
 
 Take " Out to Old Aunt Mary's," with its 
 
 wealth of tender rhyme, 
 " 'Mongst the Hills o' Somerset," an' that 
 
 one "In Swimmin'-Time " ; 
 That last was so blame natural I started 
 
 then an' there 
 To peel my clothes off — yes, I did! — an' 
 
 dive right off the chair. 
 
 47 
 
JES A LINE TO RILEY. 
 
 Lucindy grabbed me jes' in time or I'd 
 surely broke my neck. 
 
 You see when once he gits ye they ain't no 
 power can check 
 
 The flights yer immaginashun takes ; it car- 
 ries you everywheres. 
 
 You can see the hold it got on me, makin' 
 spring-boards out o' chairs. 
 
 I'm gettin' toward threescore an' ten, an' I 
 
 hain't got long to stay ; 
 But while I'm spared my eyesight I will 
 
 pass the time away 
 A-readin' Riley — bless him ! An' God 
 
 grant him many years 
 Of health, an' wealth, an' happiness, with 
 
 nary cause fer tears. 
 
 4 8 
 
MY CHIPS. 
 
 ( A heart throb from a follower of the great American game, 
 after reading Ella Wheeler Wilcox's " My Ships.") 
 
 If all the chips I have at sea 
 Should happen to return to me, — 
 Those stacks of red and blue and white 
 That I have blown e'en many a night, — 
 Oh, what a joyous time 'twould be 
 To see those chips return to me ! 
 
 If half my chips came back to me, 
 You'd see some tall hilarity. 
 If ever that pipe-dream came true, 
 My wealth would rival any Jew, 
 So rich the treasures that would be 
 In half my chips now out at sea. 
 
 49 
 
MY CHIPS. 
 
 If just one chip I have at sea, 
 
 A blue one, say, should come to me, 
 
 'Twould be most welcome, for I'm broke, 
 
 With all my summer wear in soak. 
 
 A blue one would just set me free 
 
 From ignominious poverty. 
 
 O Fate, be kind ! O Fortune, too, 
 And send them all, red, white, and blue ! 
 But if you needs must hold some back, 
 Remember, when you sort the stack, 
 Just pick one out of bluish hue, 
 And send that blue one P. D. Q. ! 
 
 5° 
 
WHEN MAH LADY 
 
 YAWNS. 
 
 When mah Cah'line yawns, ah'm 
 
 'spicious 
 Dat she tinks de time po'pitious 
 Fo' me to tu'n mah 'tendon to de clock 
 
 upon de wall. 
 Dats de cue to quit mah talkin', 
 An' a gentle hint dat walkin' 
 Would flicitate de briefness of mah call. 
 
 Th' fus' gal that ah coh'ted — 
 Ouah ma'idge it was thwated, 
 Because ah was so green ah didn' know 
 When she yawned it was behoovin' 
 Dat dis dahkey should be movin', 
 Twell at las' she says, " Fo' Lawd's sake, 
 niggah, go ! " 
 
 51 
 
WHEN MAH LADY YAWNS. . 
 
 Den ah took mah hat an' stahted, 
 
 An' fom dat hour we pahted, 
 
 An' ah nevah seen dat cullud gal no mo'. 
 
 But it taught me dis yer lesson 
 
 Dat a yawn am de expression 
 
 Dat invites yo' to be movin' to'ards de do'. 
 
 So take dis friendly wah'nin, — 
 
 Should yo' lady-love staht yawnin', 
 
 Although de sudden pah' ting cost yo' pain, 
 
 If she's one you'd like t' marry, 
 
 Aftah one good yawn don' tarry, 
 
 Den yo' sho'ly will be welcome da again. 
 
 52 
 
THE TOWN OF YAP. 
 
 [Dedicated to the members of the Lyceum and 
 
 Dramatic profession who have experienced 
 
 some of the trials and tribulations 
 
 of the one-night stands. ] 
 
 Have you ever heard of the 
 
 town called Yap ? 
 It's a place not featured on the 
 
 map, 
 Nor will you find its name inside 
 The covers of a Railroad Guide. 
 
 But if you have toured from Portland^ 
 
 Maine, 
 Out to the Rocky Mountain Chain, 
 And from New Orleans to Calumet, 
 This town you never can forget. 
 
 53 
 
THE TOWN OF YAP. 
 
 When you strike the station, in the air 
 You feel " the frost " that's waiting there 
 To seize you in its iced embrace 
 The moment that you show your face. 
 
 No agent or baggage man in sight 
 As you sadly down from the train alight ! 
 The place may bear another name, 
 But this is Yaptown just the same. 
 
 A mile of mud to the Farmer's Home- 
 Talk of the Klondike or Cape Nome ! 
 Touring that country would be a snap 
 Compared to an evening spent in Yap. 
 
 Two dollars per for a room like a cell ; 
 You take it or leave it, or go to — well, 
 Down goes your name; what else can you 
 
 do? 
 So you take your medicine and give up 
 
 your two. 
 
 54 
 
THE TOWN OF TAP. 
 
 When you reach your room you breathe 
 a prayer 
 
 That heaven will preserve you while sleep- 
 ing there; 
 
 The bed has a mattress as hard as a stone, 
 
 At the thought of rest you inwardly groan. 
 
 You gaze at the bed, then turn down the 
 
 sheet, 
 Knowing all too well what your eyes will 
 
 meet. 
 They are there — the one live thing, by gum ! 
 In the whole blame town who are glad you 
 
 have come. 
 
 When you glance at yourself in the looking- 
 glass, 
 
 A horrible change has come to pass ; 
 
 One eye is gone from its usual place, 
 
 While your nose is twisted all over your 
 face. 
 
 55 
 
THE TOWN OF YAP. 
 
 In the depths of the pitcher lurking there 
 You discover a lock of the chambermaid's 
 
 hair; 
 While a fungous growth in the washbowl 
 
 appears, 
 That has been collecting for years and years. 
 
 The hotel is bad, but the town hall 's 
 worse ; 
 
 The fire-engine's stored there, likewise the 
 hearse ; 
 
 It's used for court-house, inquests and 
 jail; 
 
 Likewise for hangings, if such should pre- 
 vail. 
 
 The worst is to come when you show that 
 
 night ! 
 The collection of Yaps is a wonderful 
 
 sight; 
 They smell of horse as they all troop in, 
 And whistle and yell for the show to begin. 
 56 
 
THE TOWN OF YAP. 
 
 When you get to the quietest part of the 
 
 play, 
 Down the aisle conies the janitor wending 
 
 his way, 
 And proceeds to the stove and dumps the 
 
 grate, 
 And rattles in coal at a fearful rate. 
 
 You grind your teeth and rail at fate, 
 And cuss the agent who booked the 
 
 date, 
 And long for the hour and the train that 
 
 will bear 
 You away from Yaptown, no matter where. 
 
 You hear such remarks as these of your 
 
 play: 
 " 'Twas too blame solemn," is what they 
 
 say; 
 " We hain't no use, an' never will stand 
 Fer a troupe too poor to carry a band." 
 
 57 
 
THE TOWN OF TAP. 
 
 If I had to sentence a man for a crime, 
 He'd never go to prison to work out his 
 
 time, 
 Nor swing from a gallows in a hangman's 
 
 cap; 
 He'd get something worse — I'd send him 
 
 to Yap. 
 
 If he lived there long his atonement he'd 
 
 win; 
 He couldn't get worse, whatever his sin. 
 When he came to die, there is one thing 
 
 sure — 
 What he got after Yap would be easy to 
 
 endure. 
 
 58 
 
MY LADY MARIONETTE. 
 
 I will tell you of a troupe, a wooden-headed 
 
 group, 
 Of figures who were called " Les Marion- 
 ettes." 
 In the program of the show, on some wires 
 
 to and fro, 
 They were made to dance the stately 
 
 minuet ; 
 At the finish of their act, in a box they all 
 
 were packed, 
 To there remain until the following day, 
 But a wired electric light overhanging them 
 
 one night 
 Broke and from the ceiling chanced to fall 
 
 their way, 
 Then a bunch of lightning shocks went 
 
 tearing through the box, 
 
 59 
 
MY LADY MARIONETTE. 
 
 Which brought to life these manikins of 
 
 wood ; 
 Quickly out from their retreat, they came 
 
 scrambling to their feet, 
 And there upon the stage each figure stood. 
 Then the leading Marionette, on the little 
 
 wood soubrette 
 Shot glances at her in a love-lorn way, 
 And with wobble-jointed stride, he hobbled 
 
 to her side, 
 And standing there amazed she heard him 
 
 say: 
 
 Oh, my Lady Marionette, as we've danced 
 the minuet, 
 
 For years Fve longed to tell you. of the 
 feeling 
 
 'That has split my heart of wood, so oft 
 misunderstood, 
 
 That now no power can stop my love re- 
 vealing. 
 
 So come to my arms, my Lady Marionette ; 
 
 May I be turned to sawdust if my love I 
 should forget, 
 60 
 
MY LADY MARIONETTE. 
 
 So to signify our pleasure, let us trip a 
 
 stately measure, 
 ^To-night we'll need no wires to dance, my 
 
 Lady Marionette. 
 
 But a witness of the scene comes now to 
 
 intervene, — 
 None other than the Villain Marionette. 
 For him no deed too vile, with his wicked 
 
 leering smile, 
 He too would have the little wood 
 
 soubrette. 
 When he saw the loving pair, he hissed 
 
 and tore his hair, 
 And vowed he cut the hero's heart in twain, 
 But the latter fearing naught, his blade he 
 
 quickly sought, 
 And soon the blows were falling there like 
 
 rain. 
 All the figures held their breath, watched 
 
 the duel to the death, 
 As in and out and round the stage they flew. 
 Every thrust the hero made, with his keen 
 
 and trusty blade, 
 
 61 
 
MY LADY MARIONETTE. 
 
 From the wooden villain clipped a chip or 
 
 two. 
 Till at last reduced to pegs were the villain's 
 
 wooden legs, 
 Then followed both his arms, his trunk 
 
 and head. 
 As the hero watched him die, said he, " My 
 
 friend, you're one chip shy ! " 
 Then turning to his lady love he said : 
 
 Oh, my Lady Marionette, as we've danced 
 the minuet, 
 
 For years I've longed to tell you of the feeling 
 
 That has split my heart of wood, so oft 
 misunderstood, 
 
 That now no power can stop my love re- 
 vealing ; 
 
 So come to my arms, my Lady Marionette ; 
 
 May I be turned to sawdust if my love I 
 should forget , 
 
 So to signify our pleasure, let us trip a 
 stately measure ; 
 
 To-night we'll need no wires to dance, my 
 Lady Marionette. 
 62 
 
CONSTANCY. 
 
 Fifty years we have journeyed this life to- 
 gether. 
 Does it seem that long to you, Asthore, 
 Since firsht I came to your father's 
 cottage 
 And shyly knocked at the cabin door ? 
 
 63 
 
CONSTANCY. 
 
 Me heart shtood shtill whin you bade me 
 enter. 
 No queen could have ruled with more 
 grace on a throne, 
 As, held there, thransfixed by your royal 
 beauty, 
 I longed for the hour I could call ye me 
 own. 
 
 'Twas thin I learned that life widout ye 
 Would be robbed of all charm, leave 
 nothin' but tears. 
 How I guarded meself against such a mis- 
 fortune 
 Is easily seen by the pasht fifty years. 
 
 We have had our full measure of sadness 
 an' sorrow. 
 Whin th' burdens were heavy, we each 
 bore our share ; 
 But sunshine will ever come forth from th' 
 shadow, 
 An' thrue love will banish th' clouds of 
 despair. 
 
 6 4 
 
CONSTANCY. 
 
 Though we've nearly come to th' end of 
 our journey, 
 Let us both shtill continue to cheer with 
 a song. 
 When the hour comes to pass to th' home 
 of hereafter, 
 God grant whin we part it will not be 
 for long. 
 
 65 
 
THE CHEE-TAU-QUAY. 
 
 I want to tell yeou 'beout a time we hed 
 
 the other day, 
 Me an' all the fam'ly deown to the Chee- 
 
 tau-quay. 
 They'd been advertisin' of it, fer sev'ral 
 
 months er more, — 
 Posters in the Post Office an' at th' groc'ry 
 
 store ; 
 But th' fust real infermation I got abeout 
 
 the thing 
 Was when Jane, my eldest darter, came 
 
 hum from Normal School this spring. 
 She couldn't talk 'beout nothin' else; sed 
 
 " 'Twould be an uplift for us all." 
 I told her we got our " uplift " when the 
 
 cyclun struck las' fall, 
 But if 'twas all 'twas advertised an' sech 
 
 an all-fired show, 
 
 66 
 
THE CHEE-TAU-QUAY. 
 
 I'd drop my plantin' fer a spell an' fix 
 
 things so's to go. 
 Well, we got up bright an' airly, hed the 
 
 childern washed an' drest, 
 Wife put on her new alpacca — I got eout 
 
 my flowered vest. 
 There wuz me an' Mandy, Jane an' Hi, 
 
 the twins, an' Willum J. 
 An' 'beout nine o'clock that mornin' we 
 
 struck the Chee-tau-quay. 
 Ye never see sech crowds er folks, seemed 
 
 like from everywhere, — 
 Ministers an' schoolmarms, ol' an' young, 
 
 wuz gathered there. 
 They hed a great big circus tent with a 
 
 rostrum on one side, 
 An' 'twas here, Jane tol us, that the talunt 
 
 would preside. 
 Well, 'beout ten o'clock they rung a bell 
 
 an' the band begun to play, 
 An' folks commenced to crowd the tent, 
 
 mor'n er thousand, I should say. 
 They played a piece called " Susie's 
 
 March" — 'twould lift you off the seat. 
 67 
 
THE CHEE-TAU-QUAY. 
 
 A preacher jest in front uv me hed ter fairly 
 
 hold his feet. 
 I felt jest like a two-year-old, seemed like 
 
 I walked on air, 
 Haint herd sech all-round music sence the 
 
 Red Rock County Fair. 
 Then four fellers took the rostrum an' 
 
 sung a song abeout ther sea, — 
 Fer vocal satisfaction, they just suited 
 
 to a T. 
 They wuz really so extray-fine we hed to 
 
 hev them back, 
 An' they responded by singin' 'beout a 
 
 " Teacher and a Tack." 
 Funny ? Jeekus-Pokus ! It seemed as if 
 
 I'd split, 
 An' Willum J. jest hollered, we thought 
 
 he'd hev a fit ! 
 Then they hed a Minister's Conference, 
 
 beat any Camp Meetin' on earth, — 
 Talk abeout yer argifyin', there's where 
 
 yer got yer money's worth. 
 Every sect wuz ripresented, Baptists an' 
 
 Cammelites, 
 
 69 
 
THE CHEE-TAU-QUAT. 
 
 Metherdists an' Lutherans, all clamoring 
 
 for their rights. 
 Each hed his own opinion abeout 
 
 theology, 
 Their doctrines wuz diffrunt, but on one 
 
 thing they'd agree, — 
 To beat the devil reound the stump in the 
 
 good old-fashioned way, 
 But that I learnt 'z the objeck of the Chee- 
 
 tau-quay. 
 They hadn't more'n finished 'fore the band 
 
 commenced ter play 
 Ter summons folks tergether fer the dis- 
 course of ther day. 
 We all trooped over to the tent and got a 
 
 good front seat ; 
 Somethin' seemed ter tell me we wuz goin' 
 
 ter hev a treat. 
 The Quartette sung another song, follered 
 
 by a prayer, 
 Then a common-lookin' feller riz up 
 
 slowly from a chair 
 An' wuz interdooced as " Sam'l Jones," 
 
 who would try to find a way 
 70 
 
THE CHEE-TAU-QUAT. 
 
 Ter occupy ther 'tention with a few things 
 
 he might say. 
 Wal — talk abeout yeour preachers, boy 
 
 orators and sich, 
 Why, the way he larruped ev'ry thing, it 
 
 cert'nly wuz rich ! 
 He'd take the Presbyterians and roast them 
 
 to a breown, 
 And when the Methodists 'ud laff, he'd 
 
 turn right straight areound, 
 And flail them wuss than t'others. Then 
 
 he'd go fer hypercrits. 
 He more than trimmed their whiskers and 
 
 fairly give 'em fits. 
 He'd tell some simple story that 'ud fill 
 
 yer eyes with tears, 
 Then he'd show yer yer shortcummings 
 
 with all yer doubts and fears. 
 The power he hed to poke truths home, 
 
 I tell yer 'twas immense, 
 And underneath it all there wuz alius such 
 
 good hoss sense. 
 He kep' it up fer full two hours, when he 
 
 stopped 'twas still as death, — 
 7i 
 
THE CHEE-TAU-QUAY. 
 
 Everybody jest a-starin' and a-holdin' uv 
 
 ther breath. 
 I've heard some p'litical speeches and some 
 
 sermons in my day, 
 But he cert'ly beat anything thet ever come 
 
 my way. 
 Along abeout dark we started hum, the 
 
 moon a-smilin' deoun, 
 Seemin' glad to be of service, as we jour- 
 neyed frum the town. 
 We got reound hum beout 'leven er-clock, 
 
 an' I've got this much ter say : — 
 That fer satisfaction guaranteed — give me 
 
 the Chee-tau-quay. 
 
 72 
 
DISCONTENT. 
 
 In a shady nook by a babbling brook 
 Which ran through the heart of a wood, 
 A lily fair with queenly air 
 Like a lonely sentinel stood. 
 
 And a friendship grew between the 
 
 two, 
 The brook and the lily fair, 
 And every look of the tinkling brook 
 Told of a passion rare. 
 
 And all day long the brook's glad 
 
 song 
 Echoed the woodland through, 
 And it told such a tale of hill and dale, 
 That the lily restless grew. 
 
 73 
 
DISCONTENT. 
 
 Till it said with a sigh, " Oh! would that I 
 Might have the power to flee 
 Away from the wood and its solitude, 
 And go down with the brook to the sea. 
 
 " Why should I live and my fragrance give 
 To a spot so cheerless and dark ? 
 There is nothing here to bring me cheer 
 And I long to be free like the lark." 
 
 Then the little brook wore a troubled look, 
 And its song seemed sad all day ; 
 As the lily sighed the brook replied, 
 " You know not what you say ! " 
 
 " Should you ever roam from this wood- 
 land home, 
 You would find that the world out there 
 Is filled with grief and unbelief, 
 And that honest hearts are rare. 
 
 75 
 
DISCONTENT. 
 
 " But here in the wood one feels the good 
 That follows a life that is pure; 
 God sends from above his tokens of love 
 That we may live and endure." 
 
 But each kind word only deeper stirred 
 The desire in the lily fair 
 To be off and away to an endless day 
 Where beauty was everywhere. 
 
 How little is known of the seeds that are 
 
 sown 
 By the demon Discontent ! 
 Like a poisoned dart, they enter the heart 
 Until it is torn and rent. 
 
 There came a day when the song so gay 
 Of the brook was hushed and low, 
 For the lily at last its spell had cast 
 O'er the brook that had loved it so. 
 
 76 
 
DISCONTENT. 
 
 When the morning light pushed back the 
 
 night 
 And the sun rose out of the East, 
 The lily found that the cheering sound 
 Of the little brook had ceased. 
 
 Then the lily knew what is all too true, 
 That Discontent in the heart, 
 If left to thrive, will surely drive 
 The dearest of friends apart. 
 
 As twilight fell o'er the woody dell, 
 Gone was the brook from its bed ; 
 While drooping there so white and fair, 
 By its side lay the lily dead. 
 
 77 
 
NO MAN WAS EVER KNOWN 
 
 TO 'ANG FOR WOT 'E 
 
 DIDN'T SOY. 
 
 I 'ad a pal some years ago, 'is name was 
 
 'Enry Ide ; 
 It must 'ave been near twenty years since 
 
 'Enry hup and died ; . 
 If ever 'e got in a scrape 'e wouldn't soy 
 
 a word — 
 'E'd shut hup like a hoyster — not a seound 
 
 from 'im was 'eard. 
 
 78 
 
NO MAN WAS EVER KNOWN TO ANG 
 FOB WOT 'E DIDN'T SOY. 
 
 The other cove might storm areound an' 
 
 blow 'im hinside eout, 
 But 'Enry seemed all hinnercent of wot 
 
 'twas all abeout — 
 Then afterward Vd drop 'is heye in a 
 
 knowin' sort o' woy, 
 A smile would steal across 'is face an' then 
 
 you'd 'ear 'im soy : 
 
 Hit's never well to talk too much; you 11 
 
 find that hi/ you do, 
 You 11 ' ave a 'eap o trouble a-piliri on to 
 
 you; 
 Hits better far to 'old your tongue, look 
 
 hinnercent and shoy — 
 No man was ever known to 'ang for wot 
 
 '<? didnt soy. 
 
 Now Ide 'e howned a parrot once, a sacri- 
 legious bird, 
 
 Hits language hit was horful, quite the 
 worst I ever 'eard ; 
 
 One day hit sat upon the stoop when a 
 stray dog passed hits cage — 
 79 
 
NO MAN WAS EVEK KNOWN TO ANG 
 FOE WOT 'E DIDN'T SOY. 
 
 At sight of this poor 'omeless cur, Poll 
 
 flew into a rage. 
 She yelled an' squawked an' called the dog 
 
 a most hoffensive name ; 
 The dog then made a dash at Poll — 'e 
 
 surely wan't to blame. 
 'E chewed Poll's tail hoff, bit 'er wings, an' 
 
 left 'er there 'alf dead ; 
 Just then Ide came hupon the scene an' 
 
 this to Polly said : 
 
 Hit's never well to talk too much; you 11 
 
 find that hif you do, 
 You 11 ' ave a 'eap d trouble a-pilin on to 
 
 you ; 
 Hit 's better far to 'old your tongue, look 
 
 hinnercent an shoy — 
 No man was ever known to 'ang for wot 
 
 ' e didnt soy. 
 
 One night Ide got a bit too much while 
 dining with some friends, — 
 
 Good liquor an' good fellowship to a flow 
 of reason tends ; 
 80 
 
NO MAN WAS EVEE KNOWN TO ANG 
 FOE WOT 'E DIDN'T SOY. 
 
 Ide's tongue at last was loosened, an' when 
 
 'e reached 'is 'ouse 
 At midnight 'e was greeted by 'is fond and 
 
 loving spouse. 
 'E started then to rail at 'er an' tell 'er wot 
 
 'e thought 
 Habout th' duties hof a woife, — 'twas 
 
 pleasure dearly bought; 
 She grabbed poor Ide, an' cuffed 
 
 'is ears, then threw 'im on 
 
 the floor, 
 An' standing there she softly^ 
 
 spoke these words 'ed 'eard 
 
 before ; 
 
 Hit's never well to talk too much; you 11 
 
 find that hi/ you do, 
 You 11 'ave a 'eap o' trouble a-pilin on to 
 
 you. 
 Hit's better far to 'old your tongue, look 
 
 hinnercent an shoy — 
 No man was ever known to ' ang for wot 
 
 ' e didn't soy. 
 
 81 
 
THE LAST STRAW. 
 
 His name is Litzschaikowtzski, — 
 Whene'er he telephones, 
 He wishes good kind Providence 
 Had christened him plain Jones. 
 
 For when a voice says, "Name, please? " 
 And he does his best to tell it — 
 The limit surely has been reached 
 When echo answers, " Spell it ! " 
 
 82 
 
THE COLORED 
 LOCHINVAR. 
 
 A coon named Ephrum Bascom 
 
 loved a Miss Amelia Barr. 
 One night she told him 'bout th' ride of 
 
 gay young Lochinvar ; 
 She filled Eph's head with romance 'bout 
 
 knights of high degree, 
 Of barons bold, an' ladies fair, an' deeds 
 
 of chivalry. 
 Next day Eph stole an ol' gray mule, then 
 
 made a suit of tin ; 
 An' like those knights he'd heard about 
 
 rode forth his bride to win. 
 He galloped to Amelia's house, an' as she 
 
 lay in bed 
 She heard Eph's voice out in the road, 
 
 an' this is what he said : 
 
 83 
 
THE COLORED LOCHINVAR. 
 
 O Miss Amelia, Tve come to steal y eh, 
 An take yd way from heah I dont care 
 
 whar. 
 Come be my blushiri bride, an dis milk 
 
 white steed we'll ride, 
 So come out an join yd colored Lochinvar. 
 
 The noise awoke Amelia's dad, an' think- 
 ing that some thief 
 Was prowling 'round, he grabbed his gun 
 
 and started after Eph. 
 Through the window pane he thrust the 
 
 gun, then fired at Ephrum's head. 
 Th' shot went low an' the old gray mule 
 
 received th' charge instead. 
 Fo' a minute all was still as death, then 
 
 waiting fo' no' mo' 
 Th' mule let out an awful wail an' down 
 
 th' road he toah. 
 Amelia called out, " Lochinvar, oh, come 
 
 back to youah bride," 
 But Eph had othah business, an thus to 
 
 her replied : 
 
 8 4 
 
THE COLOBED LOCHINVAB. 
 
 O Miss Amelia^ I got to leave you, 
 Fmgwine to let you stay jeswhah yd are; 
 Don't talk no mo to me 'bout dem knights 
 
 an chivalry , 
 Yd can get some othah coonfd Lochinvar. 
 
 85 
 
A DEPARTMENT STORE 
 DITTY. 
 
 Oh, how well do I remember ! 
 'Twas a warm day in September 
 That I foolishly went shopping 
 
 With my wife, a two months' bride. 
 As o'er the trip I ponder, 
 I vow ne'er again to wander 
 Into one of those department-stores, 
 
 No matter who my guide. 
 
 She carefully approached me, 
 
 And she wheedled and she coaxed me 
 
 To go along and help select 
 
 A pattern for a dress. 
 Little did I think on starting 
 Of how near we'd come to parting 
 Before we ended up that trip 
 
 Of sorrow and distress. 
 
 87 
 
A DEPARTMENT STOKE DITTY. 
 
 It was " Bargain Day," she told me, 
 As the store we entered boldly ; 
 I thought there was a riot 
 
 When we got inside the door. 
 There were females of all ages, 
 Some who ought to be in cages ; 
 For they fought like wild hyenas 
 
 Rushing madly through the store. 
 
 My heart was palpitating, 
 And my eyes with fear dilating, 
 As I gazed in terror at the scene 
 
 Which now before us passed. 
 Like a storm upon the ocean 
 Was this terrible commotion, 
 And something seemed to tell me 
 
 That this moment was our last. 
 
 Into this vortex whirling, 
 With my coat-tails round me curling, 
 We plunged together, vowing 
 That we'd get that dress or die. 
 
 83 
 
A DEPARTMENT STORE DITTY. 
 
 But what a foolish notion ! 
 
 When we struck that whirlpool 
 
 motion 
 We were rudely torn asunder, 
 
 With no chance to say " Good- 'f[ 
 bye !" 
 
 A big fat woman grasped me, 
 And in her arms she clasped me, 
 Then straightened back and threw 
 me 
 
 Some twenty feet or more. 
 I felt a sudden crashing, 
 Through a skylight I went dashing, 
 And when I gained my senses 
 
 I was on the basement floor. 
 
 Here were clothes-pins, tubs and blueing, 
 Washboards, mops, and pans for stewing, 
 And stacks of kitchen furniture 
 Where'er my eyes would roam. 
 
 89 
 
A DEPARTMENT STORE DITTY. 
 
 I had no time to tarry, 
 But ran like " the old Harry," 
 And up the stairs I made a dash 
 For " Home, Sweet Home." 
 
 But when I gained the landing 
 I found a bluecoat standing ; 
 My crazy-like appearance 
 
 Was suspicious, I've no doubt ; 
 Then he set my blood congealing 
 As he roared," So ! you've been stealing. 
 We've been watching you for weeks, 
 young man, 
 
 And now we've found you out." 
 
 Then toward the street we started, 
 
 But soon we too got parted. 
 
 Some females formed a flying wedge, 
 
 And away went Mr. Cop. 
 I offered no objection 
 To his seeming disaffection, 
 But 'round I went, gyrating; 
 
 I couldn't seem to stop. 
 90 
 
A DEPARTMENT STOEE DITTY. 
 
 I heard a shrill voice calling ; 
 " Cash !" on the air was falling ; 
 And knowing that my wife would be 
 
 Wherever that was found, 
 For this spot I now went tearing, 
 For my safety little caring, 
 If I could only reach the place 
 
 And find her safe and sound. 
 
 There I saw her calmly standing, 
 While to her a clerk was handing 
 A measly little bundle ; 
 
 'Twas the cause of all my woe. 
 Then turning she smiled sweetly, 
 And stepping up to greet me, 
 Said, " Oh, here you are, my darling, 
 
 Are you ready now to go ?" 
 
 That she was sane I doubted. 
 " Ready ?" I loudly shouted, 
 " Well, you can bet I'm ready." 
 Then I grasped her by the wrist. 
 
 91 
 
A DEPARTMENT STORE DITTY. 
 
 "In the future when you're dropping 
 Into this mad-house shopping, 
 Please remember it's my busy day 
 And scratch me off your list." 
 
 Now before I'm disappearing, 
 To all married men in hearing 
 I have a word of warning, 
 
 And perhaps 't will save your life. 
 Get a football suit well padded, 
 Have a course in wrestling added ; 
 For you certainly will need them 
 
 If you're shopping with your wife. 
 
 92 
 
^ 
 
 THE DESERTED FARM. 
 
 By an old, deserted farm I chanced to pass 
 
 to-day, 
 With its battered windows, sunken roof, 
 
 and clapboards warped and gray. 
 And looking through the open door at 
 
 rooms now cold and bleak, 
 I thought of all that it might tell if it could 
 
 only speak ; 
 Of the joy it gave the loving pair who 
 
 first came years ago, 
 And called it home and sat beside the fire- 
 side's ruddy glow. 
 While winter storms beat loud against the 
 
 frosty window-pane, 
 No matter what the world outside, here 
 
 peace within would reign. 
 
 93 
 
THE DESEBTED FARM. 
 
 I felt the kitchen's genial warmth, with 
 
 pans like burnished steel, 
 And heard the steady droning of the good 
 
 wife's spinning wheel. 
 I saw the evening shadows on the wall flit 
 
 to and fro, 
 The rafters hung with ears of corn and 
 
 peppers in a row; 
 Then Christmas-time and the relatives who 
 
 gathered once a year 
 Around the board weighed down with all 
 
 its wealth of homely cheer. 
 The table cleared, then came the strife 
 
 beneath the mistletoe 
 To gain the kiss that caused the blush on 
 
 maiden cheek to glow. 
 
 The seasons change, the years roll on, the 
 tenants come and go ; 
 
 Each has his cup of pleasure, and each his 
 share of woe. 
 
 First comes the happy wedding; then- 
 death turns joy to tears ; 
 
 94 
 
THE DESERTED FARM. 
 
 Thus follows each successive scene that 
 
 marks the passing years. 
 How like the tenants of the past : — naught 
 
 now remains to tell 
 Of all its former glory but the old deserted 
 
 shell. 
 Its mouldering form will soon return to 
 
 dust from whence it came ; 
 Then all that's left to mark the spot is 
 
 the memory of its name. 
 
 With weather-beaten visage this old 
 deserted farm 
 
 Brings back the days of long ago, with 
 all their added charm 
 
 To those who revel in the past and by- 
 gone memories seek, 
 
 Oh, what a story it might tell, if it could 
 only speak. 
 
 95 
 
A BOY'S COMPLAINT. 
 
 My Ma spends nearly all the 
 time 
 A-findin fault with me ; 
 Ses my manners are jes' 
 shockin' 
 An' mos' scanalous to see. 
 
 An' every time that comp'ny 
 comes 
 I drive her nearly wild ; 
 She says that folks '11 surely 
 say 
 I am a spoiled child. 
 
 I never do a single thing 
 
 That seems to her jes' right; 
 An' it's " Henry, don't ! " and 
 " Henry, sh-h," 
 From mornin' until night. 
 9 6 
 
A BOY S COMPLAINT. 
 
 I'm gettin purty sick of it, 
 
 An' if I aint let be, 
 I'll take my bank an' empty it 
 
 An' run away to sea. 
 
 Because I use my knife fer pie, 
 
 Ma thinks it is a sin ; 
 The last time that 1 used a fork 
 
 I jabbed it in my chin. 
 
 It's perfeckly disgustin', 
 
 These rules they make fer boys ; 
 Wy don't folks mind their business 
 
 An' quit harpin' 'bout " our noise ? " 
 
 Boys is like the animals, 
 
 They like to feel they're free 
 
 To romp around and shake theirselves, 
 An' see what they can see. 
 
 And if they wants to bite their nails, 
 Er cross their legs, er dance, 
 
 Why not let 'em do it, 
 
 Even if they tear their pants ? 
 
 97 
 
A BOY S COMPLAINT. 
 
 I'm jest a-longin' fer the time 
 
 When I'll be big like Pa, 
 And shave myself and stay out nights, 
 
 An' answer back to Ma. 
 
 If ever that time comes, you bet, 
 
 I'll be dignified, an' say, 
 " Too much manners is bad fer boys, 
 
 An' now you're gettin' your pay." 
 
 98 
 
 A 
 
OCTOBER. 
 
 The foliage now is slowly turning, 
 Shifting its summer cloak of green 
 
 To one surpassing royal splendor, 
 
 The gift of Autumn to woodland scene. 
 
 The hilltops, one vast blaze of glory, 
 Seen decked in holiday attire, 
 
 Tinging the sky with a color vivid 
 
 As light that glows from some forest fire. 
 
 The voices of Nature's myriad children 
 
 In plaintive key on our senses fall, 
 Hinting of days when the warmth of 
 Autumn 
 Will be chilled by Winter's snow-white 
 pall. 
 
 We thus are brought to an understanding 
 Of the perfectness of the Master's plan — 
 
 To make of nature a mighty canvas, 
 The paintings thereon His gift to man. 
 
 99 
 
 
GOOD EVENIN' MISTAH MOON? 
 
 When Enoch Thompson hummed a bar 
 
 of " Sweet By-and-By " 
 You knew a truck-patch soon would be a 
 
 water-milyun shy, 
 An' one patch in pa'ticular was his supreme 
 
 delight, 
 An' to this spot he wandered on a dark 
 
 an' cloudy night. 
 Beneath the fence he crawled with care, an' 
 
 there upon his knees 
 A big round juicy milyun he was just 
 
 about to seize, 
 When sudden from behind a cloud the 
 
 moon burst forth and shed 
 Its light on Enoch, who looked up and 
 
 sheepishly then said : 
 
GOOD EVENIN , MISTAH MOON. 
 
 Why good evening Mistah Moon, I say 
 
 good eveniri ', 
 Ahrit you 'peariri rather soon Wound 
 
 heah dis eveniri ? 
 Ise some special work to do, ari de less 
 
 I see of you 
 I'd appreciate exceedingly dis eveniri. 
 So good eveniri , Mistah Moon, I say 
 
 good eveniri ', 
 You re appeariri much too soon Wound 
 
 heah dis eveniri . 
 I dorit like yd company, it's obnoxious 
 
 like to me, 
 So good eveniri , Mistah Moon, I say 
 
 good eveniri . 
 
 Now Enoch loved a dusky maid, Cadosia 
 
 Green by name, 
 One look from her was quite enough to 
 
 set his heart aflame ; 
 But old man Green had vowed he would 
 
 fill Enoch full of shot, 
 If he caught him with Cadosia he would 
 
 shoot him on the spot. 
 
GOOD EVENIN , MISTAH MOON. 
 
 From a party Enoch had returned with 
 
 her one evening late, 
 And sheltered by the darkness they stood 
 
 cooing by the gate. 
 'Twas Enoch's chance to claim a kiss ; 
 
 " Yum- Yum " he might have said, 
 But alas ! jus' then the moon burst forth 
 
 an' this was heard instead : 
 
 Why good evenin , Mist ah Moon, I say 
 
 good evenin , 
 Ahrit you 'pearin rather soon Wound 
 
 heah dis evenin ? 
 Ise some special work to do, an de less 
 
 I see of you 
 I'd appreciate exceedingly dis evenin . 
 So good evenin, Mist ah Moon, I say 
 
 good evenin , 
 You re appearin much too soon round 
 
 heah dis evenin . 
 I dont like yd company, if s obnoxious 
 
 like to me, 
 So good evenin , Mist ah Moon, I say, 
 
 good evenin '. 
 1 02 
 
CALAMITY BROWN. 
 
 Talk about misfortune! there 
 
 was a feller in our town, 
 His name was Roscoe Ebenezer 
 
 Adoniram Brown, 
 It started when he got that name, 
 
 and from that very day 
 He kep a-hevin' accidents, an' 
 
 sickness came his way. 
 
 Before he reached the age of two he'd hed 
 
 the whoopin'-cough, 
 Measles, croup an' chilblains, an' blown a 
 
 finger off. 
 His afflictions were so numerous that he 
 
 got a wide renown, 
 An' folks would always speak of him as 
 
 ol' Calamity Brown. 
 
 v>3 
 
CALAMITY BKOWN. 
 
 He'd hed the rheumatism, warts, scurvy 
 
 an' the gout ; 
 Also hed all kinds of cramps (they turned 
 
 him inside out), 
 Appendicitis, wakeful nights, an' bunions 
 
 on his feet, 
 Dyspepsia, rash an' rickets, salt-rheum an' 
 
 prickly heat. 
 
 He'd been run over by the cars, been bitten 
 
 by a snake, 
 Captured by the Indians who tried to burn 
 
 him at the stake. 
 Struck by lightning, broke a leg falling 
 
 from a tree, 
 Nearly drowned while bathing, an' got 
 
 water on the knee. 
 
 In spite of these afflictions, which brought 
 
 so many stings, 
 Brown's trouble took another course ; it 
 
 began by losin' things. 
 104 
 
CALAMITY BROWN. 
 
 At first he lost his pocket-book, followed 
 
 by his cane, 
 Next he lost a bunch of keys, and then his 
 
 watch and chain ; 
 
 Then he lost his favorite horse, together 
 
 with his cow ; 
 A cyclone took his flock of hens, a stone 
 
 drag and a plow. 
 One day he tried to blast some rocks from 
 
 off a neighbor's farm ; 
 The thing went prematurely off an' he lost 
 
 a leg an' arm. 
 
 The blast took hair an' eyebrows, also took 
 
 his sight ; 
 This caused a loss of memory, his nerve 
 
 an' appetite. 
 Brown had a tragic ending; as he lay one 
 
 day in bed 
 He thought of all he had endured, and 
 
 then he lost his head. 
 
 i°5 
 
LITTLE DAN CUPID. 
 
 Have you heard of that fly little, sly little 
 man, Dan Cupid by name, or diminu- 
 tive Dan ? 
 
 A marksman and hunter whose one aim in 
 life, is to change youth and maid into 
 husband and wife. 
 
 With a quiver of arrows and a cute little 
 bow, a heart is the target he always 
 lays low. 
 
 106 
 
LITTLE DAN CUPID. 
 
 So if marriage is hateful and distasteful the 
 plan, watch out for the darts of 
 diminutive Dan. 
 My, eye ! What a smart little man 
 Is the party we know as diminutive Dan. 
 
 Dan, Dan, Dan. Always hunting a 
 
 maid or a man. 
 In all kinds of weather, to bring them 
 
 together he tries just as hard as 
 
 he can. 
 So beware of this fly little fellow, with 
 
 the shrewd matrimonial plan. 
 I bet you he'd get you, if ever he met 
 
 you, this fly little, sly little man. 
 
 Now a bachelor once said he'd heard 
 quite enough of the conquests of 
 Cupid, 'twas rubbish and stuff. 
 
 Then he challenged Dan's prowess, called 
 marriage a joke, said he never would 
 place his neck under the yoke. 
 
 107 
 
LITTLE DAN CUPID. 
 
 Quickly Dan spied a spinster, and then 
 like a flash, shot a dart through her 
 heart and this bachelor rash. 
 When they married, Dan's gift was a 
 lemonade set, with these words, " To 
 the groom. Lest you ever forget." 
 My, eye What a bright little man. 
 When there's wooing a-brewing, then 
 watch out for Dan. 
 
 Dan, Dan, Dan. Always hunting a 
 
 maid or a man. 
 In all kinds of weather, to bring them 
 
 together he tries just as hard as 
 
 he can. 
 So beware of this fly little fellow, with 
 
 the shrewd matrimonial plan. 
 I bet you he d get you, if ever he met 
 
 you, this fly little, sly little man. 
 
 1 08 
 
"CR. AND DR." 
 
 There are three little letters in the alphabet 
 Which in two different groups are fre- 
 quently met ; 
 One is an r, and preceded by D 
 Tells a very different tale than when fol- 
 lowing C. 
 
 Of this same little story these two groups 
 
 tell, 
 One smacks of heaven, while the other is 
 
 — well, 
 You share my opinion, I am positive you 
 
 do, 
 If ever you have dallied with an I. O. U. 
 109 
 
CK. AND DK. 
 
 When Dr. at the end of your name takes 
 
 place, 
 Trouble starts brewing at a very rapid pace ; 
 But oh, what a difference in life's great game 
 When Cr. occurs at the end of your name ! 
 
 Now, friend, should you wish to keep your 
 
 stock above par, 
 Be careful which letter precedes the r, 
 Do the best that you can to always make C 
 Join forces with r instead of with D. 
 
 3IO 
 
A KEEPSAKE. 
 
 The night was still, and peeping through 
 the treetops 
 The harvest moon hung radiant in the 
 sky, 
 Revealing by its light two lovers sighing 
 
 And living o'er again the days gone by. 
 She turns at length, and, trembling with 
 emotion, 
 Her voice betraying feelings deeply 
 stirred, 
 She hands to him a something in the moon- 
 light 
 And this is what the night wind over- 
 heard : 
 
 Take this little token as a keepsake, 
 
 Treasure it in memory s wreath, I beg ; 
 
 It's just a little leaf of birds eye maple, 
 A leaf that grew on father s wooden leg. 
 
A KEEPSAKE. 
 
 He took the little leaf with fear and trem- 
 bling, 
 For well did he remember how he had 
 Been kicked clean from the porch oft in 
 the darkness 
 And chased by her old wooden-legged 
 dad. 
 Once more he felt its imprint of affection 
 That caused him to remain ten days in 
 bed, 
 And recollecting all that leg had cost him, 
 He crushed the leaf within his hand and 
 said : 
 
 I'll take this little token, but hereafter 
 In my nightly prayers there s one thing 
 I will beg, 
 'That no sign of life in him will sprout to 
 haunt me 
 As this leaf that grew upon his wooden 
 leg. 
 
HAY FEVER. 
 
 Hay fever's reound agin — 
 
 Feel it in the air, 
 Woods are full of victims, 
 
 Sneezin' everywhere. 
 
 Gits areound as reg'lar 
 
 As Fo'tho' July; 
 Ain't no way o' stoppin' it, 
 
 Don't care heow you try. 
 
 Smellin' salts an' atomizers 
 
 Ain't worth a sou ; 
 When yeou git th' ginooine 
 It's all off with veou. 
 
 See the poor afflicted, — 
 
 Ev'ry little breeze 
 Makes 'em draw a long breath, 
 
 Then sneeze, an' sneeze, an' sneeze. 
 
 "3 
 
HAT FEVEB. 
 
 Ef yeou want a riot 
 
 An' be buried neath th' sod, 
 Jes' catch a few hay feverites 
 
 An' shake some golden-rod. 
 
 Out '11 come th' handkerchiefs, 
 Tears '11 start to flow ; 
 
 Then you'll hear a version 
 Of "Blow, Bugle, Blow!" 
 
 Never was but one cure, 
 So I've heard it said; 
 
 Feller bought a shot-gun 
 An' then blew off his head. 
 
 "4 
 
OH, WOE IS ME. 
 
 My wife she bought a cook- 
 book called " The Young 
 Housekeeper's Guide," 
 
 All sorts of culinary feats 
 were chronicled inside. 
 
 She read the book, then hied 
 herself into a hardware 
 store 
 
 And bought a stock of bak- 
 ing tins, some fifty kinds 
 or more. 
 
 There were strainers, drain- 
 ers, roasters, toasters, with 
 now and then a few 
 
 Lemon squeezers, ice-cream freezers, forks 
 and funnels, too. 
 
 Imagine when I saw this pile, the awful 
 shock to me, 
 
 But what was worse the bill with them was 
 labeled C. O. D. 
 
 "5 
 
OH, WOE IS ME. 
 
 Sing woe to me, not ho to me, for it's woe to 
 
 me inside 
 Ever since my wife she bought that "Young 
 
 Housekeeper 1 s Guide. ' ' 
 I've read about the awful things a rarebit 
 
 fiend will see, 
 But when it comes to nightmares caused by 
 food, he's an amateur to me. 
 
 That very day she started in to try her 
 
 first receipt ; 
 She said 't would be raised biscuits and 
 
 they'd be, " oh, such a treat ! " 
 I found that was their proper name — they 
 
 raised things, that 's no lie. 
 They came near raising me all right to 
 
 " mansions in the sky." 
 I next ate what the book described 
 
 "broiled English sparrow's wing." 
 I felt so English that for hours I cried 
 
 " Long live the King ! " 
 She followed this with "layer cake," — how 
 
 I suffered eating that ! 
 For those layers laid for me all right, and 
 
 then they laid me flat. 
 
 116 
 
OH, WOE IS ME. 
 
 Sing woe to me, not ho to me, for it's woe to 
 
 me inside 
 Ever since my wife she bought that " Young 
 
 Housekeeper 's Guide." 
 Tve read about the awful things a rarebit 
 
 fiend will see, 
 But when it comes to nightmares caused by 
 
 food, he's an amateur to me. 
 
 A receipt she called " shrimp wiggle " was 
 
 a dish I'll ne'er forget. 
 That shrimp it started wiggling, and, by 
 
 Jove, it 's wiggling yet. 
 Next came some rolls called Parker House, 
 
 and if Parker could but see 
 The torture his receipt produced, I know 
 
 he'd pity me. 
 After I had eaten all of them that she could 
 
 bake, 
 She asked me if I thought they were " like 
 
 Mother used to make." 
 I stammered "Yes!" and since that time 
 
 that lie I can't forget, 
 For though that lie was long since told, 
 
 those rolls lie in here yet. 
 
 117 
 
OH, WOE IS ME. 
 
 Sing woe to me, not ho to me, for it's woe to 
 
 me inside 
 Ever since my wife she bought that "Young 
 
 Housekeeper 's Guide." 
 I've read about the awful things a rarebit 
 
 fiend will see, 
 But when it comes to nightmares caused by 
 
 food, he's an amateur to me. 
 
BEFORE AND AFTER. 
 
 BEFORE. 
 
 We'd been engaged for just a week, 
 And now that we must part, 
 
 The thought of it was maddening, 
 And it nearly broke my heart. 
 
 As I waved her adieus from the. steamer 
 She answered back from the pier, 
 
 And I murmured softly to myself, 
 
 "My, but isn't she dear ! " 
 
 AFTER. 
 
 A year has passed of married life, — 
 
 I received a note to-day 
 Written in Wifey's well-known hand, 
 
 " Send me fifty right away ! " 
 I thought of all she had cost me 
 
 During that one brief year, 
 And then I murmured softly, 
 
 " My, but isn't she dear " ! 
 119 
 
JkfcMTh, 
 
 THE TIN PEDDLER. 
 
 What now has become of the Yankee tin 
 peddler ? 
 Gone is this dickering tradesman of yore ; 
 With rag-bag and steelyards this bartering 
 meddler 
 Has made his last trip through the old 
 kitchen door. 
 
 Perched high on his seat, a foe to bad 
 weather ; 
 When a storm hovered near he pulled 
 in at the gate. 
 Said, " Dampness and tinware don't mix 
 well together. 
 " Why, Grandma, good mawnin ! " and 
 " How-de-do, Kate ! " 
 
THE TIN PEDDLEK. 
 
 No five- and ten-cent stores, no bargain-day 
 rushes, 
 No trading-stamp nonsense were known 
 in his day ; 
 His traveling storehouse of pans, pails and 
 brushes 
 Has fulfilled its mission and now passed 
 away. 
 
 'Twas " Good mawnin', Mis' Ketcham." 
 " Why, how-de-do, Aner, 
 I've been lookin' for you nigh on to a 
 week, 
 I can't get a drop through that pesky old 
 strainer, 
 And the pan you last sold me 's done 
 nothin' but leak." 
 
 "Why, Lawdy, Mis' Ketcham, I meant to 
 
 hev told ye 
 
 My tinware's reversible, new patent plan ; 
 
 If ye couldn't strain stuff through the 
 
 strainer I sold ye, 
 
 Why all ye need do is to jes' use th' pan." 
 
THE TIN PEDDLEK. 
 
 His wit, like his visage, as sharp as a briar, 
 Brought cheer and good-nature with 
 never a pain. 
 Oh, would that to-night you were here by 
 our fireside 
 To regale us with story and laughter 
 again. 
 
 So a toast to you, peddler ; in memory we 
 treasure 
 Your good-natured face, with the old 
 tin-cart too ; 
 We'll drink it in cider with equal good 
 measure 
 That was ever forthcoming when trading 
 with you. 
 
THE MUMMY AND THE 
 DUMMY. 
 
 All the world's a stage, says Shakespeare, 
 
 we the actors, life the play, 
 And the tabloid one I'll mention, it 
 
 occurred the other day. 
 The principals a Mummy from an old 
 
 Egyptian tomb, 
 And a lady tailor's dummy. Scene : a 
 
 musty auction room. 
 For weeks stored in a corner, he had noted 
 
 all her charms, 
 And his mummy love seemed striving to 
 
 enfold her in his arms. 
 One evening in the darkness like an echo 
 
 from the dead, 
 His pent-up feelings burst all bounds, and 
 
 this is what he said : 
 123 
 
THE MUMMY AND THE DUMMY. 
 
 Ob, I love you, Mistress Dummy, and 
 
 when curios get chummy, 
 A wedding is the sequel written in the 
 
 book of Fate, 
 And although Tm antiquated, still I'm 
 
 sure if we were mated, 
 Such a very novel union would be strictly 
 
 up-to-date. 
 
 But, alas, as often happens to a fond and 
 
 loving pair, 
 The plans the two had cherished proved 
 
 but castles in the air. 
 To a museum on the morrow in a box all 
 
 packed with hay, 
 Mr. Mummy from his Dummy he was 
 
 rudely shipped away. 
 While the latter, once so happy, now the 
 
 saddest of her race, 
 Is posing in a window somewhere down 
 
 near Hay ward Place. 
 
 124 
 
THE MUMMY AND THE DUMMY. 
 
 And when twilight shadows hover round 
 
 her form at close of day, 
 Tears roll down her waxen features and 
 
 she seems to hear him say : 
 
 Oh, I love you, Mistress Dummy, and 
 though far away, your Mummy 
 Is sighing for his sweetheart with a 
 passion ever true; 
 And though rudely separated, rest assured 
 until we're mated, 
 I shall always keep a corner in my 
 mummy heart for you. 
 
 Now the sequel of our story: — in his 
 
 museum home one day 
 Mr. Mummy's trust was shattered in a 
 
 most unseemly way. 
 For a pair of wax-work figures on a bench 
 
 across the aisle 
 Were placed where all could see them as 
 
 they wooed true lover style. 
 
 125 
 
THE MUMMY AND THE DUMMY. 
 
 Imagine what his feelings when the maiden 
 
 of the pair 
 Was seen to be none other than the tailor's 
 
 dummy fair. 
 Then his heart with grief seemed bursting 
 
 and his breast with anger stirred 
 As he framed and hissed this message 
 
 which the fickle dummy heard : 
 
 Oh, I loved you, Mistress Dummy, but 
 hereafter when a mummy 
 Is fool enough to let some tailor s dummy 
 turn his head, 
 I hope dynamite will Mow him where his 
 mother wouldn't know him, 
 For useless is the mummy who cant real- 
 ize he's dead. 
 
 126 
 
A QUESTION OF AUTHORITY. 
 
 Hoi' on dah a minute, Mistah Preachah 
 Man; 
 Wha's dat ah un'erstan' yo' to say — 
 Dat ah mus' agree to love an' 'onah dis 
 man, 
 An' likewise promise ah'll obey ? 
 
 No, sah ! Don' yo' count on mah makin* 
 dat mistake, 
 It's one ah's made too many times befo\ 
 Eve'y time ah's been mar'ied ah's 'lowed 
 dat ve'y point, 
 But ah nevah means to do it any mo'. 
 
 De idea ! Obeying dis yeah jaundiced 
 coh'loed coon, 
 De suggestion am a insult to mah sex. 
 Why de fact of mah 'greein' to honah such 
 as him 
 Lays me liable to p'rjury, ah specks. 
 127 
 
A QUESTION OF AUTHORITY. 
 
 Yo' men yo' seem to think dat yo' owners 
 
 ob de earf, 
 
 So't o' monarchs obah all dat yo' survey. 
 
 If dis narrah-chested dahkey's goin' to take 
 
 me fo' his wife, 
 
 Dah'll be changes in dis mattah of obey. 
 
 So Mistah Pahson, ah desiah yo' to 'radi- 
 cate dat wohd 
 Dat has alius been so 'noxious like to me, 
 An' take notice what ah'm saying, if dis 
 knot am fihmly tied, 
 Ah'm de one dat yo' can look to fo' de 
 fee. 
 
 128 
 
PEOPLE ARE SO DIFFERENT. 
 
 The people are so different in this gruff 
 old world of ours, 
 
 Some gather naught but rankest weeds, 
 while others seek the flowers. 
 
 Our tastes are such that of two roads one 
 person seeks the right, 
 
 The other takes the crooked path, as dark- 
 ness shuns the light. 
 
 So when a man comes 'long whose views 
 
 are not like yours or mine, 
 Don't treat him like a criminal or some 
 
 base libertine ; 
 Be generous to your neighbor, God's gifts 
 
 are rare, 'tis true, 
 Just think how others have been robbed 
 
 to shower them all on you. 
 129 
 
PLAY BALL, BILL. 
 
 'Twas at a baseball game one day, 
 Where I was passing an hour away, 
 I chanced to hear some wisdom rare, 
 The last thing I had looked for there. 
 'Twas from the catcher, a wise old fox 
 Who was coaching a youngster in the box 
 Who badly needed a kindly word, 
 And these are the ones 1 overheard. 
 
 Get 'em over the plate ', Bill, play ball for fair ! 
 Keep your feet on the ground, boy! Don't go 
 
 up in the air ! 
 Many a race has been landed, when it looked 
 
 in doubt, 
 No game is lost, Bill, till the last man's out. 
 131 
 
PLAY BALL, BILL. 
 
 Could Solomon wise, in word or deed, 
 Give better advice to a friend in need ? 
 And oftentimes in Life's great game, 
 When trouble and worry around me came, 
 I thought of the catcher, and once more 
 
 heard 
 The voice of cheer and the helpful word, 
 And they served a mission and smoothed 
 
 my way, 
 As they helped his pal in the box that day. 
 
 Get* em over the plate, Bill! Play ball for fair! 
 Keep your feet on the ground, boy ! Don't go 
 
 up in the air ! 
 Many a race has been landed, when it looked 
 
 in doubt, 
 No game is lost, Billy till the last man's out. 
 
 132 
 
STORIES. 
 
 Since the days of Father Adam down to 
 
 the present time, 
 We've had the story-teller in every race 
 
 and clime. 
 Take David, for example, who caused 
 
 Goliath's fall, 
 And with his harp and well-told tales sub- 
 dued old mad King Saul. 
 Then came the wandering minstrel, along 
 
 the King's highway, 
 Who lightened many an aching heart with 
 
 song and roundelay. 
 His hour is brief who tells the tale and 
 
 soon, perchance, he lies 
 In some neglected churchyard, but the 
 
 story never dies. 
 
 The jester, too, with cap and bells and 
 
 many a mirthful tale, 
 Comes next with quick and merry prank, 
 
 his master to regale, 
 
 133 
 
STORIES. 
 
 By cottage hearth, at wayside inn, around 
 
 the roaring fire, 
 We find the tale continued by the youth 
 
 and gray-haired sire. 
 The lover 'neath the casement of his lady's 
 
 sheltered bower 
 Pours forth sly Cupid's story, unmindful 
 
 of the hour. 
 And so down through the misty past, they 
 
 march an endless throng 
 With sunshine in their story and laughter 
 
 in their song. 
 
 Stories ! Stories ! Stories I new and old. 
 
 Stories well related, stories badly told. 
 
 We hear them from the pulpit, on the street 
 
 and railway car. 
 At banquet, office, from the bench, in fact, 
 
 where' er we are. 
 So, as the story is the thing, to be right up to 
 
 date 
 I, too consign my humble share and leave the 
 
 rest to fate. 
 
uEC 17 190*?