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<body>
<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 47194 ***</div>

<h1>HUMOROUS HITS<br />
<small><small>AND</small><br />
How to Hold an Audience</small></h1>


<p class="center">A COLLECTION OF SHORT SELECTIONS,<br />
STORIES AND SKETCHES<br />
FOR ALL OCCASIONS</p>

<p class="center" style="margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; font-weight: bold;">By</p>

<p class="center">GRENVILLE KLEISER</p>


<p class="center"><i>Author of "How to Speak in Public"</i></p>

<p class="center"><i>THIRTEENTH EDITION</i></p>

<div class="figcenter" style="width: 150px;">
<img src="images/i_004.png" width="150" height="141" alt="" />
</div>
<p class="center">FUNK &amp; WAGNALLS COMPANY<br />
NEW YORK AND LONDON</p>


<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Copyright 1908 by</span><br />
FUNK &amp; WAGNALLS COMPANY<br />
<i>Printed in the United States of America</i><br />
Published March, 1908
</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h2><a name="INTRODUCTORY" id="INTRODUCTORY"></a>INTRODUCTORY</h2>


<p>In preparing this volume the author has been guided by
his own platform experience extending over twelve years.
During that time he has given hundreds of public recitals
before audiences of almost every description, and in all
parts of the country. It may not be considered presumptuous,
therefore, for him to offer some practical suggestions
on the art of entertaining and holding an audience, and to
indicate certain selections which he has found have in
themselves the elements of success.</p>

<p>The "encore fiend," as he is sometimes called, is so ubiquitous
and insistent that no speaker or reader can afford
to ignore him, and, indeed, must prepare for him in advance.
To find material that will satisfy him in one or in
a dozen of the ordinary books of selections is an almost
impossible task. It is only too obvious that many compilations
of the kind are put together by persons who have
had little or no practical platform experience. In an attempt
to remedy this defect this volume has been prepared.</p>

<p>It is believed that the book will be valuable not only to
the amateur and the professional reader, speaker, elocutionist,
and entertainer, but also to the after-dinner and
impromptu speaker, the politician who wants to make a
"hit," the business man who wishes to tell a good story
and tell it effectively, the school-teacher in arranging her
"Friday Afternoon" programs, as well as for reading
aloud in the family circle, and for many other occasions.</p>

<p>Providing, as this work does, helpful hints on how to hold
an audience, it is hoped that the additional suggestions
offered regarding the use of the voice and its modulation,
the art of pausing, the development of feeling and energy,
the use of gesture and action, the cultivation of the imagination,
the committing of selections to memory, and the standing
before an audience, while not as elaborate and detailed
as found in a regular manual of elocution, will be of practical
benefit to those who can not conveniently command
the services of a personal instructor.</p>

<p>The author has been greatly assisted in this undertaking
not only by the kind permission of publishers and authors
to use their copyrighted work, but also by the hearty cooperation
of many distinguished platform speakers and
readers who have generously contributed successful selections
not hitherto published.</p>

<p>The author gratefully acknowledges the special permission
granted him by the publishers to print the following
copyright selections: "Keep A-goin'!" the Bobbs-Merrill
Company, "A Modern Romance," the Publishers of <i>The
Smart Set</i>; "The Fool's Prayer," Houghton, Mifflin &amp;
Company; "Mammy's Li'l Boy," and "'Späcially Jim,"
the Century Company; "Counting One Hundred," the
Lothrop, Lee &amp; Shepard Company; "At Five O'clock Tea,"
the Publishers of <i>Lippincott's Magazine</i>.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Grenville Kleiser.</span></p>

<p class="center"><i>New York City,
February, 1908.</i>
</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h2><a name="CONTENTS" id="CONTENTS"></a>CONTENTS</h2>

<table class="toc" summary="Contents">
<tr>
  <td class="ccn">INTRODUCTORY</td>
  <td></td>
   <td class="pag"><a href="#INTRODUCTORY">v</a></td>
</tr><tr>
<td class="ccn" colspan="2">PART I&mdash;HOW TO HOLD AN AUDIENCE</td>
  <td></td>
  <td></td>
</tr><tr>
  <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">The Voice</span></td>
  <td></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_5">4</a></td>
</tr><tr>
  <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">The Breath</span></td>
  <td></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_6">6</a></td>
</tr><tr>
   <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">Modulation</span></td>
  <td></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_8">8</a></td>
</tr><tr>
   <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">Pausing</span></td>
  <td></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_10">10</a></td>
</tr><tr>
  <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">Feeling and Energy</span></td>
  <td></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_11">11</a></td>
</tr><tr>
  <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">Gesture and Action</span></td>
  <td></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_12">12</a></td>
</tr><tr>
   <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">Impersonation</span></td>
  <td></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_13">13</a></td>
</tr><tr>
  <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">Articulation and Pronunciation</span></td>
  <td></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_14">13</a></td>
</tr><tr>
  <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">Imagination</span></td>
  <td></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_15">14</a></td>
</tr><tr>
  <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">How to Memorize a Selection</span></td>
  <td></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_16">16</a></td>
</tr><tr>
   <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">Before the Audience</span></td>
  <td></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_18">18</a></td>
</tr><tr>
<td class="ccn" colspan="2">PART II&mdash;HUMOROUS HITS</td>
  <td></td>
  <td></td>
</tr><tr>
  <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">The Train-misser</span></td>
  <td class="aut"><i>James Whitcomb Riley</i></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_23">23</a></td>
</tr><tr>
  <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">The Elocutionist's Curfew</span></td>
  <td class="aut"><i>W. D. Nesbit</i></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_24">24</a></td>
</tr><tr>
   <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">Melpomenus Jones</span></td>
  <td class="aut"><i>Stephen Leacock</i></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_25a">25</a></td>
</tr><tr>
   <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">Her Fifteen Minutes</span></td>
  <td class="aut"><i>Tom Masson</i></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_28">28</a></td>
</tr><tr>
  <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">The Foxes' Tails</span></td>
  <td class="aut"><i>Anonymous</i></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_29a">29</a></td>
</tr><tr>
  <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">The Dead Kitten</span> </td>
  <td class="aut dit">"</td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_33">33</a></td>
</tr><tr>
   <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">The Weather Fiend</span> </td>
  <td class="aut dit">"</td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_34">34</a></td>
</tr><tr>
   <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">The Race Question</span></td>
  <td class="aut"><i>Paul Laurence Dunbar</i></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_36">35</a></td>
</tr><tr>
  <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">When the Woodbine Turns Red</span></td>
  <td class="aut"><i>Anonymous</i></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_38">38</a></td>
</tr><tr>
  <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">Cupid's Casuistry</span></td>
  <td class="aut"><i>W. J. Lampton</i></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_39">39</a></td>
</tr><tr>
   <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">When Mah Lady Yawns</span></td>
  <td class="aut"><i>Charles T. Grilley</i></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_39a">39</a></td>
</tr><tr>
<td class="sct"><span class="smcap">Watchin' the Sparkin'</span></td>
  <td class="aut"><i>Fred Emerson Brooks</i></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_41">40</a></td>
</tr><tr>
  <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">The Way of a Woman</span></td>
  <td class="aut"><i>Byron W. King</i></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_42a">42</a></td>
</tr><tr>
   <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">The Yacht Club Speech</span></td>
  <td class="aut"><i>Anonymous</i></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_44">43</a></td>
</tr><tr>
   <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">Mammy's Li'l' Boy</span></td>
  <td class="aut"><i>H. S. Edwards</i></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_45">44</a></td>
</tr><tr>
  <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">Corydon</span></td>
  <td class="aut"><i>Thomas Bailey Aldrich</i></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_47">47</a></td>
</tr><tr>
  <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">Gib Him One ub Mine</span></td>
  <td class="aut"><i>Daniel Webster Davis</i></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_49a">49</a></td>
</tr><tr>
   <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">A Lesson with the Fan</span></td>
  <td class="aut"><i>Anonymous</i></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_50a">50</a></td>
</tr><tr>
   <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">The Undertow</span></td>
  <td class="aut"><i>Carrie Blake Morgan</i></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_51a">51</a></td>
</tr><tr>
  <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">Marketing</span></td>
  <td class="aut"><i>Anonymous</i></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_52">52</a></td>
</tr><tr>
  <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">A Spring Idyl on "Grass"</span></td>
  <td class="aut"><i>Nixon Waterman</i></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_53">52</a></td>
</tr><tr>
   <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">Introducin' the Speecher</span></td>
  <td class="aut"><i>Edwin L. Barker</i></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_54">54</a></td>
</tr><tr>
<td class="sct"><span class="smcap">Counting One Hundred</span></td>
  <td class="aut"><i>James M. Bailey</i></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_57">57</a></td>
</tr><tr>
  <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">They Never Quarreled</span></td>
  <td class="aut"><i>Anonymous</i></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_58">58</a></td>
</tr><tr>
   <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">Song of the "L"</span></td>
  <td class="aut"><i>Grenville Kleiser</i></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_60">60</a></td>
</tr><tr>
   <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">The Village Oracle</span></td>
  <td class="aut"><i>J. L. Harbour</i></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_62">62</a></td>
</tr><tr>
  <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">If I Can Be by Her</span></td>
  <td class="aut"><i>Benjamin Franklin King</i></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_65">65</a></td>
</tr><tr>
  <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">McCarthy and McManus</span></td>
  <td class="aut"><i>Anonymous</i></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_67">66</a></td>
</tr><tr>
   <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">And She Cried</span></td>
  <td class="aut"><i>Minna Irving</i></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_68">68</a></td>
</tr><tr>
   <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">Dot Leedle Boy</span></td>
  <td class="aut"><i>James Whitcomb Riley</i></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_69">69</a></td>
</tr><tr>
  <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">Mr. Dooley on the Grip</span></td>
  <td class="aut"><i>Finlay Peter Dunne</i></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_73">73</a></td>
</tr><tr>
  <td class="sct"> <span class="smcap">A Rainy Day Episode</span></td>
  <td class="aut"><i>Anonymous</i></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_75">75</a></td>
</tr><tr>
   <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">I Knew He Would Come if I Waited</span></td>
  <td class="aut"><i>H. G. Williamson</i></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_76">76</a></td>
</tr><tr>
<td class="sct"><span class="smcap">Love's Moods and Senses</span></td>
  <td class="aut"><i>Anonymous</i></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_77">77</a></td>
</tr><tr>
  <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">A Nocturnal Sketch</span></td>
  <td class="aut"><i>Thomas Hood</i></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_78">78</a></td>
</tr><tr>
  <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">Katie's Answer</span></td>
  <td class="aut"><i>Anonymous</i></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_80">79</a></td>
</tr><tr>
   <td class="sct">"<span class="smcap">'Späcially Jim</span>"</td>
  <td class="aut dit">"</td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_81">80</a></td>
</tr><tr>
   <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">Agnes, I Love Thee!</span></td>
  <td class="aut dit">"</td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_81a">81</a></td>
</tr><tr>
  <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">The Gorilla</span></td>
  <td class="aut dit">"</td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_82">82</a></td>
</tr><tr>
  <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">Banging a Sensational Novelist</span></td>
  <td class="aut dit">"</td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_83">83</a></td>
</tr><tr>
   <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">Hopkins' Last Moments</span></td>
  <td class="aut dit">"</td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_84">84</a></td>
</tr><tr>
<td class="sct"><span class="smcap">The Fairies' Tea</span></td>
  <td class="aut dit">"</td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_86">85</a></td>
</tr><tr>
  <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">Counting Eggs</span></td>
  <td class="aut"><i>Anonymous</i></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_86">86</a></td>
</tr><tr>
  <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">The Oatmobile</span></td>
  <td class="aut dit">"</td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_88">87</a></td>
</tr><tr>
   <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">Almost Beyond Endurance</span></td>
  <td class="aut"><i>James Whitcomb Riley</i></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_90">89</a></td>
</tr><tr>
   <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">Proof Positive</span></td>
  <td class="aut"><i>Anonymous</i></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_91">90</a></td>
</tr><tr>
  <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">The Irish Philosopher</span></td>
  <td class="aut dit">"</td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_91">91</a></td>
</tr><tr>
  <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">Belagcholly</span></td>
  <td class="aut dit">"</td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_93">93</a></td>
</tr><tr>
   <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">A Pantomime Speech</span></td>
  <td class="aut dit">"</td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_94">93</a></td>
</tr><tr>
<td class="sct"><span class="smcap">The Original Lamb</span></td>
  <td class="aut dit">"</td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_95">95</a></td>
</tr><tr>
  <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">When Pa Was a Boy</span></td>
  <td class="aut"><i>S. E. Kiser</i></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_96">95</a></td>
</tr><tr>
  <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">The Freckled-faced Girl</span></td>
  <td class="aut"><i>Anonymous</i></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_97">96</a></td>
</tr><tr>
   <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">Willie</span></td>
  <td class="aut"><i>Max Ehrmann</i></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_98">98</a></td>
</tr><tr>
   <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">Amateur Night</span></td>
  <td class="aut"><i>Anonymous</i></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_99">98</a></td>
</tr><tr>
  <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">Bounding the United States</span></td>
  <td class="aut"><i>John Fiske</i></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_101">101</a></td>
</tr><tr>
  <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">Der Dog und der Lobster</span></td>
  <td class="aut"><i>Anonymous</i></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_102">102</a></td>
</tr><tr>
   <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">He Laughed Last</span></td>
  <td class="aut dit">"</td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_104">103</a></td>
</tr><tr>
<td class="sct"><span class="smcap">Norah Murphy and the Spirits</span></td>
  <td class="aut"><i>Henry Hatton</i></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_105">104</a></td>
</tr><tr>
  <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">Opie Read</span></td>
  <td class="aut"><i>Wallace Bruce Amsbary</i></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_107">107</a></td>
</tr><tr>
  <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">The Village Choir</span></td>
  <td class="aut"><i>Anonymous</i></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_109">108</a></td>
</tr><tr>
   <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">Billy of Nebraska</span></td>
  <td class="aut"><i>J. W. Bengough</i></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_110">110</a></td>
</tr><tr>
   <td class="sct"> <span class="smcap">Dot Lambs Vot Mary Haf Got</span></td>
  <td class="aut"><i>Anonymous</i></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_113">112</a></td>
</tr><tr>
  <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">Georga Washingdone</span></td>
  <td class="aut dit">"</td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_114">113</a></td>
</tr><tr>
  <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">Da 'Mericana Girl</span></td>
  <td class="aut"><i>T. A. Daly</i></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_114">114</a></td>
</tr><tr>
   <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">Becky Miller</span></td>
  <td class="aut"><i>Anonymous</i></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_116">115</a></td>
</tr><tr>
<td class="sct"><span class="smcap">Pat and the Mayor</span></td>
  <td class="aut dit">"</td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_117">116</a></td>
</tr><tr>
  <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">The Wind and the Moon</span></td>
  <td class="aut"><i>George MacDonald</i></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_118">118</a></td>
</tr><tr>
  <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">Total Annihilation</span></td>
  <td class="aut"><i>Anonymous</i></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_120a">120</a></td>
</tr><tr>
   <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">Ups and Downs of Married Life</span></td>
  <td class="aut dit">"</td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_121">121</a></td>
</tr><tr>
   <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">The Crooked Mouth Family</span></td>
  <td class="aut dit">"</td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_123">122</a></td>
</tr><tr>
  <td class="sct">"<span class="smcap">Imph-m</span>"</td>
  <td class="aut dit">"</td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_124">124</a></td>
</tr><tr>
  <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">The Usual Way</span></td>
  <td class="aut dit">"</td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_125">125</a></td>
</tr><tr>
   <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">Nothing Suited Him</span></td>
  <td class="aut dit">"</td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_126">126</a></td>
</tr><tr>
<td class="sct"><span class="smcap">A Litte Feller</span></td>
  <td class="aut dit">"</td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_127">126</a></td>
</tr><tr>
  <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">Robin Tamson's Smiddy</span></td>
  <td class="aut"><i>Alexander Rodger</i></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_128">127</a></td>
</tr><tr>
  <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">A Big Mistake</span></td>
  <td class="aut"><i>Anonymous</i></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_129">129</a></td>
</tr><tr>
   <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">Lord Dundreary's Letter</span></td>
  <td class="aut dit">"</td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_131">131</a></td>
</tr><tr>
   <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">Slang Phrases</span></td>
  <td class="aut dit">"</td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_134">133</a></td>
</tr><tr>
  <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">The Merchant and the Book Agent</span></td>
  <td class="aut dit">"</td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_134a">134</a></td>
</tr><tr>
  <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">The Coon's Lullaby</span></td>
  <td class="aut dit">"</td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_136">136</a></td>
</tr><tr>
   <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">Parody on Barbara Frietchie</span></td>
  <td class="aut dit">"</td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_138">137</a></td>
</tr><tr>
<td class="sct"><span class="smcap">Before and After</span></td>
  <td class="aut"><i>Charles T. Grilley</i></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_139a">139</a></td>
</tr><tr>
  <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">When Greek Meets Greek</span></td>
  <td class="aut"><i>Anonymous</i></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_140">140</a></td>
</tr><tr>
  <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">Mr. Potts' Story</span></td>
  <td class="aut"><i>Max Adeler</i></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_141">141</a></td>
</tr><tr>
   <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">At Five O'clock Tea</span></td>
  <td class="aut"><i>Morris Wade</i></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_143">143</a></td>
</tr><tr>
   <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">Keep A-goin'!</span></td>
  <td class="aut"><i>Frank L. Stanton</i></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_145">145</a></td>
</tr><tr>
  <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">A Lover's Quarrel</span></td>
  <td class="aut"><i>Cynthia Coles</i></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_146">146</a></td>
</tr><tr>
  <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">Casey at the Bat</span></td>
  <td class="aut"><i>Phineas Thayer</i></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_147">147</a></td>
</tr><tr>
   <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">Familiar Lines</span></td>
  <td class="aut"><i>Anonymous</i></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_149">149</a></td>
</tr><tr>
<td class="sct"><span class="smcap">A Friendly Game of Checkers</span></td>
  <td class="aut dit">"</td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_150">150</a></td>
</tr><tr>
  <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">Modern Romance</span></td>
  <td class="aut"><i>Henry M. Blossom, Jr.</i></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_152">152</a></td>
</tr><tr>
  <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">Lullaby</span></td>
  <td class="aut"><i>Paul Laurence Dunbar</i></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_153">153</a></td>
</tr><tr>
   <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">The Reason Why</span></td>
  <td class="aut"><i>Mary E. Bradley</i></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_154">154</a></td>
</tr><tr>
   <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">How a Bachelor Sews on a Button</span></td>
  <td class="aut"><i>Anonymous</i></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_154">154</a></td>
</tr><tr>
  <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">Christopher Columbus</span></td>
  <td class="aut dit">"</td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_155">155</a></td>
</tr><tr>
  <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">The Fly</span></td>
  <td class="aut dit">"</td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_156">156</a></td>
</tr><tr>
   <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">The Yarn of the "Nancy Bell"</span></td>
  <td class="aut"><i>W. S. Gilbert</i></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_157">157</a></td>
</tr><tr>
<td class="sct"><span class="smcap">I Tol' Yer So</span></td>
  <td class="aut"><i>John L. Heaton</i></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_160">160</a></td>
</tr><tr>
  <td class="sct">"<span class="smcap">You Git Up!</span>"</td>
  <td class="aut"><i>Joe Kerr</i></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_161">161</a></td>
</tr><tr>
  <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">Presentation of the Trumpet</span></td>
  <td class="aut"><i>Anonymous</i></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_162">162</a></td>
</tr><tr>
   <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">Don't Use Big Words</span></td>
  <td class="aut dit">"</td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_163">163</a></td>
</tr><tr>
   <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">Der Mule Shtood on der Steamboad Deck</span></td>
  <td class="aut dit">"</td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_164">164</a></td>
</tr><tr>
  <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">The New School Reader</span></td>
  <td class="aut dit">"</td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_166">165</a></td>
</tr><tr>
  <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">The Poor Was Mad</span></td>
  <td class="aut"><i>Charles Battell Loomis</i></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_167">167</a></td>
</tr><tr>
   <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">Lides to Bary Jade</span></td>
  <td class="aut"><i>Anonymous</i></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_168">168</a></td>
</tr><tr>
<td class="sct">"<span class="smcap">Charlie Must not Ring To-night</span>"</td>
  <td class="aut"><i>Anonymous</i></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_169">169</a></td>
</tr><tr>
  <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">A Short Encore</span></td>
  <td class="aut dit">"</td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_171">170</a></td>
</tr><tr>
  <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">My Double, and How He Undid Me</span></td>
  <td class="aut"><i>Edward Everett Hale</i></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_171">171</a></td>
</tr><tr>
   <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">Romance of a Hammock</span></td>
  <td class="aut"><i>Anonymous</i></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_173">173</a></td>
</tr><tr>
   <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">Finnigin to Flannigan</span></td>
  <td class="aut"><i>S. W. Gillinan</i></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_175">175</a></td>
</tr><tr>
  <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">An Introduction</span></td>
  <td class="aut"><i>Mark Twain</i></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_177">177</a></td>
</tr><tr>
  <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">The Harp of a Thousand Strings</span></td>
  <td class="aut"><i>Joshua S. Morris</i></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_177">177</a></td>
</tr><tr>
   <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">The Difficulty of Riming</span></td>
  <td class="aut"><i>Anonymous</i></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_179">179</a></td>
</tr><tr>
<td class="sct"><span class="smcap">So Was I</span></td>
  <td class="aut"><i>Joseph Bert Smiley</i></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_181">181</a></td>
</tr><tr>
  <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">The Enchanted Shirt</span></td>
  <td class="aut"><i>John Hay</i></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_183">183</a></td>
</tr><tr>
  <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">Deb Oak und der Vine</span></td>
  <td class="aut"><i>Charles Follen Adams</i></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_186">185</a></td>
</tr><tr>
   <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">The Ship of Faith</span></td>
  <td class="aut"><i>Anonymous</i></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_187">187</a></td>
</tr><tr>
   <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">He Wanted to Know</span></td>
  <td class="aut dit">"</td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_188">188</a></td>
</tr><tr>
  <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">An Opportunity</span></td>
  <td class="aut dit">"</td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_190">190</a></td>
</tr><tr>
  <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">Gape-seed</span></td>
  <td class="aut dit">"</td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_190">190</a></td>
</tr><tr>
   <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">Lariat Bill</span></td>
  <td class="aut dit">"</td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_192">192</a></td>
</tr><tr>
<td class="sct"><span class="smcap">The Candidate</span></td>
  <td class="aut"><i>Bill Nye</i></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_194">193</a></td>
</tr><tr>
  <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">One Afternoon</span></td>
  <td class="aut"><i>Anonymous</i></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_196">196</a></td>
</tr><tr>
  <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">Not In It</span></td>
  <td class="aut dit">"</td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_198">198</a></td>
</tr><tr>
   <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">A Twilight Idyl</span></td>
  <td class="aut"><i>Robert J. Burdette</i></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_199">199</a></td>
</tr><tr>
   <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">Lavery's Hens</span></td>
  <td class="aut"><i>Anonymous</i></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_201">201</a></td>
</tr><tr>
  <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">Lisp</span></td>
  <td class="aut dit">"</td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_203">202</a></td>
</tr><tr>
  <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">They Met by Chance</span></td>
  <td class="aut dit">"</td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_203">203</a></td>
</tr><tr>
   <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">The Bridegroom's Toast</span></td>
  <td class="aut dit">"</td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_203a">203</a></td>
</tr><tr>
<td class="sct"><span class="smcap">Rehearsing for Private Theatricals</span></td>
  <td class="aut"><i>Stanley Huntley</i></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_204">204</a></td>
</tr><tr>
  <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">The V-a-s-e</span></td>
  <td class="aut"><i>James Jeffrey Roche</i></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_207">206</a></td>
</tr><tr>
  <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">Papa and the Boy</span></td>
  <td class="aut"><i>J. L. Harbour</i></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_208">208</a></td>
</tr><tr>
   <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">The Obstructive Hat in the Pit</span></td>
  <td class="aut"><i>F. Anstey</i></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_210">210</a></td>
</tr><tr>
   <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">Hullo</span></td>
  <td class="aut"><i>S. W. Foss</i></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_213">213</a></td>
</tr><tr>
  <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">The Dutchman's Telephone</span></td>
  <td class="aut"><i>Anonymous</i></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_215">214</a></td>
</tr><tr>
  <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">Doctor Marigold</span></td>
  <td class="aut"><i>Charles Dickens</i></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_216">216</a></td>
</tr><tr>
   <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">The Ruling Passion</span></td>
  <td class="aut"><i>William H. Siviter</i></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_219">219</a></td>
</tr><tr>
<td class="sct"><span class="smcap">The Dutchman's Serenade</span></td>
  <td class="aut"><i>Anonymous</i></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_220">220</a></td>
</tr><tr>
  <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">Widow Malone</span></td>
  <td class="aut"><i>Charles Lever</i></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_222">222</a></td>
</tr><tr>
  <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">His Leg Shot Off</span></td>
  <td class="aut"><i>Anonymous</i></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_224">224</a></td>
</tr><tr>
   <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">The Stuttering Umpire</span></td>
  <td class="aut"><i>The Khan</i></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_225">225</a></td>
</tr><tr>
   <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">The Man Who Will Make a Speech</span></td>
  <td class="aut"><i>Anonymous</i></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_227">227</a></td>
</tr><tr>
  <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">Carlotta Mia</span></td>
  <td class="aut"><i>T. A. Daly</i></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_229">228</a></td>
</tr><tr>
  <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">The Vassar Girl</span></td>
  <td class="aut"><i>Wallace Irwin</i></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_230">229</a></td>
</tr><tr>
   <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">A Short Sermon</span></td>
  <td class="aut"><i>Anonymous</i></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_232">231</a></td>
</tr><tr>
<td class="sct"><span class="smcap">A Lancashire Dialectic Sketch</span></td>
  <td class="aut dit">"</td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_232">232</a></td>
</tr><tr>
  <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">His Blackstonian Circumlocution</span></td>
  <td class="aut dit">"</td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_233">233</a></td>
</tr><tr>
  <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">Katrina Likes Me Poody Vell</span></td>
  <td class="aut dit">"</td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_234">234</a></td>
</tr><tr>
   <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">At the Restaurant</span></td>
  <td class="aut dit">"</td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_235">235</a></td>
</tr><tr>
   <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">A-feared of a Gal</span></td>
  <td class="aut dit">"</td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_237">237</a></td>
</tr><tr>
  <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">Leaving out the Joke</span></td>
  <td class="aut dit">"</td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_238">238</a></td>
</tr><tr>
  <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">The Cyclopeedy</span></td>
  <td class="aut"><i>Eugene Field</i></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_239">239</a></td>
</tr><tr>
   <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">Echo</span></td>
  <td class="aut"><i>John G. Saxe</i></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_244">244</a></td>
</tr><tr>
<td class="sct"><span class="smcap">Our Railroads</span></td>
  <td class="aut"><i>Anonymous</i></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_246">245</a></td>
</tr><tr>
  <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">Wakin' the Young 'Uns</span></td>
  <td class="aut"><i>John C. Boss</i></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_248">247</a></td>
</tr><tr>
  <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">Pat's Reason</span></td>
  <td class="aut"><i>Anonymous</i></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_249">249</a></td>
</tr><tr>
   <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">Quit Your Foolin'</span></td>
  <td class="aut dit">"</td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_250">250</a></td>
</tr><tr>
   <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">She Would Be a Mason</span></td>
  <td class="aut"><i>James L. Laughton</i></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_251">251</a></td>
</tr><tr>
  <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">Henry the Fifth's Wooing</span></td>
  <td class="aut"><i>Shakespeare</i></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_254">254</a></td>
</tr><tr>
  <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">Scene from "The Rivals"</span></td>
  <td class="aut"><i>Richard Brinsley Sheridan</i></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_258">258</a></td>
</tr><tr>
   <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">Scenes from "Rip Van Winkle"</span></td>
  <td class="aut"><i>As Recited by Burbank</i></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_261">261</a></td>
</tr><tr>
<td class="ccn" colspan="2">PART III&mdash;SERIOUS HITS</td>
  <td></td>
</tr><tr>
<td class="sct"><span class="smcap">If We Had the Time</span></td>
  <td class="aut"><i>Richard Burton</i></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_267">267</a></td>
</tr><tr>
  <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">The Fool's Prayer</span></td>
  <td class="aut"><i>Edward Rowland Sill</i></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_268">268</a></td>
</tr><tr>
  <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">The Eve of Waterloo</span></td>
  <td class="aut"><i>Byron</i></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_270">269</a></td>
</tr><tr>
   <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">The Wreck of the Julie Plante</span></td>
  <td class="aut"><i>W. H. Drummond</i></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_271">271</a></td>
</tr><tr>
   <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">Father's Way</span></td>
  <td class="aut"><i>Eugene Field</i></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_273">272</a></td>
</tr><tr>
  <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">I Am Content</span></td>
  <td class="aut"><i>Carmen Sylva Translation</i></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_274">274</a></td>
</tr><tr>
  <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">The Eagle's Song</span></td>
  <td class="aut"><i>Richard Mansfield</i></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_276">275</a></td>
</tr><tr>
   <td class="sct"> <span class="smcap">Break, Break, Break</span></td>
  <td class="aut"><i>Alfred, Lord Tennyson</i></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_277">277</a></td>
</tr><tr>
<td class="sct"><span class="smcap">Virginius</span></td>
  <td class="aut"><i>Macaulay</i></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_278">277</a></td>
</tr><tr>
  <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">The Women of Mumbles Head</span></td>
  <td class="aut"><i>Clement Scott</i></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_279">279</a></td>
</tr><tr>
  <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">William Tell and His Boy</span></td>
  <td class="aut"><i>William Baine</i></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_282">282</a></td>
</tr><tr>
   <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">Lasca</span></td>
  <td class="aut"><i>F. Desprez</i></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_285">284</a></td>
</tr><tr>
   <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">The Volunteer Organist</span></td>
  <td class="aut"><i>S. W. Foss</i></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_288">287</a></td>
</tr><tr>
  <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">Life Compared to a Game of Cards</span></td>
  <td class="aut"><i>Anonymous</i></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_289">289</a></td>
</tr><tr>
  <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">Old Daddy Turner</span></td>
  <td class="aut dit">"</td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_290">290</a></td>
</tr><tr>
   <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">The Tramp</span></td>
  <td class="aut dit">"</td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_292">292</a></td>
</tr><tr>
<td class="sct"><span class="smcap">The Dandy Fifth</span></td>
  <td class="aut"><i>F. H. Gassaway</i></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_294">293</a></td>
</tr><tr>
  <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">On Lincoln</span></td>
  <td class="aut"><i>Walt Whitman</i></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_296">296</a></td>
</tr><tr>
  <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">The Little Stowaway</span></td>
  <td class="aut"><i>Anonymous</i></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_297">296</a></td>
</tr><tr>
   <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">Saint Crispian's Day</span></td>
  <td class="aut"><i>Shakespeare</i></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_299">299</a></td>
</tr><tr>
   <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">The C'rrect Card</span></td>
  <td class="aut"><i>George R. Sims</i></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_301">300</a></td>
</tr><tr>
  <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">The Engineer's Story</span></td>
  <td class="aut"><i>Rosa H. Thorpe</i></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_303">303</a></td>
</tr><tr>
  <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">The Face Upon the Floor</span></td>
  <td class="aut"><i>H. Antoine D'Arcy</i></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_307">306</a></td>
</tr><tr>
   <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">The Funeral of the Flowers</span></td>
  <td class="aut"><i>T. De Witt Talmage</i></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_310">309</a></td>
</tr><tr>
  <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">Cato's Soliloquy on Immortality</span></td>
  <td class="aut"><i>Joseph Addison</i></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_311">311</a></td>
</tr><tr>
  <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">Opportunity</span></td>
  <td class="aut"><i>John J. Ingalls</i></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_312">312</a></td>
</tr><tr>
   <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">Opportunity's Reply</span></td>
  <td class="aut"><i>Walter Malone</i></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_313">312</a></td>
</tr><tr>
   <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">The Earl-king</span></td>
  <td class="aut"><i>Johann Wolfgang Von Goethe</i></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_313">313</a></td>
</tr><tr>
  <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">Carcassonne</span></td>
  <td class="aut"><i>M. E. W. Sherwood</i></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_315">314</a></td>
</tr><tr>
  <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">The Musicians</span></td>
  <td class="aut"><i>Anonymous</i></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_316">315</a></td>
</tr><tr>
   <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">On the Rappahannock</span></td>
  <td class="aut dit">"</td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_317">317</a></td>
</tr><tr>
   <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">Como</span></td>
  <td class="aut"><i>Joaquin Miller</i></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_320">319</a></td>
</tr><tr>
  <td class="sct"><span class="smcap">Aux Italiens</span></td>
  <td class="aut"><i>Owen Meredith</i></td>
  <td class="pag"><a href="#Page_322">322</a></td>
</tr></table>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2"></a><br /><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3"></a></span></p>




<h2><a name="PART_I" id="PART_I"></a>PART I<br />
HOW TO HOLD AN AUDIENCE</h2>


<p>To hold the interest of an audience and to successfully
entertain it&mdash;whether from public platform, in fraternal
organization, by after-dinner speech, or in the home circle&mdash;is
a worthy accomplishment. Moreover, the memorizing
of selections and rendering them before an audience
is one of the best preparations for the larger and more important
work of public speaking. Many of our most successful
after-dinner speakers depend almost entirely upon
their ability to tell a good story.</p>

<p>The art of reciting and story-telling has become so popular
in recent years that a wide-spread demand has arisen
for books of selections and suggestions for rendering them.
Material suitable for encores has been particularly difficult
to find. It is thought, therefore, that the present volume,
containing as it does a great variety of short numbers, will
meet with approval.</p>

<p>There is, perhaps, no talent that is more entertaining and
more instructive than that of reciting aloud specimens of
prose and poetry, both humorous and serious, from our
best writers. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4"></a></span>Channing says:</p>

<p>"Is there not an amusement, having an affinity with the
drama, which might be usefully introduced among us? I
mean, Recitation.</p>

<p>"A work of genius, recited by a man of fine taste, enthusiasm,
and powers of elocution, is a very pure and high
gratification.</p>

<p>"Were this art cultivated and encouraged, great numbers,
now insensible to the most beautiful compositions,
might be waked up to their excellence and power.</p>

<p>"It is not easy to conceive of a more effectual way of
spreading a refined taste through a community. The drama
undoubtedly appeals more strongly to the passions than
recitation; but the latter brings out the meaning of the
author more. Shakespeare, worthily recited, would be better
understood than on the stage.</p>

<p>"Recitation, sufficiently varied, so as to include pieces
of chaste wit, as well as of pathos, beauty, and sublimity,
is adapted to our present intellectual progress."</p>

<p>To recite well, and to be able to hold an audience, one
should be trained in the proper use of the voice and body
in expression. This requires painstaking study and preparation.
It is a mistake to suppose that much can be safely
left to impulse and the inspiration of the occasion. With
all great artists everything is premeditated, studied, and
rehearsed beforehand.</p>

<p>Salvini, the great Italian tragedian, said to the pupils
in his art: "Above all, study,&mdash;<i>study</i>,&mdash;<span class="smcap">STUDY</span>. All the
genius in the world will not help you along with any art,
unless you become a hard student. It has taken me <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5"></a></span>years
to master a single part."</p>


<h3>THE VOICE</h3>

<p>The voice can be rapidly and even wonderfully developed
by practising for a few minutes daily exercises prescribed
in any good manual of elocution.<a name="FNanchor_1_1" id="FNanchor_1_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> Learn to speak
in the natural voice. If it is high-pitched, nasal, thin, or
unmusical, these defects can be overcome by patient and
judicious practise. Do not assume an artificial voice, except
in impersonation. Remember that intelligent audiences
demand intelligent expression, and will not tolerate the
ranting, bombast, and unnatural style of declamation of
former days.</p>

<p>Many people speak with half-shut teeth and mouth. Open
the mouth and throat freely; liberate all the muscles around
the vocal apparatus. Aim to speak with ease, and endeavor
to improve the voice in depth, purity, roundness, and flexibility.
Daily conversation offers the best opportunity for
this practise.</p>

<p>A writer recently said: "Only a very, very few of us
Americans speak English as the English do. We have our
own 'accent,' as it is called. We are a nervous, eager,
strident people. We know it, tho we do not relish having
foreigners tell us about it. We speak not mellowly, not
with lax tongues and palates, but sharply, shrilly, with
hardened mouth and with tones forced back upon the palate.
We strangulate two-thirds of our vowels and swallow half
the other third. Pure, round, sonorous tones are almost
never heard in our daily speech."</p>

<p>Speak from the abdomen. All the effort, all the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6"></a></span>motive
power, should come from the waist and abdominal muscles.
These are made to stand the strain that is so often incorrectly
put upon the muscles of the throat. Aim at a forward
tone; that is, send your voice out to some distant
object, imaginary or otherwise, without unduly elevating
the pitch. The voice should strike against the hard palate,
the hard bony arch just above the upper teeth. Most of
the practising should be done on the low pitches.</p>

<p>If there is any serious physical defect of the throat or
nose, consult a reliable physician.</p>

<p>Do not overtax the voice. Three periods of ten minutes
each are better than an hour's practise at one time. Stop
at the first sign of weariness. Do not practise within an
hour after eating. Avoid the habitual use of lozenges.
There is nothing better for the throat than a gargle of salt
and water, used night and morning. Dash cold water on
the outside of the throat and rub it vigorously with a coarse
towel.</p>

<div class="footnote">

<p><a name="Footnote_1_1" id="Footnote_1_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_1"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> See "How to Speak in Public." a complete manual of
elocution, by Grenville Kleiser. Published by Funk &amp; Wagnalls Company.
Price, $1.25 net.</p></div>

<h3>THE BREATH</h3>

<p>The proper management of the breath is an important
part of good speaking. Some teachers say the air should
be inhaled on all occasions exclusively through the nose.
This is practically impossible while in the act of speaking.
The aim should be to speak on full lungs as much as possible;
therefore a breath must be taken at every opportunity.
This is done during the pauses, but often the time is so short
that the speaker will find it necessary to use both mouth
and nose to get a full supply of air. The breathing should
be inaudible.</p>

<p>Practise deep breathing until it becomes an unconscious
habit. <i>In taking in the breath the abdomen and chest <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7"></a></span>both
expand, and in giving out the breath the abdomen and
chest both contract.</i> By this method of respiration the
abdomen is used as a kind of "bellows," and the strain is
taken entirely off the throat. The breathing should be
done without noticeable effort and without raising the
shoulders. Whenever possible the breathing should be long
and deep. While speaking, endeavor to hold back in the
lungs, or reservoir, the supply of air, "feeding" it very
gradually to the vocal cords in just the quantity required
for a given tone. Reciting aloud, when properly done, is
a healthful exercise, and the voice should grow and improve
through use; but to speak on half-filled lungs, or from the
throat, is distressing and often injurious.</p>

<p>Keep your shoulders well thrown back, head erect, chin
level, arms loosely at the sides, and in walking throw the
leg out from the hip with easy, confident movement. The
weight of the body should be on the ball of the foot, altho
the whole foot touches the floor. The breathing should be
deep, smooth, and deliberate.</p>

<p>When the breath is not being used in speech, breathe exclusively
through the nose. This is particularly desirable
during the hours of sleep. As someone has said, if you
awake at night and find your mouth open, get up and shut
it. A well-known English authority on elocution says that
as a golden rule for the preservation of the health, he considers
the habit of breathing through the nose invaluable
if not imperative. Air, which is the breath of life, has always
floating in it also the seeds of death. The nose is a
filter and deodorizer, in passing through which the air is
cleansed and sent pure into the lungs. The nose warms
the air as well as purifies it, and thus prevents it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8"></a></span> from
being breathed in that raw, damp state which is so injurious
to those whose lungs are delicate.</p>

<p>Speak immediately upon opening your mouth. Try to
turn into pure-toned voice every particle of breath you
give out. Replenish the lungs every time you pause. Light
gymnastics, brisk walking, running, horseback riding, and
other exercise will improve your breathing capacity.</p>


<h3>MODULATION</h3>

<p>Modulation simply means change of voice. These
changes, however, must be intelligent and appropriate to
the thought. Monotony&mdash;speaking in one tone&mdash;must be
avoided. The speaker should have the ability to raise or
lower the pitch of his voice at will, as well as to vary it in
force, intensity, inflection, etc.</p>

<p>Do not confuse "pitch" with "force." Pitch refers to
the <i>key</i> of the speaking voice, while force relates to the
<i>loudness</i> of the voice. The movement or rate of speaking
should be varied to suit the particular thought. It would
be ridiculous to describe a horse-race in the slow, measured
tones of a funeral procession.</p>

<p>Most of your speaking should be done in the middle and
lower registers; but the higher pitches, altho not so often
required, must be trained so as to be ready for use. These
higher tones are frequently thin and unmusical, but they
can be made full and firm through practise.</p>

<p>It is not necessary to study many rules for inflection.
The speaker should know in a general way that when the
sense is suspended the voice follows this tendency and runs
up, and when the sense is completed the voice runs down.
In other words, the voice should simply be in agreement
with the tendency of the thought, whether it opens up or<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9"></a></span>
closes down. The lengths of inflection vary according to
the thought and the required emphasis.</p>

<p>For most occasions the speaking should be clear-cut and
deliberate. The larger the room or hall, the slower should
be the speech, to give the vocal vibrations time to travel.
Dwelling on words too long, drawling, or over precision in
articulation, is tedious to an audience. The other extreme,
undue haste, suggests lack of self-control, and is fatal to
successful effort. Of course this does not apply to special
selections demanding rapid speech.</p>

<p>There are numerous words in English that represent or
at least suggest their meaning in their sound. One who
aims to read or recite well should study these effects so as
to use them skilfully and with judgment.</p>

<p>The most complete and concise treatment on the subject
of expression is perhaps that given in <i>Hamlet's</i> advice to
the players when he says:</p>

<p>"Speak the speech, I pray you, as I pronounced it to
you&mdash;<i>trippingly</i> on the tongue; but if you mouth it, as
many of your players do, I had as lief the town crier spoke
my lines. Nor do not saw the air too much with your hand,
thus; but use all gently: for in the very torrent, tempest,
and as I may say whirlwind of your passion, you must acquire
and beget a temperance that may give it smoothness.
O! it offends me to the soul, to hear a robustious periwig-pated
fellow tear a passion to tatters, to very rags, to split
the ears of the groundlings; who, for the most part, are
capable of nothing but inexplicable dumb-shows, and noise.
I would have such a fellow whipped for o'erdoing Termagant;
it out-herods Herod: pray you, avoid it....</p>

<p>"Be not too tame neither, but let your own <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10"></a></span>discretion
be your tutor: suit the action to the word, the word to the
action, with this special observance, that you o'erstep not
the modesty of nature; for anything so overdone is from
the purpose of playing, whose end, both at the first, and
now, was, and is, to hold, as 't were, the mirror up to nature;
to show virtue her own feature, scorn her own image,
and the very age and body of the time, his form and pressure.
Now, this overdone, or come tardy off, tho it make
the unskilful laugh, can not but make the judicious grieve;
the censure of the which one must, in your allowance,
o'erweigh a whole theater of others. O! there be players,
that I have seen play&mdash;and heard others praise, and that
highly&mdash;not to speak it profanely, that, neither having
the accent of Christians, nor the gait of Christian, pagan,
nor man, have so strutted and bellowed, that I have thought
some of nature's journeymen had made men, and not made
them well, they imitated humanity so abominably."</p>


<h3>PAUSING</h3>

<p>Words naturally divide themselves into groups according
to their meaning. Grammatical pauses indicate the
construction of language, while rhetorical pauses mark
more particularly the natural divisions in the sense. To
jumble words together, or to rattle them off in "rapid-fire"
style, is not an entertaining performance. Proper
pausing secures economy of the listener's attention, and
is as desirable in spoken as in written language.</p>

<p>Pauses should vary in frequency and duration. It
should be remembered that words are only symbols, and
that the speaker should concern himself seriously about
the thought which these symbols represent. The concept
behind the sign is the important thing. The fine art of
pausing can be acquired only after long and faithful study.
Then it may become an unconscious habit. An old rime
on this subject is worth repeating:</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11"></a></span></p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">"In pausing, ever let this rule take place,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Never to separate words in any case<br /></span>
<span class="i3">That are less separable than those you join;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And, which imports the same, not to combine<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Such words together, as do not relate<br /></span>
<span class="i3">So closely as the words you separate."<br /></span>
</div></div>


<h3>FEELING AND ENERGY</h3>

<p>Before you can properly <i>feel</i> what you say you must
<i>understand</i> it. Artificial and imitative methods do not
produce enduring results. In studying a passage or selection
for recitation, the imagination must be kindled, the
feelings stimulated, and the mind trained to concentrate
upon the thought until it is <i>experienced</i>. This subjective
work should always precede the attempt at objective expression.
Everything must first be conceived, pictured,
and experienced in the mind. When this is done with intelligence,
sincerity, and earnestness, there should be little
difficulty in giving true and adequate expression to thought.</p>

<p>In all speaking that is worth the while there must be
energy, force, and life. The speaker should be wide-awake,
alert, palpitating. A speaker&mdash;and this applies to the reciter
and elocutionist&mdash;should be, as someone has said, "an
animal galvanic battery on two legs."<a name="FNanchor_2_2" id="FNanchor_2_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a> He must know
what he is about. He must <i>be in east</i>.</p>

<p>Make a distinction between loudness and intensity.
Often the best effects are produced by suggesting power
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12"></a></span>in reserve rather than giving the fullest outward expression.
Intensity in reading or reciting is secured chiefly
through concentration and a thorough grasp of the thought.
Endeavor to put yourself into your voice. Do not forget
that deep, concentrated feeling is never loud. Avoid
shouting, ranting, and "tearing a passion to tatters." Go
to nature for models. Ask what one would do in real life
in uttering the thoughts under consideration.</p>

<p>The emotions must be brought under control by frequent
practise. Joy, sorrow, anger, fear, surprize, terror, and
other feelings are as colors to the artist and must be made
ready for instant use. To quote Richard Mansfield:</p>

<p>"When you are enacting a part, think of your voice as
a color, and, as you paint your picture (the character you
are painting, the scene you are portraying), mix your colors.
You have on your palate a white voice, <i>la voix blanche</i>;
a heavenly, ethereal or blue voice, the voice of prayer; a
disagreeable, jealous, or yellow voice; a steel-gray voice,
for quiet sarcasm; a brown voice of hopelessness; a lurid,
red voice of hot rage; a deep, thunderous voice of black;
a cheery voice, the color of the green sea that a brisk breeze
is crisping; and then there is a pretty little pink voice, and
shades of violet&mdash;but the subject is endless."</p>

<div class="footnote">

<p><a name="Footnote_2_2" id="Footnote_2_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2_2"><span class="label">[2]</span></a> See "Before an Audience," by Nathan Sheppard. Published by
Funk &amp; Wagnalls Company. Price, 75 cents.</p></div>


<h3>GESTURE AND ACTION</h3>

<p>No better advice can be given upon this subject than to
"Suit the action to the word; the word to the action."
Unless a gesture in some way helps in the expression and
understanding of a thought, it should be omitted. Gesture
is not a mere ornament, but a natural and necessary
part of true expression. The arms and hands should be
trained to perform their work gracefully, promptly, and
effectively. If too many gestures are used they lose their
force and meaning. Furthermore, too many gestures confuse<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13"></a></span>
and annoy the auditor.</p>

<p>Gesture should be practised, preferably before a looking-glass,
so thoroughly <i>beforehand</i> as to make it an unconscious
act when the speaker comes before his audience.</p>

<p>The correct standing position is to have one foot slightly
in advance of the other. The taller the person, the broader
should be the base or width between the feet. The body
should be erect but not rigid. In repose the arms should
drop naturally at the sides. Except in the act of gesticulating
do not try to put the hands anywhere, and above all,
if a man, not in the pockets.</p>


<h3>IMPERSONATION</h3>

<p>The aim here should be to lose one's self in the part.
To subordinate one's tones, gestures, and manners, and to
live the character for the time being, requires no mean
ability. Impersonation calls for imagination, insight, concentration,
and adaptability. The impersonator must be
all at it, and at it all, during the whole time he is impersonating
the character.</p>

<p>"To fathom the depths of character," said Macready,
the distinguished English actor, "to trace its latent motives,
to feel its finest quiverings of emotion, to comprehend
the thoughts that are hidden under words, and thus
possess one's self of the actual mind of the individual man,
is the highest reach of the player's art, and is an achievement
that I have discerned but in few. Kean&mdash;when under
the impulse of his genius he seemed to <i>clutch</i> the whole
idea of the man&mdash;was an extraordinary instance among
those possessing the faculty of impersonation."</p>

<p>Where dialect is used it should be closely studied from
life. Stage representations of foreign character are not
always trustworthy models.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14"></a></span></p>


<h3>ARTICULATION AND PRONUNCIATION</h3>

<p>Articulate and pronounce correctly and distinctly without
being pedantic. The organs of articulation&mdash;teeth,
tongue, lips, and palate&mdash;should be trained to rapidly and
accurately repeat various sets of elements, until any combination
of sounds, no matter how difficult, can be uttered
with facility, accuracy, and precision.</p>

<p>A standard dictionary should be consulted whenever
there is a doubt either about the meaning or the pronunciation
of a word. As to the standard of pronunciation,
the speaker should consider at least these three things: (1)
authority, (2) custom, and (3) personal taste.</p>


<p>There are many words commonly mispronounced, but
only a few can be referred to here: Do not say <i>Toos</i>-day or
<i>Chews</i>-day for T<i>u</i>esday; <i>ur</i>-ride for ride; i-<i>ron</i> for i-<i>urn</i>;
w<i>u</i>s for w<i>a</i>s; th<i>u</i>n for th<i>a</i>n; subj<i>i</i>ct for subj<i>e</i>ct; <i>awf</i>-fiss
for <i>off</i>-fiss; fig-<i>ger</i> for fig<i>u</i>re; to-<i>wards</i> for tords; <i>dook</i> for
d<i>u</i>ke; k<i>e</i>tch for c<i>a</i>tch; <i>day</i>-po for <i>de</i>-po; ab'domen for
abdo'men; advertise'ment for adver'tisement; ly'ceum for
lyce'um; oc'cult for occult'; of<i>t</i>en for of'n; s<i>e</i>nce for s<i>i</i>nce;
su<i>j</i>gest for su<i>g</i>gest; <i>wow</i>nd for <i>woo</i>nd; <i>weth</i>er for w<i>h</i>ether;
sen'ile for s<i>e</i>'nile; <i>ad</i>'dress for ad<i>dress</i>'; il'lustrate for illus'trate;
<i>ker</i>-own for crown; wind<i>er</i> for wind<i>ow</i>; s<i>or</i> for
s<i>aw</i>; wick<i>ud</i> for wick<i>ed</i>; <i>i</i>ngine for <i>e</i>ngine; <i>o</i>ntil for <i>u</i>ntil.</p>

<p>Words should drop from the mouth like newly-made coins
from the mint. Practising on words of several syllables
is helpful. Some such as these will serve as examples:
"particularly," "unconstitutional," "incompatibility,"
"unnecessarily," "voluminous," "overwhelmingly," "<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15"></a></span>sesquipedalian,"
etc.</p>


<h3>IMAGINATION</h3>

<p>The ability to make vivid mental pictures of what one
recites is of great value to both reader and hearer. Everyone
has this faculty to some degree, but few develop it as
it should be developed for use in speaking. The clearer
the mental picture the speaker has in mind the more vivid
will it be to the hearer. Practise making mental images
with pictures that appeal strongly to you. Try to see
everything in detail. If at first the impressions are obscure,
persevere in your practise and substantial results
will surely come. Dr. Silas Neff gives a splendid illustration
of this kind that can be effectively used for practise:</p>

<p>"A woodman once lived with his family near a shallow
stream which flowed between high banks and in the middle
of which, opposite his house, was an island. Half a mile
up the stream was a dam which supplied water for a saw-mill
a hundred yards below. One morning after the father
had gone to the mill to work, leaving his wife in the back
yard washing some little garments, their two little boys
clambered down the bank and waded through the water
to the island where they had spent many happy hours in
play. About the middle of the forenoon, from some unknown
cause, the wall of the dam suddenly gave way, the
water plunging through and nearly filling the banks of the
stream. The father in the mill heard the noise and looking
out saw what had happened. Immediately thinking of his
boys he dashed out, hat and coat off, on an awful race down
the creek to save their lives. The water after <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16"></a></span>leaving the
dam flowed rather slowly for some time and he was soon
quite a distance ahead, but he knew that unless he gained
very rapidly here, the descent being much greater farther
down, the water would overtake his boys before he could
reach them. His wife suddenly looked up as the agonizing
cries of her husband fell upon her ear. She rushed to the
front yard. In quick succession she distinguished the
words, 'Get the boys!' The father was a few hundred yards
from his home. The water had reached the rapid part of
the stream but some distance behind the man. The wife
on hearing the words, tho not knowing what was wrong,
jumped down the bank and ran through the water, shrieking
to the boys. Just as she reached the island they ran
to her and, without uttering a word, she took one under
each arm and started back as wildly as she came. When
half way over she saw her husband dashing out from the
edge of the woods and the water not twenty feet behind
him. They met at the top of the bank, the father grasped
wife and children in his arms and the water passed harmlessly
by."<a name="FNanchor_3_3" id="FNanchor_3_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_3_3" class="fnanchor">[3]</a></p>

<div class="footnote">

<p><a name="Footnote_3_3" id="Footnote_3_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor_3_3"><span class="label">[3]</span></a> "Talks on Education and Oratory," by Silas S. Neff, Neff
College of Oratory, Philadelphia, Pa.</p></div>


<h3>HOW TO MEMORIZE A SELECTION</h3>


<p>Do not learn a selection simply by rote&mdash;that is, by
repeating it parrot-like over and over again&mdash;but fix it in
the mind by a careful and detailed analysis of the thought.
As you practise aloud, train your eye to take in as many
words as possible, then look away from the book as you
recite them aloud. This will give the memory immediate
practise and will tend to make it self-reliant.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17"></a></span></p>
<p>Having chosen a selection, read it over first in a general
way to secure an impression of it in its entirety. Then read
it a second time, giving particular attention to each part.
Consult a dictionary for the correct meaning and pronunciation
of every word about which you are in doubt. Next
underline the emphatic words&mdash;those which you think best
express the most important thoughts. Underscoring one
line for emphatic words and two lines for the most emphatic
will do for this purpose. Now indicate the various pauses,
both grammatical and rhetorical, by drawing short perpendicular
lines between the words where they occur. In a
general way use one line for a short pause, two lines for a
medium pause, and three lines for a long pause. On the
margin of the selection you may make other notes, such as
the dominant feeling, transitions, changes of rate, force
and pitch, special effects, gestures, facial expression, etc.</p>

<p>There is, of course, nothing arbitrary about this work of
analysis. Its purpose is to make the student <i>think</i>, to analyze,
to be painstaking. The following annotated selection
should be carefully considered. Words on which chief emphasis
is to be placed are printed in small capitals; those on
which less emphasis is to be placed, in italics. It is not intended
to be mechanical, but suggestive. After a few selections
have been analyzed in this way, pausing and emphasis,
and many other elements of expression, will largely take
care of themselves.</p>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">"To <span class="smcap">BE</span> || or <span class="smcap">NOT</span> | to be, || <i>that</i> | is the question:&mdash;|||<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Whether | 't is <i>nobler</i> | in the mind, || to <i>suffer</i><br /></span>
<span class="i3">The <i>slings</i> | and <i>arrows</i> || of <i>outrageous</i> fortune; ||<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Or | to take <i>arms</i> | against a <i>sea</i> | of troubles, ||<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And by <i>opposing</i> || <i>end</i> them? ||| &mdash;To <span class="smcap">DIE</span>,&mdash; || to <span class="smcap">SLEEP</span>, |||<br /></span>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18"></a></span><span class="i3">No <i>more</i>;&mdash;||| and, by a <i>sleep</i>, || to say we end<br /></span>
<span class="i3">The <i>heart-ache</i>, | and the <i>thousand</i> natural shocks ||<br /></span>
<span class="i3">That flesh is <i>heir</i> to,&mdash;||| 't is a consummation ||<br /></span>
<span class="i3"><i>Devoutly</i> | to be <i>wish'd</i>. ||| To <span class="smcap">DIE</span>,&mdash;||| to <span class="smcap">SLEEP</span>:&mdash;|||<br /></span>
<span class="i3">To <span class="smcap">SLEEP</span> ||| perchance to <span class="smcap">DREAM</span>: || ay, | <i>there's</i> the <i>rub</i>; ||<br /></span>
<span class="i3">For in that sleep | of <i>death</i> || what <i>dreams</i> | <span class="smcap">MAY</span> | come, ||<br /></span>
<span class="i3">When we have shuffled off | this mortal coil, ||<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Must give us <i>pause</i>. ||| <i>There's</i> the <i>respect</i>, |<br /></span>
<span class="i3">That makes <i>calamity</i> | of <i>so long life</i>: |||<br /></span>
<span class="i3">For who would bear | the <i>whips</i> and <i>scorns</i> | of <i>time</i>, ||<br /></span>
<span class="i3">The oppressor's <i>wrong</i>, || the proud man's <i>contumely</i>, ||<br /></span>
<span class="i3">The pangs | of <i>despis'd</i> love, || the law's <i>delay</i>, ||<br /></span>
<span class="i3">The <i>insolence</i> | of office, || and the <i>spurns</i> |<br /></span>
<span class="i3">That patient <i>merit</i> | of the <i>unworthy</i> takes, ||<br /></span>
<span class="i3">When he <i>himself</i> | might his <i>quietus</i> make ||<br /></span>
<span class="i3">With a bare <i>bodkin</i>? || who'd these <i>fardels</i> bear, ||<br /></span>
<span class="i3">To <i>grunt</i> and <i>sweat</i> | under a weary life, ||<br /></span>
<span class="i3">But that the <i>dread</i> | of <span class="smcap">SOMETHING</span> | <i>after</i> death&mdash;||<br /></span>
<span class="i3">The <i>undiscover'd</i> country, || from whose bourn |<br /></span>
<span class="i3"><i>No</i> traveler returns,&mdash;|| puzzles the <i>will</i>, ||<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And makes us rather bear | those ills we <i>have</i>, ||<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Than fly | to <i>others</i> || that we know not of? |||<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Thus <span class="smcap">CONSCIENCE</span> || does make <span class="smcap">COWARDS</span> | of us all; ||<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And thus | the native hue | of <i>resolution</i> ||<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Is sicklied o'er | with the <i>pale cast</i> | of <i>thought</i>; ||<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And enterprises | of great <i>pith</i> and <i>moment</i> ||<br /></span>
<span class="i3">With <i>this</i> regard | their currents turn awry, ||<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And <i>lose</i> | the <i>name</i> || of <span class="smcap">ACTION</span>."<br /></span>
</div></div>


<h3>BEFORE THE AUDIENCE</h3>

<p>As you present yourself to your audience, bow slightly
and graciously from the waist. Be courteous, but not <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19"></a></span>servile.
Avoid haste and familiarity. Be punctilious in dress
and deportment, and be prompt in keeping your appointments.</p>

<p>Be sure you have everything ready in advance. If you
have to use any properties, such as a table, chair, eye-glass,
books, reading-stand, coat, hat, gloves, letters, etc., see that
everything is provided and in its place before the time set
for your appearance.</p>

<p>Success often depends upon the judicious choice of selections
for the occasion. What will be acceptable to one
audience may not please another. The sentiment and the
length of selections depend upon the time and place where
they are to be given. When an audience expects to be entertained
with humorous rec<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20"></a><br /><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21"></a></span>itations, to announce in a
sepulchral voice that you will give them a poem of your
own composition, entitled "The Three Corpses," of melancholy
character, is likely to send a chill of disappointment
through them.</p>

<p>Never keep your audience waiting. If an encore is demanded,
return and bow, or if the demand is insistent,
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22"></a><br /><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23"></a></span>give another number, preferably a short one. Do not be too
eager to give encores; if the applause is not insistent, a
bow will suffice.</p>

<hr class="chap" />

<h2><a name="PART_II" id="PART_II"></a>PART II<br />
HUMOROUS HITS</h2>


<h3>THE TRAIN-MISSER<br />
BY JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY</h3>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">'Ll where in the world my eyes has bin&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Ef I haint missed that train agin!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Chuff! and whistle! and toot! and ring!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">But blast and blister the dasted train!&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">How it does it I can't explain!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Git here thirty-five minutes before<br /></span>
<span class="i3">The dern thing's due!&mdash;and, drat the thing!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">It'll manage to git past&mdash;shore!<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">The more I travel around, the more<br /></span>
<span class="i3">I got no sense!&mdash; To stand right here<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And let it beat me! 'Ll ding my melts!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">I got no gumption, ner nothin' else!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Ticket-agent's a dad-burned bore!&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Sell you a ticket's all they keer!&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Ticket-agents ort to all be<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Prosecuted&mdash;and that's jes' what!&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">How'd I know which train's fer me?<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And how'd I know which train was not?&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Goern and comin' and gone astray,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And backin' and switchin' ever'-which-way!<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Ef I could jes' sneak round behind<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24"></a></span>
<span class="i3">Myse'f, where I could git full swing,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">I'd lift my coat, and kick, by jing!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Till I jes' got jerked up and fined!&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Fer here I stood, as a dern fool's apt<br /></span>
<span class="i3">To, and let that train jes' chuff and choo<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Right apast me&mdash;and mouth jes' gapped<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Like a blamed old sandwitch warped in two!<br /></span>
</div></div>

<p>"Afterwhiles," copyright 1898, The Bobbs-Merrill Company. Used by
special permission of the publishers.</p>



<h3>THE ELOCUTIONIST'S CURFEW<br />
BY W. D. NESBIT</h3>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">England's sun was slowly setting&mdash;(Raise your right hand to your brow),<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Filling all the land with beauty&mdash;(Wear a gaze of rapture now);<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And the last rays kissed the forehead of a man and maiden fair<br /></span>
<span class="i3">(With a movement slow and graceful you may now push back your hair);<br /></span>
<span class="i3">He with sad, bowed head&mdash;(A drooping of your head will be all right,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Till you hoarsely, sadly whisper)&mdash;"Curfew must not ring to-night."<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">"Sexton," Bessie's white lips faltered&mdash;(Try here to resemble Bess,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Tho of course you know she'd never worn quite such a charming dress),<br /></span>
<span class="i3">"I've a lover in that prison"&mdash;(Don't forget to roll your r's<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And to shiver as tho gazing through the iron prison bars),<br /></span>
<span class="i3">"Cromwell will not come till sunset"&mdash;(Speak each word as tho you'd bite<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Every syllable to pieces)&mdash;"Curfew must not ring to-night."<br /></span>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25"></a></span></div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">"Bessie," calmly spoke the sexton&mdash;(Here extend your velvet palm,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Let it tremble like the sexton's as tho striving to be calm),<br /></span>
<span class="i3">"Long, long y'ars I've rung the curfew"&mdash;(Don't forget to make it y'ars<br /></span>
<span class="i3">With a pitiful inflection that a world of sorrow bears),<br /></span>
<span class="i3">"I have done my duty ever"&mdash;(Draw yourself up to your height,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">For you're speaking as the sexton)&mdash;"Gyurl, the curfew rings to-night!"<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Out she swung, far out&mdash;(Now here is where you've got to do your best;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Let your head be twisted backward, let great sobs heave up your chest,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Swing your right foot through an arc of ninety lineal degrees,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Then come down and swing your left foot, and be sure don't bend your knees;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Keep this up for fifteen minutes till your face is worn and white,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Then gaze at your mangled fingers)&mdash;"Curfew shall not ring to-night!"<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">O'er the distant hills came Cromwell&mdash;(Right hand to the brow once more;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Let your eyes look down the distance, say above the entrance door)&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">At his foot she told her story&mdash;(Lift your hands as tho they hurt)&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And her sweet young face so haggard&mdash;(Now your pathos you assert,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Then you straighten up as Cromwell, and be sure you get it right;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Don't say "Go, your liver loves!")&mdash;well: "Curfew shall not ring to-night!"<br /></span>
</div></div>

<p>Reprinted from <i>Harper's Magazine</i>, by permission of Harper and Brothers.</p>

<p><a id="Page_25a"></a></p>
<h3>MELPOMENUS JONES<br />
BY STEPHEN LEACOCK</h3>

<p>Some people find great difficulty in saying good-by when making<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26"></a></span>
a call or spending the evening. As the moment draws near when
the visitor feels that he is fairly entitled to go away, he rises and
says abruptly, "Well, I think&mdash;&mdash;" Then the people say, "Oh,
must you go now? Surely it's early yet!" and a pitiful struggle
ensues.</p>

<p>I think the saddest case of this kind of thing that I ever knew
was that of my poor friend Melpomenus Jones, a curate&mdash;such
a dear young man and only twenty-three! He simply couldn't get
away from people. He was too modest to tell a lie, and too religious
to wish to appear rude. Now it happened that he went to
call on some friends of his on the very first afternoon of his summer
vacation. The next six weeks were entirely his own&mdash;absolutely
nothing to do. He chatted a while, drank two cups of tea,
then braced himself for the effort and said suddenly:</p>

<p>"Well, I think I&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>But the lady of the house said, "Oh, no, Mr. Jones, can't you
really stay a little longer?"</p>

<p>Jones was always truthful&mdash;"Oh, yes, of course, I&mdash;er&mdash;can."</p>

<p>"Then please don't go."</p>

<p>He stayed. He drank eleven cups of tea. Night was falling.
He rose again.</p>

<p>"Well, now, I think I really&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"You must go? I thought perhaps you could have stayed to
dinner&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Oh, well, so I could, you know, if&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Then please stay; I'm sure my husband will be delighted."</p>

<p>"All right, I'll stay"; and he sank back into his chair, just
full of tea, and miserable.</p>

<p>Father came home. They had dinner. All through the meal
Jones sat planning to leave at eight-thirty. All the family wondered
whether Mr. Jones was stupid and sulky, or only stupid.</p>

<p>After dinner mother undertook to "draw him out" and showed
him photographs. She showed him all the family museum, several
gross of them&mdash;photos of father's uncle and his wife, and
mother's brother and his little boy, and awfully interesting photos
of father's uncle's friend in his Bengal uniform, an awfully well-taken
photo of father's grandfather's partner's dog, and an
awfully wicked one of father as the devil for a fancy-dress ball.</p>

<p>At eight-thirty Jones had examined seventy-one photographs.
There were about sixty-nine more that he hadn't. Jones rose.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27"></a></span></p>
<p>"I must say good-night now," he pleaded.</p>

<p>"Say good-night! why it's only half-past eight! Have you
anything to do?"</p>

<p>"Nothing," he admitted, and muttered something about staying
six weeks, and then laughed miserably.</p>

<p>Just then it turned out that the favorite child of the family,
such a dear little romp, had hidden Mr. Jones' hat; so father
said that he <i>must</i> stay, and invited him to a pipe and a chat.
Father had the pipe and gave Jones the chat, and still he stayed.
Every moment he meant to take the plunge, but couldn't. Then
father began to get very tired of Jones, and fidgeted and finally
said, with jocular irony, that Jones had better stay all night&mdash;they
could give him a shake-down. Jones mistook his meaning
and thanked him with tears in his eyes, and father put Jones to
bed in the spare-room and curst him heartily.</p>

<p>After breakfast next day, father went off to his work in the
city and left Jones playing with the baby, broken-hearted. His
nerve was utterly gone. He was meaning to leave all day, but
the thing had got on his mind and he simply couldn't. When
father came home in the evening he was surprized and chagrined
to find Jones still there. He thought to jockey him out with a
jest, and said he thought he'd have to charge him for his board,
he! he! The unhappy young man stared wildly for a moment,
then wrung father's hand, paid him a month's board in advance,
and broke down and sobbed like a child.</p>

<p>In the days that followed he was moody and unapproachable.
He lived, of course, entirely in the drawing-room, and the lack
of air and exercise began to tell sadly on his health. He passed
his time in drinking tea and looking at photographs. He would
stand for hours together gazing at the photograph of father's
uncle's friend in his Bengal uniform&mdash;talking to it, sometimes
swearing bitterly at it. His mind was visibly failing.</p>

<p>At length the crash came. They carried him up-stairs in a
raging delirium of fever. The illness that followed was terrible.
He recognized no one, not even father's uncle's friend in his
Bengal uniform. At times he would start up <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28"></a></span>from his bed and
shriek: "Well, I think I&mdash;&mdash;" and then fall back upon the pillow
with a horrible laugh. Then, again, he would leap up and cry:
"Another cup of tea and more photographs! More photographs!
Hear! Hear!"</p>

<p>At length, after a month of agony, on the last day of his vacation
he passed away. They say that when the last moment came,
he sat up in bed with a beautiful smile of confidence playing
upon his face, and said: "Well&mdash;the angels are calling me; I'm
afraid I really must go now. Good afternoon."</p>


<h3>HER FIFTEEN MINUTES<br />
BY TOM MASSON</h3>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">At exactly fifteen minutes to eight<br /></span>
<span class="i3">His step was heard at the garden gate.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">And then, with heart that was light and gay,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">He laughed to himself in a jubilant way,<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">And rang the bell for the maiden trim<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Who'd promised to go to the play with him;<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">And told the servant, with joyous air,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">To say there were fifteen minutes to spare.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">And then for fifteen minutes he sat<br /></span>
<span class="i3">In the parlor dim, and he held his hat,<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">And waited and sighed for the maiden trim<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Who'd promised to go to the play with him,<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Until, as the clock overhead struck eight,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">He muttered: "Great Scott! it is getting late";<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">And took a turn on the parlor floor,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And waited for fifteen minutes more;<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">And thought of those seats in the front parquet.<br /></span>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29"></a></span><span class="i3">And midnight came, and the break of day;<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">That day and the next, and the next one, too,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">He sat and waited the long hours through.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Then time flew on and the years sped by,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And still he sat, with expectant eye<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">And lengthening beard, for the maiden trim<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Who'd promised to go to the play with him;<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Until one night, as with palsied hand<br /></span>
<span class="i3">He sat in the chair, for he couldn't stand,<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">And drummed in an aimless way, she came<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And opened the door with her withered frame.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">The moon's bright rays touched the silvered hair<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Of her who had fifteen minutes to spare.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">And then in tones that he strained to hear,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">She spoke, and she said: "Are you ready, dear?"<br /></span>
</div></div>

<p>Reprinted by permission of <i>Life</i> Publishing Company.</p>

<p><a id="Page_29a"></a></p>
<h3>THE FOXES' TAILS<br />
ANONYMOUS</h3>

<p><i>Minister</i>&mdash;Weel, Sandy, man; and how did ye like the sermon
the day?</p>

<p><i>Precentor</i>&mdash;Eh?</p>

<p><i>Minister</i>&mdash;What did you think o' the discourse as a whole?</p>

<p><i>Precentor</i>&mdash;All I was gaun to say was jeest this, that every
noo and then in your discoorse the day&mdash;I dinna say oftener
than noo and then&mdash;jeest occasionally&mdash;it struck me that there
was maybe&mdash;frae time to time&mdash;jeest a wee bit o' <i>exaggeration</i>.</p>

<p><i>Minister</i>&mdash;Exagger&mdash;what, Sir?</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30"></a></span></p>

<p><i>Precentor</i>&mdash;Weel, maybe that's ower strong a word, I dinna
want to offend ye. I mean jeest&mdash;<i>amplification</i>, like.</p>

<p><i>Minister</i>&mdash;Exaggeration! amplification! What the deil mischief
d'ye mean, Sir?</p>

<p><i>Precentor</i>&mdash;There, there, there! I'll no say anither word. I
dinna mean to rouse ye like that. All I meant to say was that
you jeest <i>streetched the pint</i> a wee bit.</p>

<p><i>Minister</i>&mdash;<i>Streetched the pint!</i> D'ye mean to say, Sir, that I
tell <i>lees</i>?</p>

<p><i>Precentor</i>&mdash;Oh! no, no, no&mdash;but I didna gang sae far as a'
that.</p>

<p><i>Minister</i>&mdash;Ye went quite far enough, Sir. Sandy, I call upon
you, if ever ye should hear me say another word out o' joint,
to pull me up there and then.</p>

<p><i>Precentor</i>&mdash;Losh! Sir; but how could I pull ye up i' the kirk?</p>

<p><i>Minister</i>&mdash;Ye can give me sort o' a signal.</p>

<p><i>Precentor</i>&mdash;How could I gie ye a signal i' the kirk?</p>

<p><i>Minister</i>&mdash;Ye could make some kind o' a noise.</p>

<p><i>Precentor</i>&mdash;A noise i' the kirk?</p>

<p><i>Minister</i>&mdash;Ay. Ye're sittin' just down aneath me, ye ken; so
ye might just put up your held, and give a bit whustle (whistles),
like that.</p>

<p><i>Precentor</i>&mdash;A whustle!</p>

<p><i>Minister</i>&mdash;Ay, a whustle!</p>

<p><i>Precentor</i>&mdash;But would it no be an awfu' sin?</p>

<p><i>Minister</i>&mdash;Hoots, man; doesna the wind whustle on the Sawbbath?</p>

<p><i>Precentor</i>&mdash;Ay; I never thought o' that afore. Yes, the wind
whustles.</p>

<p><i>Minister</i>&mdash;Well, just a wee bit soughing whustle like the wind
(whistles softly).</p>

<p><i>Precentor</i>&mdash;Well, if there's nae harm in 't, I'll do my best.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31"></a></span></p>
<p>So, ultimately, it was agreed between the minister and precentor,
that the first word of exaggeration from the pulpit was
to elicit the signal from the desk below.</p>

<p>Next Sunday came. Had the minister only stuck to his sermon
that day, he would have done very well. But it was his
habit, before the sermon, to read a chapter from the Bible, adding
such remarks and explanations of his own as he thought necessary.
On the present occasion he had chosen one that bristled with
difficulties. It was that chapter which describes Samson as catching
three hundred foxes, tying them tail to tail, setting firebrands
in their midst, starting them among the standing corn of the
Philistines, and burning it down. As he closed the description,
he shut the book, and commenced the <i>eloocidation</i> as follows:</p>

<p>"My dear freends, I daresay you have been wondering in your
minds how it was possible that Samson could catch three hundred
foxes.</p>

<p>"Well, then, we are told in the Scriptures that Samson was
the strongest man that ever lived. But, we are not told that he
was a great runner. But if he catched these three hundred foxes
he must have been a great runner, and therefore I contend that
we have a perfect right to assume, by all the laws of Logic and
Scientific History, that he was the fastest runner that ever was
born; and that was how he catched his three hundred foxes!</p>

<p>"But after we get rid of this difficulty, my freends, another
crops up&mdash;after he has catched his three hundred foxes, how
does he manage to keep them all together?</p>

<p>"Now you will please bear in mind, in the <i>first place</i>, that it
was <i>foxes</i> that Samson catched. Now we don't catch foxes, as a
general rule, in the streets of a <i>toon</i>; therefore it is more than
probable that Samson catched them in the <i>country</i>, and if he
catched them in the country it is natural to suppose that he
'bided in the country; and if he 'bided in the country it is not
unlikely that he lived at a farm-house. Now at farm-houses we
have stables and barns, and <i>therefore</i> we may now consider it a
settled pint, that as he catched his foxes, one by one, he stapped
them into a good-sized barn, and steeked the door and <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32"></a></span>locked it,&mdash;<i>here
we overcome the second stumbling-block</i>. But no sooner
have we done this, than a third rock of offense loups up to fickle
us. After he has catched his foxes; after he has got them all
snug in the barn under lock and key&mdash;<i>how in the world did he
tie their tails together?</i> There is a fickler. But it is a great thing
for poor, ignorant folk like you, that there has been great and
learned men who have been to colleges, and universities, and
seats o' learning&mdash;the same as mysel', ye ken&mdash;and instead o'
going into the kirk, like me, they have gone traveling into foreign
parts; and they have written books o' their travels; and we
can read their books. Now, among other places, some of these
learned men have traveled into <i>Canaan</i>, and some into <i>Palestine</i>,
and some few into the <i>Holy Land</i>; and these last mentioned travelers
tell us, that in these Eastern or Oriental climes, the foxes
there are <i>a total different breed o' cattle a'thegither frae our foxes</i>;
that they are <i>great, big beasts</i>&mdash;and, what's the most astonishing
thing about them, and what helps to explain this wonderful feat
of Samson's, is, that they've all got <i>most extraordinary long tails</i>;
in fact, these Eastern travelers tell us that these foxes' tails are
actually <i>forty feet long</i>.</p>

<p><i>Precentor</i> (whistles).</p>

<p><i>Minister</i> (somewhat disturbed)&mdash;"Oh! I ought to say that there
are <i>other travelers</i>, and <i>later travelers</i> than the travelers I've been
talking to you about, and they say this statement is rather an
<i>exaggeration</i> on the whole, and that these foxes' tails are never
more than <i>twenty feet long</i>.</p>

<p><i>Precentor</i> (whistles).</p>

<p><i>Minister</i> (disturbed and confused)&mdash;"Be&mdash;be&mdash;before I leave
this subject a'thegither, my freends, I may just add that there
has been a considerable diversity o' opinion about the length o'
these animals' tails. Ye see one man says one thing, and anither,
anither; and I've spent a good lot o' learned research in the matter
mysel'; and <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33"></a></span>after examining one authority, and anither authority,
and putting one authority again the ither, I've come to the
conclusion that these foxes' tails, on an average, are seldom more
than <i>fifteen and a half feet long</i>.</p>

<p><i>Precentor</i> (whistles).</p>

<p><i>Minister</i> (angrily)&mdash;"Sandy McDonald, I'll no tak anither inch
off o' the beasts' tails, even gin ye should whustle every tooth oot
o' your head. Do ye think the foxes o' the Scriptures had na
tails at a'?"</p>


<h3>THE DEAD KITTEN<br />
ANONYMOUS</h3>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">You's as stiff an' cold as a stone, little cat;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Dey's done frowed out an' left you all alone, little cat;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">I's a-strokin' you's fur<br /></span>
<span class="i7">But you don't never purr,<br /></span>
<span class="i7">Nor hump up anywhere&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i7">Little cat, why is dat?<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Is you's purrin' an' humpin' up done?<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">An' why is you's little foot tied, little cat?<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Did dey pisen you's tummick inside, little cat?<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Did dey pound you wif bricks<br /></span>
<span class="i7">Or wif big nasty sticks<br /></span>
<span class="i7">Or abuse you wif kicks?<br /></span>
<span class="i7">Little cat, tell me dat.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Did dey laff whenever you cried?<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Did it hurt werry bad when you died, little cat?<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Oh, why didn't you wun off and hide, little cat?<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Dey is tears in my eyes,<br /></span>
<span class="i7">'Cause I most always cries<br /></span>
<span class="i7">When a pussy-cat dies,<br /></span>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34"></a></span><span class="i7">Little cat, tink of dat,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">An' I am awfully solly, besides.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Des lay still, down in de sof' groun', little cat,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">While I tucks the green grass awound, little cat,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Dey can't hurt you no more,<br /></span>
<span class="i7">W'en you's tired and so sore;<br /></span>
<span class="i7">Des' sleep quiet, you pore<br /></span>
<span class="i7">Little cat, wif a pat,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And forget all the kicks of the town.<br /></span>
</div></div>


<h3>THE WEATHER FIEND<br />
ANONYMOUS</h3>

<p>One hot day last summer, a young man dressed in thin clothes,
entered a Broadway car, and seating himself opposite a stout old
gentleman, said, pleasantly:</p>

<p>"Pretty warm, isn't it?"</p>

<p>"What's pretty warm?"</p>

<p>"Why, the weather."</p>

<p>"What weather?"</p>

<p>"Why, this weather."</p>

<p>"Well, how's this different from any other weather?"</p>

<p>"Well, it is warmer."</p>

<p>"How do you know it is?"</p>

<p>"I suppose it is."</p>

<p>"Isn't the weather the same everywhere?"</p>

<p>"Why, no,&mdash;no; it's warmer in some places and it's colder in
others."</p>

<p>"What makes it warmer in some places than it's colder in
others?"</p>

<p>"Why, the sun,&mdash;the effect of the sun's heat."</p>

<p>"Makes it colder in some places than it's warmer in others?
Never heard of such a thing."</p>

<p>"No, no, no. I didn't mean that. The sun makes it warmer."</p>

<p>"Then what makes it colder?"</p>

<p>"I believe it's the ice."</p>

<p>"What ice?"</p>

<p>"Why, the ice,&mdash;the ice,&mdash;the ice that was frozen by&mdash;by&mdash;by
the frost."</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35"></a></span></p>
<p>"Have you ever seen any ice that wasn't frozen?"</p>

<p>"No,&mdash;that is, I believe I haven't."</p>

<p>"Then what are you talking about?"</p>

<p>"I was just trying to talk about the weather."</p>

<p>"And what do you know about it,&mdash;what do you know about
the weather?"</p>

<p>"Well, I thought I knew something, but I see I don't and that's
a fact."</p>

<p>"No, sir, I should say you didn't! Yet you come into this car
and force yourself upon the attention of a stranger and begin
to talk about the weather as tho you owned it, and I find you
don't know a solitary thing about the matter you yourself selected
for a topic of conversation. You don't know one thing
about meteorological conditions, principles, or phenomena; you
can't tell me why it is warm in August and cold in December;
you don't know why icicles form faster in the sunlight than they
do in the shade; you don't know why the earth grows colder as
it comes nearer the sun; you can't tell why a man can be sun-struck
in the shade; you can't tell me how a cyclone is formed
nor how the trade-winds blow; you couldn't find the calm-center
of a storm if your life depended on it; you don't know what a
sirocco is nor where the southwest monsoon blows; you don't
know the average rainfall in the United States for the past and
current year; you don't know why the wind dries up the ground
more quickly than a hot sun; you don't know why the dew falls
at night and dries up in the day; you can't explain the formation
of fog; you don't know one solitary thing about the weather
and you are just like a thousand and one other people who
always begin talking about the weather because they don't know
anything else, when, by the Aurora Borealis, they know less about
the weather than they do about anything else in the world, sir!"</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36"></a></span></p>


<h3>THE RACE QUESTION<br />
BY PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR</h3>

<p><span class="smcap">Scene</span>: <i>Race-track. Enter old colored man, seating himself.</i></p>

<p>"Oomph, oomph. De work of de devil sho' do p'ospah. How
'do, suh? Des tol'able, thankee, suh. How you come on? Oh,
I was des asayin' how de wo'k of de ol' boy do p'ospah. Doesn't
I frequent the race-track? No, suh; no, suh. I's Baptis' myse'f
an' I 'low hit's all devil's doin's. Wouldn't 'a' be'n hyeah to-day,
but I got a boy named Jim dat's long gone in sin an' he
gwine ride one dem hosses. Oomph, dat boy! I sut'ny has
talked to him and labohed wid him night an' day, but it was
allers in vain, an' I's feahed dat de day of his reckonin' is at han'.</p>

<p>"Ain't I nevah been intrusted in racin'? Humph, you don't
s'pose I been dead all my life, does you? What you laffin at?
Oh, scuse me, scuse me, you unnerstan' what I means. You don'
give a ol' man time to splain hisse'f. What I means is dat dey
has been days when I walked in de counsels of de ongawdly and
set in de seats of sinnahs; and long erbout dem times I did tek
most ovahly strong to racin'.</p>

<p>"How long dat been? Oh, dat's way long back, 'fo I got
religion, mo'n thuty years ago, dough I got to own I has fell
from grace several times sense.</p>

<p>"Yes, suh, I ust to ride. Ki-yi! I nevah furgit de day dat
my ol' Mas' Jack put me on 'June Boy,' his black geldin', an' say
to me, 'Si,' says he, 'if you don' ride de tail offen Cunnel Scott's
mare, "No Quit," I's gwine to larrup you twell you cain't set in
de saddle no mo'.' Hyah, hyah. My ol' Mas' was a mighty han'
fu' a joke. I knowed he wan't gwine to do nuffin' to me.</p>

<p>"Did I win? Why, whut you spec' I's doin' hyeah ef I hadn'
winned? W'y, ef I'd 'a' let dat Scott maih beat my 'June Boy'
I'd 'a' drowned myse'f in Bull Skin Crick.</p>

<p>"Yes, suh, I winned; w'y, at de finish I come down dat track
lak hit was de Jedgment Day an' I was de las' one up! 'f I
didn't race dat maih's tail clean off. I 'low I made hit do a lot
o' switchin'. An' aftah dat my wife Mandy she ma'ed me. Hyah,
hyah, I ain't bin much on hol'in' de reins sence.</p>

<p>"Sh! dey comin' in to wa'm <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37"></a></span>up. Dat Jim, dat Jim, dat my
boy; you nasty, putrid little raskil. Des a hundred an' eight, suh,
des a hundred an' eight. Yas, suh, dat's my Jim; I don' know
whaih he gits his dev'ment at.</p>

<p>"What's de mattah wid dat boy? Whyn't he hunch hisse'f up
on dat saddle right? Jim, Jim, whyn't you limber up, boy;
hunch yo'sef up on dat hose lak you belonged to him and knowed
you was dah. What I done showed you? De black raskil, goin'
out dah tryin' to disgrace his own daddy. Hyeah he come back.
Dat's bettah, you scoun'ril.</p>

<p>"Dat's a right smaht-lookin' hoss he's a-ridin', but I ain't a-trustin'
dat bay wid de white feet&mdash;dat is, not altogethah. She's
a favourwright, too; but dey's sumpin' else in dis worl' sides
playin' favourwrights. Jim battah had win dis race. His hoss
ain't a five to one shot, but I spec's to go way fum hyeah wid
money ernuff to mek a donation on de pa'sonage.</p>

<p>"Does I bet? Well, I don' des call hit bettin'; but I resks a
little w'en I t'inks I kin he'p de cause. 'Tain't gamblin', o' co'se;
I wouldn't gamble fu nothin', dough my ol' Mastah did ust to
say dat a hones' gamblah was ez good ez a hones' preachah an'
mos' nigh ez skace.</p>

<p>"Look out dah, man, dey's off, dat nasty bay maih wid de white
feet leadin' right f'um de pos'. I knowed it! I knowed it! I
had my eye on huh all de time. O Jim, Jim, why didn't you
git in bettah, way back dah fouf? Dah go de gong! I knowed
dat wasn't no staht. Troop back dah, you raskils, hyah, hyah.</p>

<p>"I wush day boy wouldn't do so much jummyin erroun' wid
day hoss. Fust t'ing he know he ain't gwine to know whaih
he's at.</p>

<p>"Dah, dah dey go ag'in. Hit's a sho' t'ing dis time. Bettah,
Jim, bettah. Dey didn't leave you dis time. Hug dat bay maih,
hug her close, boy. Don't press dat hoss yit. He holdin' back
a lot o' t'ings.</p>

<p>"He's gainin'! doggone my cats, he's gainin'! an' dat hoss o'
his'n gwine des ez stiddy ez a rockin'-chair. Jim allus was a
good boy.</p>

<p>"Counfound these spec's, I cain't see 'em skacely; huh, you
say dey's neck an' neck; now I see 'em! and Jimmy's a-ridin'
like&mdash;&mdash; Huh, huh, I laik to said sumpin'.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38"></a></span></p>
<p>"De bay maih's done huh bes', she's done huh bes'! Dey's
turned into the stretch an' still see-sawin'. Let him out, Jimmy,
let him out! Dat boy done th'owed de reins away. Come on,
Jimmy, come on! He's leadin' by a nose. Come on, I tell you,
you black rapscallion, come on! Give 'em hell, Jimmy! give 'em
hell! Under de wire an'a len'th ahead. Doggone my cats! wake
me up wen dat othah hoss comes in.</p>

<p>"No, suh, I ain't gwine stay no longah&mdash;I don't app'ove o'
racin'; I's gwine 'roun' an' see dis hyeah bookmakah an' den I's
gwine dreckly home, suh, dreckly home. I's Baptis' myse'f, an'
I don't app'ove o' no sich doin's!"</p>

<p>Reprinted by permission from "The Heart of Happy Hollow," Dodd, Mead &amp;
Company, New York.</p>


<h3>WHEN THE WOODBINE TURNS RED<br />
ANONYMOUS</h3>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">They sat in a garden of springing flowers,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">In a tangle of woodland ways;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And theirs was the sweetest of summer bowers,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Where they passed long summer days.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">But, alas, when the sunbeams faded away,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">And those brightest of days had fled<br /></span>
<span class="i3">'Neath the old trysting trees they parted for aye,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">When the woodbine leaves turned red.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">When the woodbine leaves turned red,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And their last farewell was said,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">They swore to be true, as all lovers do,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">When the woodbine leaves turn red.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">She gave him a flower sweet;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">They vowed they would surely meet<br /></span>
<span class="i5">In a year and a day; tho they parted for aye<br /></span>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39"></a></span><span class="i3">When the woodbine leaves turned red.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">They met in the garden again next year,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">And their ways had been far apart.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">He grasped both hands with a sigh and a tear,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">And murmured, "My old sweetheart,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">I have to confess it, I can't marry you,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">For already have I been wed."<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And she answered, blushing, "So have I, too."<br /></span>
<span class="i5"><i>And the woodbine turned red.</i><br /></span>
</div></div>


<h3>CUPID'S CASUISTRY<br />
BY W. J. LAMPTON</h3>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">We were sitting in the moonlight<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Of a radiant, rosy June night,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">When I whispered: "Kitty, don't you<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Wish I'd kiss you? Let me, won't you?"<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Kitty was a rustic maiden,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And I thought not heavy laden<br /></span>
<span class="i3">With the wisdom of the ages<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Writ on cultured cupid's pages.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Kitty answered: "No, I mustn't<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Let you kiss me: my ma doesn't<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Think it proper that her Kitty<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Be like maidens in the city."<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">"Oh!" I stammered. Then did Kitty<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Whisper in a tone of pity:<br /></span>
<span class="i3">"I might kiss <i>you</i> and be true, sir,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">To my mother; would that do, sir?"<br /></span>
</div></div>

<p><a id="Page_39a"></a></p>
<h3>WHEN MAH LADY YAWNS<br />
BY CHARLES T. GRILLEY</h3>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40"></a></span></p>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">When mah Cah'line yawns, ah'm 'spicious<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Dat she tinks de time po'pitious<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Fo' me to tu'n mah 'tention to de clock upon de wall.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Dat's de cue to quit mah talkin',<br /></span>
<span class="i3">An' a gentle hint dat walkin'<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Would flicitate de briefness of mah call.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Th' fus' gal that ah coh'ted<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Ouah ma'idge it was thwa'ted<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Because ah was so green ah didn' know.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">When she yawns it was behoovin'<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Dat dis dahkey should be movin',<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Twell at las' she says, "Fo Lawd's sake, niggah, go!"<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Den ah took mah hat an' stah'ted,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">An f'om dat hour we pah'ted,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">An ah nevah seen dat cullud gal no mo'.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">But it taught me dis yer lesson<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Dat a yawn am de expression<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Dat invites yo' to be movin' to'ards de do'.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">So take dis friendly wah'nin',&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Should yo' lady love stah't yawnin'<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Altho de sudden pah'ting cost yo' pain,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">If she's one you'd like t' marry,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Aftah one good yawn don' tarry,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Den yo sho'ly will be welcome da again.<br /></span>
</div></div>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41"></a></span></p>


<h3>WATCHIN' THE SPARKIN'<br />
BY FRED EMERSON BROOKS</h3>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Say, Jim, ye wanter see the fun?<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Jemimy's sparkin's jess begun!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Git deown&mdash;this box won't hold but one<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Fer peekin' through the winder!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Yeou stay down thar jess whar ye be;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">I'll tell ye all thar is to see;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Then you'll enjoy it well as me;<br /></span>
<span class="i5">An' deon't yeou try to hinder!<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">That teacher is the dumbdest goose<br /></span>
<span class="i3">That Cupid ever turned eout loose;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">His learnin' hain't no sort o' use<br /></span>
<span class="i5">In sparkin' our Jemimy!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Tho peekin's 'ginst the golden reule,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">He told us t'other day in scheool<br /></span>
<span class="i3">To watch him close; so git a steool<br /></span>
<span class="i5">An' stand up here close by me.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Neow he's got suthin' in his head<br /></span>
<span class="i3">That somehow ruther's gotter be said;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Keeps hitchin' up, an' blushin' red,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">With one leg over t'other.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">He wants to do the thing up breown.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Wall, he's the biggest gawk in teown:<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Showin' her pictur's upside deown;<br /></span>
<span class="i5">An' she don't know it nuther!<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">He's got his arm areound her chair,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And wonders if she'll leave it there.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">But she looks like she didn't care!<br /></span>
<span class="i5">I'll bet he's goin' to kiss 'er;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">He's gittin' closer to her face,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">An' pickin' out the softest place,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">An' sort o' measurin' off the space,<br /></span>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42"></a></span><span class="i5">Jess so as not to miss 'er.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">If she'd git mad, an' box his ear,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">'Twould knock his plans clean out o' gear,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">An' set him back another year;<br /></span>
<span class="i5">But she ain't goin' to do it:<br /></span>
<span class="i3">She thinks the teacher's jess tip-top,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">An' she won't let no chances drop;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">If ever he sets in to pop,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">She's goin' to pull him through it!<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">I gum! an' if he ain't the wust!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Waitin' fer her to kiss him fust!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">He's goin' to do it neow er bu'st:<br /></span>
<span class="i5">He's makin' preparation!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Neow watch him steppin' on her toes&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">That's jess to keep her down, I s'pose.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Wall, thar, he's kissed her on the nose!<br /></span>
<span class="i5">So much fer edecation!<br /></span>
</div></div>

<p>By permission of Messrs. Forbes &amp; Co., Chicago.</p>


<p><a id="Page_42a"></a></p>
<h3>THE WAY OF A WOMAN<br />
BY BYRON W. KING</h3>

<p>It was the last night before leap-year; it was the last hour before
leap-year; in fact, the minute-hand had moved round the dial
face of the clock until it registered fifteen minutes of twelve,&mdash;fifteen
minutes of leap-year. John and Mary were seated in
Mary's father's parlor. There was plenty of furniture there but
they were using only a limited portion of it. John watched the
minute-hand move round the dial face of the clock until, like the
finger of destiny, it registered fifteen minutes of twelve,&mdash;fifteen
minutes of leap-year, when he gasped hard, clutched his coat
collar, and said,&mdash;</p>

<p>"Mary, in just fifteen minutes, Mary,&mdash;fifteen minutes by that
clock, Mary,&mdash;another year, Mary,&mdash;like the six thousand years
that have gone before it, Mary,&mdash;will have gone into the great
Past and be forgotten in oblivion, Mary,&mdash;and I want to ask <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43"></a></span>you,
Mary,&mdash;to-night, Mary,&mdash;on this sofa, Mary,&mdash;if for the next six
thousand years,&mdash;Mary!!!&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"John," she said with a winning smile, "you seem very much
excited, John,&mdash;can I do anything to help you, John?"</p>

<p>"Just sit still, Mary,&mdash;just sit still. In just twelve minutes,
Mary,&mdash;twelve minutes by this clock, Mary,&mdash;like the six thousand
clocks that have gone before it, Mary,&mdash;will be forgotten,
Mary,&mdash;and I want to ask this clock, Mary,&mdash;to-night, on this
sofa, Mary,&mdash;if when we've been forgotten six thousand times,
Mary,&mdash;in oblivion, Mary,&mdash;and six thousand sofas, Mary!!&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"John," she said, more smilingly than ever, "you seem quite
nervous; would you like to see father?"</p>

<p>"Not for the world, Mary, not for the world! In just eight
minutes, Mary,&mdash;eight minutes by that awful clock, we'll be forgotten,
Mary,&mdash;and I want to ask six thousand fathers, Mary,&mdash;if
when this sofa, Mary,&mdash;has been forgotten six thousand times,
Mary,&mdash;in six thousand oblivions,&mdash;I want to ask six thousand
Marys six thousand times, Mary!!!!&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"John," she said, "you don't seem very well. Would you like
a glass of water?"</p>

<p>"Mary,&mdash;in just three minutes, Mary,&mdash;three minutes by that
dreadful clock, Mary,&mdash;we'll be forgotten, Mary,&mdash;six thousand
times,&mdash;and I want to ask six thousand sofas, Mary,&mdash;if when
six thousand oblivions have forgotten six thousand fathers in six
thousand years, I want to ask six thousand Marys, six thousand
times, Mary!!!!&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>Bang! the clock struck. It was leap-year. The clock struck
twelve and Mary turning to John, sweetly said:</p>

<p>"John, it's leap-year; will you marry me?"</p>

<p>"Yes!!!"</p>

<p>Gentlemen, there is no use talking, the way of a woman beats
you all.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44"></a></span></p>


<h3>THE YACHT CLUB SPEECH<br />
ANONYMOUS</h3>


<p>Mr. Chairman&mdash;a&mdash;a&mdash;a&mdash;Mr. Commodore&mdash;beg pardon&mdash;I assure
you that until this moment I had not the remotest expectation
that I should be called upon to reply to this toast. (<i>Pauses,
turns round, pulls MS. out of pocket and looks at it.</i>) Therefore
I must beg of you, Mr. Captain&mdash;a&mdash;a&mdash;Mr. Commatain&mdash;a&mdash;a&mdash;Mr.&mdash;Mr.
Cappadore&mdash;that you will pardon the confused nature
of these remarks, being as they must necessarily be altogether
impromptu and extempore. (<i>Pauses, turns round and looks at
MS.</i>) But Mr. Bos'an&mdash;a&mdash;a&mdash;Mr. Bosadore&mdash;I feel&mdash;I feel even
in these few confused expromptu and intempore&mdash;intomptu and
exprempore&mdash;extemptu and imprempore&mdash;exprompore remarks&mdash;I
feel that I can say in the words of the poet, words of the
poet&mdash;poet&mdash;I feel that I can say in the words of the poet&mdash;of
the poet&mdash;poet, and in these few confused remarks&mdash;in the words
of the poet&mdash;(<i>turns round, looks at MS.</i>)&mdash;I feel that I can say
in the words of the poet that I feel my heart swell within me.
Now Mr. Capasun, Mr. Commasun, why does my heart swell
within me&mdash;in the few confused&mdash;why does my heart swell within
me&mdash;swell within me&mdash;swell within me&mdash;what makes my heart
swell within me&mdash;why does it swell&mdash;swell within me? (<i>Turns round
and looks at MS.</i>) Why, Mr. Cappadore&mdash;look at George Washington&mdash;what
did he do?&mdash;in the few confused&mdash;&mdash;(<i>Strikes dramatic
attitude with swelled chest and outstretched arm, preparing
for burst of eloquence which will not come.</i>) He&mdash;huh&mdash;he&mdash;huh&mdash;he&mdash;huh&mdash;(<i>turns
round and looks at MS.</i>)&mdash;he took his stand
upon the ship of state&mdash;he stood upon the maintopgallant-jib-boomsail
and reefed the quivering sail&mdash;and when the storms were
waging rildly round to wreck his fragile bark, through all the
howling tempest he guided her in safety into the harbor of perdition&mdash;a&mdash;a&mdash;a&mdash;into
the haven of safety. And what did he do
then? What did he do then? What did he do then? He&mdash;he&mdash;he&mdash;(<i>looks
at MS.</i>)&mdash;there he stood. And then his grateful country-men
gathered round him&mdash;they gathered round George Washington&mdash;they
placed him on the summit of the cipadel&mdash;their capadol&mdash;they
held him up before the eyes of the assembled world&mdash;around
his brow they placed a never-dying wreath&mdash;and then in
thunder tones which all the world might hear&mdash;&mdash;(<i>Flourishes MS.
before his face, notices it and sits down in great confusion.</i>)</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45"></a></span></p>


<h3>MAMMY'S LI'L' BOY<br />
BY H. S. EDWARDS</h3>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Who all time dodgin' en de cott'n en de corn?<br /></span>
<span class="i6">Mammy's li'l' boy, mammy's li'l' boy!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Who all time stealin' ole massa's dinner-horn?<br /></span>
<span class="i6">Mammy's li'l' baby boy.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i17">Byo baby boy, oh bye,<br /></span>
<span class="i17">By-o li'l' boy!<br /></span>
<span class="i17">Oh, run ter es mammy<br /></span>
<span class="i17">En she tek 'im in 'er arms,<br /></span>
<span class="i17">Mammy's li'l' baby boy.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Who all time runnin' ole gobble roun' de yard?<br /></span>
<span class="i6">Mammy's li'l' boy, mammy's li'l' boy!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Who tek 'e stick 'n hit ole possum dog so hard?<br /></span>
<span class="i6">Mammy's li'l' baby boy.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i17">Byo baby boy, oh bye,<br /></span>
<span class="i17">By-o li'l' boy!<br /></span>
<span class="i17">Oh, run ter es mammy<br /></span>
<span class="i17">En climb up en 'er lap,<br /></span>
<span class="i17">Mammy's li'l' baby boy.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Who all time stumpin' es toe ergin er rock?<br /></span>
<span class="i6">Mammy's li'l' boy, mammy's li'l' boy!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Who all time er-rippin' big hole en es frock?<br /></span>
<span class="i6">Mammy's li'l' baby boy.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i17">Byo baby boy, oh bye,<br /></span>
<span class="i17">By-o li'l' boy!<br /></span>
<span class="i17">Oh, run ter es mammy<br /></span>
<span class="i17">En she wipe es li'l' eyes,<br /></span>
<span class="i17">Mammy's li'l' baby boy.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46"></a></span><span class="i3">Who all time er-losin' de shovel en de rake?<br /></span>
<span class="i6">Mammy's li'l' boy, mammy's li'l' boy!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Who all time tryin' ter ride 'e lazy drake?<br /></span>
<span class="i6">Mammy's li'l' baby boy.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i17">Byo baby boy, oh bye,<br /></span>
<span class="i17">By-o li'l' boy!<br /></span>
<span class="i17">Oh, scoot fer yer mammy<br /></span>
<span class="i17">En she hide yer f'om yer ma,<br /></span>
<span class="i17">Mammy's li'l' baby boy.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Who all time er-trottin' ter de kitchen fer er bite?<br /></span>
<span class="i6">Mammy's li'l' boy, mammy's li'l' boy!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Who mess 'esef wi' taters twell his clothes dey look er sight?<br /></span>
<span class="i6">Mammy's li'l' baby boy.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i17">Byo baby boy, oh bye,<br /></span>
<span class="i17">By-o, li'l boy!<br /></span>
<span class="i17">En 'e run ter es mammy<br /></span>
<span class="i17">Fer ter git 'im out er trouble,<br /></span>
<span class="i17">Mammy's li'l' baby boy.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Who all time er-frettin' en de middle er de day?<br /></span>
<span class="i6">Mammy's li'l' boy, mammy's li'l' boy!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Who all time er-gettin' so sleepy 'e can't play?<br /></span>
<span class="i6">Mammy's li'l' baby boy.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i17">Byo baby boy, oh bye,<br /></span>
<span class="i17">By-o li'l' boy!<br /></span>
<span class="i17">En 'e come ter es mammy<br /></span>
<span class="i17">Ter rock 'im en 'er arms,<br /></span>
<span class="i17">Mammy's li'l' baby boy.<br /></span>
<span class="i17">Shoo, shoo, shoo-shoo-shoo,<br /></span>
<span class="i17">Shoo, shoo, shoo!<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47"></a></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i17">Shoo, shoo, shoo-shoo-shoo,<br /></span>
<span class="i17">Shoo, li'l' baby, shoo!<br /></span>
<span class="i17">Shoo, shoo, shoo-shoo-shoo,<br /></span>
<span class="i17">Shoo, shoo, shoo,<br /></span>
<span class="i17">Shoo....<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Deir now, lay right down on mammy's bed en go 'long back<br /></span>
<span class="i6">ter sleep,&mdash;shoo-shoo!<br /></span>
</div></div>

<p>Reprinted by permission</p>


<h3>CORYDON<br />
BY THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH</h3>

<p><i>Shepherd</i></p>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Good sir, have you seen pass this way<br /></span>
<span class="i3">A mischief straight from market-day?<br /></span>
<span class="i3">You'd know her at a glance, I think;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Her eyes are blue, her lips are pink;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">She has a way of looking back<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Over her shoulder, and, alack!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Who gets that look one time, good sir,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Has naught to do but follow her.<br /></span>
</div></div>

<p><i>Pilgrim</i></p>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">I have not seen this maid, methinks,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Tho she that passed had lips like pinks.<br /></span>
</div></div>

<p><i>Shepherd</i></p>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Or like two strawberries made one<br /></span>
<span class="i3">By some sly trick of dew and sun.<br /></span>
</div></div>

<p><i>Pilgrim</i></p>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">A poet!<br /></span>
</div></div>

<p><i>Shepherd</i></p>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i7">Nay, a simple swain<br /></span>
<span class="i3">That tends his flock on yonder plain,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Naught else, I swear by book and bell.<br /></span>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48"></a></span><span class="i3">But she that passed&mdash;you marked her well.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Was she not smooth as any be<br /></span>
<span class="i3">That dwell herein in Arcady?<br /></span>
</div></div>

<p><i>Pilgrim</i></p>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Her skin was as the satin bark<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Of birches.<br /></span>
</div></div>

<p><i>Shepherd</i></p>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Light or dark?<br /></span>
</div></div>

<p><i>Pilgrim</i></p>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Quite dark.<br /></span>
</div></div>

<p><i>Shepherd</i></p>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Then 't was not she.<br /></span>
</div></div>

<p><i>Pilgrim</i></p>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i7">The peach's side<br /></span>
<span class="i3">That gets the sun is not so dyed<br /></span>
<span class="i3">As was her cheek. Her hair hung down<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Like summer twilight falling brown;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And when the breeze swept by, I wist<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Her face was in a somber mist.<br /></span>
</div></div>

<p><i>Shepherd</i></p>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">No, that is not the maid I seek,&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i3"><i>Her</i> hair lies gold against the cheek;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Her yellow tresses take the morn<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Like silken tassels of the corn.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And yet&mdash;brown locks are far from bad.<br /></span>
</div></div>

<p><i>Pilgrim</i></p>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Now I bethink me, this one had<br /></span>
<span class="i3">A figure like the willow tree<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Which, slight and supple, wondrously<br /></span>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49"></a></span><span class="i3">Inclines to droop with pensive grace,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And still retains its proper place;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">A foot so arched and very small<br /></span>
<span class="i3">The marvel was she walked at all;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Her hand&mdash;in sooth I lack the words&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Her hand, five slender snow-white birds;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Her voice&mdash;tho she but said "Godspeed"&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Was melody blown through a reed;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">The girl Pan changed into a pipe<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Had not a note so full and ripe.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And her eye&mdash;my lad, her eye!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Discreet, inviting, candid, shy,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">An outward ice, an inward fire,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And lashes to the heart's desire&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Soft fringes blacker than the sloe.<br /></span>
</div></div>

<p><i>Shepherd&mdash;thoughtfully</i></p>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Good sir, which way did <i>this</i> one go?<br /></span>
</div></div>

<hr class="tb" />

<p><i>Pilgrim&mdash;solus</i></p>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">So, he is off! the silly youth<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Knoweth not Love in sober sooth.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">He loves&mdash;thus lads at first are blind&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">No woman, only womankind.<br /></span>
</div></div>

<p>From the Poems of Thomas Bailey Aldrich, Household Edition, by permission of
Messrs. Houghton, Mifflin &amp; Co.</p>

<p><a id="Page_49a"></a></p>

<h3>GIB HIM ONE UB MINE<br />
BY DANIEL WEBSTER DAVIS</h3>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">A little urchin, ragged, black,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">An old cigar "stump" found,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And visions of a jolly smoke,<br /></span>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50"></a></span><span class="i5">Began to hover 'round.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">But finding that he had no match,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">A big store he espied,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And straightway for it made a dash<br /></span>
<span class="i5">To have his wants supplied.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">"I have no match!" the owner said,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">"And, even if I do,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">I have no match, you understand,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">For such a thing as you!"<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Down in the ragged pantaloons,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">The little black hand went,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And forth it came, now holding fast<br /></span>
<span class="i5">A big old-fashioned cent.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">"Gib me a box," the urchin said,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">His bosom filled with joy;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And calmly lighted his "cigar,"<br /></span>
<span class="i5">A radiant happy boy.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Then handing back the box, he said,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">As his face with pride did shine:<br /></span>
<span class="i3">"Nex' time a gent'mun wants a match,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Jes' gib him one ub mine!"<br /></span>
</div></div>

<p><a id="Page_50a"></a></p>
<h3>A LESSON WITH THE FAN<br />
ANONYMOUS</h3>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">If you want to learn a lesson with the fan,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">I'm quite prepared to teach you all I can.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">So ladies, everyone, pray observe how it is done,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">This simple little lesson with the fan!<br /></span>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51"></a></span></div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">If you chance to be invited to a ball,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">To meet someone you don't expect at all,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And you want him close beside you, while a dozen friends divide you,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Well, of course&mdash;it's most unladylike to call.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">So you look at him a minute, nothing more,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And you cast your eyes demurely on the floor,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Then you wave your fan, just so, well&mdash;toward you, don't you know,&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">It's a delicate suggestion,&mdash;nothing more!<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">When you see him coming to you (simple you),<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Oh! be very, very careful what you do;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">With your fan just idly play, and look down, as if to say<br /></span>
<span class="i3">It's a matter of indifference to you!<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Then you flutter and you fidget with it, so!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And you hide your little nose behind it low,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Till, when he begins to speak, you just lay it on your cheek,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">In that fascinating manner that you know!<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">And when he tells the old tale o'er and o'er,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And vows that he will love you evermore,&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Gather up your little fan, and secure him while you can,&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">It's a delicate suggestion,&mdash;nothing more!<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p><a id="Page_51a"></a></p>

<h3>THE UNDERTOW<br />
BY CARRIE BLAKE MORGAN</h3>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">You hadn't ought to blame a man fer things he hasn't done<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Fer books he hasn't written or fer fights he hasn't won;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">The waters may look placid on the surface all aroun',<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Yet there may be an undertow a-keepin' of him down.<br /></span>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52"></a></span></div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Since the days of Eve and Adam, when the fight of life began,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">It aint been safe, my brethren, fer to lightly judge a man;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">He may be tryin' faithful fer to make his life a go,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And yet his feet git tangled in the treacherous undertow.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">He may not lack in learnin' and he may not want fer brains;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">He may be always workin' with the patientest of pains,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And yet go unrewarded, an', my friends, how can we know<br /></span>
<span class="i3">What heights he might have climbed to but fer the undertow?<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">You've heard the Yankee story of the hen's nest with a hole,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">An' how the hen kept layin' eggs with all her might an' soul,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Yet never got a settin', not a single egg, I trow;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">That hen was simply kickin' 'gainst a hidden undertow.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">There's holes in lots of hen's nests, an' you've got to peep below<br /></span>
<span class="i3">To see the eggs a-rollin' where they hadn't ought to go.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Don't blame a man fer failin' to achieve a laurel crown<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Until you're sure the undertow aint draggin' of him down.<br /></span>
</div></div>


<h3>MARKETING<br />
ANONYMOUS</h3>

<p>A little girl goes to market for her mother.</p>

<p><i>Butcher.</i>&mdash;"Well, little girl, what can I do for you?"</p>

<p><i>Little Girl.</i>&mdash;"How much is chops this morning, mister?"</p>

<p><i>B.</i>&mdash;"Chops, 20 cents a pound, little girl."</p>

<p><i>L. G.</i>&mdash;"Oh! 20 cents a pound for chops; that's awful expensive.
How much is steak?"</p>

<p><i>B.</i>&mdash;"Steak is 22 cents a pound."</p>

<p><i>L. G.</i>&mdash;"That's too much! How much is chicken?"</p>

<p><i>B.</i>&mdash;"Chicken is 25 cents a pound" (<i>impatiently</i>).</p>

<p><i>L. G.</i>&mdash;"Oh! 25 cents for chicken. Well my ma don't want any
of them!"</p>

<p><i>B.</i>&mdash;"Well, little girl, what <i>do</i> you want?"</p>

<p><i>L. G.</i>&mdash;"Oh, I want an automobile, but my ma wants 5 cents'
worth of liver!"</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53"></a></span></p>


<h3>A SPRING IDYL ON "GRASS"<br />
BY NIXON WATERMAN</h3>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Oh, the gentle grass is growing<br /></span>
<span class="i5">In the vale and on the hill;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">We can not hear it growing,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Still 'tis growing very still:<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And in the spring it springs to life,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">With gladness and delight;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">I see it growing day by day,&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i5">It also grows by night.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And, now, once more as mowers whisk<br /></span>
<span class="i5">The whiskers from the lawn,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">They'll rouse us from our slumbers,&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i5">At the dawning of the dawn:<br /></span>
<span class="i3">It saddens my poor heart to think<br /></span>
<span class="i5">What we should do for hay,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">If grass instead of growing up<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Would grow the other way.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Its present rate of growing,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Makes it safe to say that soon,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">'Twill cover all the hills at morn<br /></span>
<span class="i5">And in the afternoon.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And I have often noticed<br /></span>
<span class="i5">As I watched it o'er and o'er,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">It grows, and grows, and grows, awhile,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">And then it grows some more,&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">If it keeps growing right along<br /></span>
<span class="i5">It shortly will be tall;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">It humps itself thro' strikes,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">And legal holidays and all;<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54"></a></span>
<span class="i3">It's growing up down all the streets;<br /></span>
<span class="i5">And clean around the square;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">One end is growing in the ground,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">The other in the air:<br /></span>
<span class="i3">If the earth possest no grass<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Methinks its beauty would be dead;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">We'd have to make the best of it,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">And use baled hay instead.<br /></span>
</div></div>

<p>From "A Book of Verses," by permission of Forbes &amp; Co., Chicago.</p>


<h3>INTRODUCIN' THE SPEECHER<br />
BY EDWIN L. BARKER</h3>

<p><span class="smcap">Introductory Remarks.</span> This selection is a little caricature,
introducing two characters. "The Speecher" is one of those young
men who has passed through college in one year,&mdash;passed <i>through</i>,&mdash;and
has increasing difficulty in finding a hat large enough to fit
his head. His oratorical powers have been praised by his friends,
and he never misses an opportunity to exhibit his "great natural
talent." "The Chairman" is frequently met in the smaller towns.
He has lived there a long time, is acquainted with everybody,
makes it a point to form the acquaintance of all newcomers, takes
an interest in public affairs, and is often called upon to introduce
the speakers who visit the town. His principal weakness is that
in the course of his introductory remarks he usually says more
than the speaker himself.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Chairman.</span> (<i>Comes forward to table at center, stands at
right, looks nervously at audience, goes to left of table, does not
know what to do with hands, returns to right of table, begins in
high, nervous voice.</i>) "Gentlemen an' ladies&mdash;an' the rest on ye&mdash;(<i>goes
left of table</i>) I s'pose ye all knowed afore, as per'aps ye
do now, that I did not come out to make a speech; but to&mdash;to
'nounce the speecher. Now, the speecher has jes come, an' is
right in there. (<i>Points with thumb over shoulder to L. and goes
R. of table.</i>) I don't know why 'twas they called on me to 'nounce
the speecher, unless it is that I've lived here in your midst <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55"></a></span>fer a
long while, an' am 'quainted with very nigh every one fer four
or five miles about, an' I s'pose that's why they called on me to&mdash;to
'nounce the speecher. Now, the speecher is&mdash;right in there.
(Points L. and goes L.) I s'pose I'm as well calc'lated to 'nounce
the speecher as any on ye, an' I s'pose that's why I'm here to&mdash;to
'nounce the speecher. Now, the speecher is&mdash;right in there.
(<i>Points L. and goes R.</i>) You know I've lived here in your midst a
long time, an' have allus tuk an active part in all public affairs,
an' I s'pose that's why they called on me to&mdash;to 'nounce the
speecher. Now, the speecher is right in there. (<i>Points L. and
goes L.</i>) As I said once afore, I've lived here in your midst fer
a long time, an' have allus tuk active part in all public affairs,
an' public doin's ginerally. Ye know I was 'pinted tax collector
once, an' was road-overseer fer a little while, an' run fer constable
of this here township&mdash;but I&mdash;I didn't git it. (<i>Quickly.</i>) Now,
the speecher is&mdash;right there. (<i>Points L. and goes R. Wipes forehead
with handkerchief.</i>) I jes want to say a word to the young
men this evenin'&mdash;as I see quite a sprinklin' of 'em here&mdash;an'
that is that I'd like fer all the young men to grow up an' hold
high and honorable offices like I've done. But there, I can't stop
any longer, 'cause the speecher is&mdash;right in there. (<i>Starts to go,
but returns.</i>) Now, I don't want you to think I don't want to
talk to ye, fer I do. I do so like to talk to the young men, an' the
old men, an' them that are not men. (<i>Smiles.</i>) I love to talk to
ye. But, of course, I can't talk to you now, 'cause the speecher
is&mdash;right in there. (<i>Points L.</i>) But some other time when the
speecher's not here&mdash;I think there'll be a time afore long&mdash;why,
I'll talk to you. (<i>Grows confused.</i>) Of course, you know, I'd
talk to you now; but&mdash;uh&mdash;that is&mdash;I think there'll be a time
afore long&mdash;at some other&mdash;you know&mdash;I&mdash;you&mdash;the&mdash;(<i>desperately</i>)
the speecher is right in there. (<i>Rushes to L., stops, and
with back to audience, concludes.</i>) I will now interdoose to ye
Charles William Albright, of Snigger's Crossroads, a very promisin'
young attorney of that place, who will talk to ye. As I said afore,
the speecher is right in here. Now, the speecher is right out there."
(<i>While standing with back to audience, run fingers through hair
to give it a long, scholarly appearance, put on glasses, and take
from chair roll of paper and place under arm. To be effective,
this paper should be about one foot wide and ten feet long, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56"></a></span>folded
in about five or six-inch folds. At conclusion of chairman's speech,
turn and walk to table as the speecher.</i>)</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The Speecher.</span> (<i>Walks to table with a strut. Face should have
a wise, solemn, self-satisfied expression. Stops at table, surveys
the audience with solemn dignity, clears the throat, lays roll of
paper on table, takes out handkerchief, clears throat, wipes mouth,
smacks lips, lays handkerchief on table, surveys audience again,
slowly unrolls paper and lays on table, surveys audience again,
clears throat, wipes mouth, smacks lips, poses with one hand on
table.</i>) "Ladies&mdash;and&mdash;gentlemen&mdash;and fellow citizens. (<i>Rises on
toes and comes back on heels, as practised by some public speakers.</i>)
I have fully realized the magnitude of this auspicious occasion,
and have brought from out the archives of wisdom one of
those bright, extemporaneous subjects, to which, you know, I always
do (<i>rising inflection</i>) ample justice. (<i>Rises on toes, clears
throat, applies handkerchief to forehead.</i>) The subject for this
evening's discussion (<i>very solemn</i>) is coal oil. (<i>Clears throat and
looks wise.</i>) Now, the first question that arises is: How do they
get it? (<i>In measured tone, on toes, tapping words off on fingers
of left hand with forefinger of right hand.</i>) How&mdash;do&mdash;they&mdash;get&mdash;it?
(<i>Soaringly.</i>) My dear friends, some get it by the pint, and
some by the quart. (<i>Clears throat, wipes perspiration from forehead.</i>)
But, you say, how do they get it in the first place? (<i>Tragically.</i>)
Ah, my dear friends, as Horace Greeley has so fittingly exprest
it&mdash;that is the question. (<i>Quickly.</i>) But I will explain. When
they want to get it they take a great, mammoth auger (<i>imitates</i>)
and they bore, and they bore, and they bore, and&mdash;(<i>looks at paper
quickly</i>)&mdash;and they bore! And when they strike the oil it just
squirts up. That's how they get it! (<i>Rises on toes, smacks lips
and looks wise.</i>) Now, you all know, coal oil is used for a great
many things. It is used for medicine, to burn in the lamp, to
blow up servant girls when they make a fire with it, and&mdash;many
other useful things. (<i>Wipes mouth and puts handkerchief in
pocket.</i>) The gentlemen in charge will now pass the hat, being
careful to lock the door back there so that none of <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57"></a></span>those boys
from Squeedunk can get out before they chip in. (<i>Takes paper
and rolls it up.</i>) I will say that I expect to deliver another lecture
here two weeks from to-night&mdash;two weeks from to-night&mdash;upon
which occasion I would like to see all the children present, as the
subject will be of special interest to (<i>rises on toes, closes eyes</i>) the
little ones. The subject on that occasion will be 'Will We Bust
the Trusts, or Will the Trusts Bust Us?'" (<i>Puts roll of paper
under arm and stalks off as if having captured the world.</i>)</p>

<p>As recited by Edwin L. Barker and used by permission.</p>


<h3>COUNTING ONE HUNDRED<br />
BY JAMES M. BAILEY</h3>

<p>A Danbury man named Reubens, recently saw a statement that
counting one hundred when tempted to speak an angry word
would save a man a great deal of trouble. This statement sounded
a little singular at first, but the more he read it over the more
favorably he became imprest with it, and finally concluded to
adopt it.</p>

<p>Next door to Reubens lives a man who made five distinct attempts
in a fortnight to secure a dinner of green peas by the
first of July, but has been retarded by Reubens' hens. The next
morning after Reubens made his resolution, this man found his
fifth attempt had been destroyed. Then he called on Reubens.
He said:</p>

<p>"What in thunder do you mean by letting your hens tear up
my garden?"</p>

<p>Reubens was prompted to call him various names, but he remembered
his resolution, put down his rage, and meekly said:</p>

<p>"One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>The mad neighbor, who had been eyeing this answer with suspicion,
broke in again:</p>

<p>"Why don't you answer my question, you rascal?"</p>

<p>But still Reubens maintained his equanimity, and went on with
the test.</p>

<p>"Nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>The mad neighbor stared harder than ever.</p>

<p>"Seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58"></a></span>twenty-one&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"You're a mean thief!" said the mad neighbor, backing toward
the fence.</p>

<p>Reubens' face flushed at this charge, but he only said:</p>

<p>"Twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four, twenty-five, twenty-six&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>At this figure the neighbor got up on the fence in some haste,
but suddenly thinking of his peas, he said:</p>

<p>"You mean, contemptible, old rascal! I could knock your head
against my barn and I'll&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty, thirty-one,
thirty-two, thirty-three&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>Here the neighbor ran for the house, and entering it, violently
slammed the door behind him. Reubens did not let up on the
enumeration, but stood out there alone in his own yard, and kept
on counting, while his burning cheeks and flashing eyes eloquently
affirmed his judgment. When he got up into the eighties his wife
came out to him in some alarm.</p>

<p>"Why, Reubens, man, what is the matter with you? Do come
into the house."</p>

<p>But he didn't stop.</p>

<p>"Eighty-seven, eighty-eight, eighty-nine, ninety, ninety-one,
ninety-two&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>Then she came to him, and clung tremblingly to him, but he
only turned, looked into her eyes, and said:</p>

<p>"Ninety-three, ninety-four, ninety-five, ninety-six, ninety-seven,
ninety-eight, ninety-nine, one hundred! Go into the house, old
woman, or I'll bust you!"</p>


<h3>THEY NEVER QUARRELED<br />
ANONYMOUS</h3>

<p>They had been married about three weeks, and had just gone to
housekeeping. He was starting down town one morning, and she
followed him to the door. They had their arms wrapt around
each other, and she was saying:</p>

<p>"O Clarence, do you think it possible that the day can ever
come when we will part in anger?"</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59"></a></span></p>

<p>"Why, no, little girl, of course not. What put that foolish
idea into my little birdie's head, eh?"</p>

<p>"Oh, nothing, dearest. I was only thinking how perfectly
dreadful it would be if one of us should speak harshly to the
other."</p>

<p>"Well, don't think of such wicked, utterly impossible things any
more. We can never, never, never quarrel."</p>

<p>"I know it, darling. Good-by, you dear old precious, good-by,
and&mdash;oh, wait a second, Clarence; I've written a note to mamma;
can't you run around to the house and leave it for her some time
to-day?"</p>

<p>"Why, yes, dearie; if I have time."</p>

<p>"If you have time? O Clarence!"</p>

<p>"What is it, little girlie?"</p>

<p>"Oh, to say 'if you have time' to do almost the very first errand
your little wife asks you to do."</p>

<p>"Well, well, I expect to be very busy to-day."</p>

<p>"Too busy to please me? O Clarence, you hurt my feelings
so."</p>

<p>"Why, child, I&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"I'm not a child, I'm a married woman, and I&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"There, there, my pet. I&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"No, no, Clarence, if I were your p&mdash;p&mdash;pet you'd&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"But, Mabel, do be reasonable."</p>

<p>"O Clarence! don't speak to me so."</p>

<p>"Mable, be sensible, and&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Go on, Clarence, go on; break my heart."</p>

<p>"Stuff and nonsense."</p>

<p>"Oh! o&mdash;o&mdash;o&mdash;o&mdash;oh!"</p>

<p>"What have I said or done?"</p>

<p>"As if you need ask! But go&mdash;hate me if you will, Clarence,
I&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"This is rank nonsense!"</p>

<p>"I'll go back to mamma if you want me to. She loves me, if
you don't."</p>

<p>"You must have a brain-storm!"</p>

<p>"Oh! yes, sneer at me, ridicule me, break my poor heart. Perhaps
you had better strike me!"</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60"></a></span></p>
<p>He bangs the door, goes down the steps on the jump, and races
off, muttering something about women being the "queerest
creatures."</p>

<p>Of course, they'll make it up when he comes home, and they'll
have many a little tiff in the years to come, and when they grow
old they'll say:</p>

<p>"We've lived together forty-five years, and in all that time have
never spoken a cross word to each other!"</p>


<h3>SONG OF THE "L"<br />
BY GRENVILLE KLEISER</h3>

<p><span class="smcap">Note</span>&mdash;<i>The New York elevated cars were so overcrowded at
the rush hours of the day that passengers were obliged to ride
on engines.</i></p>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Jam them in, ram them in,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">People still a-coming,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Slam them in, cram them in,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Keep the thing a-humming!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Millionaires and carpenters,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Office boys, stenographers,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Workingmen and fakirs,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Doctors, undertakers,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Brokers and musicians,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Writers, politicians,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Clergymen and plumbers,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Entry clerks and drummers,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Pack them in, whack them in,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">People still a-coming!<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Mash them in, crash them in,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Still there's more to follow,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Shoot them in, boot them in,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Don't take time to swallow!<br /></span>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61"></a></span><span class="i3">Pretty maid and tailor-made,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Stylish maid and home-made,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Jersey maid and ready-made<br /></span>
<span class="i3">House maid and old maid!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Billionaire and haughty air,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Bald head and golden hair,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Always there, never there,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Ah there and get there!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Squeeze them in, tease them in,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Still there's more to follow.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Bump them in, thump them in,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Why do people worry?<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Throw them in, blow them in,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Everyone must hurry.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Take a place behind the gate,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Get your clothes prest while you wait.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Grab a seat, don't give a rap<br /></span>
<span class="i3">For the lady at the strap.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">If your life is spared till night<br /></span>
<span class="i3">You can tell your wife all right:<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">How the gateman shoved them in,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Slammed them in, jammed them in,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Crammed them in, damned them in,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Blew them in, cuffed them in,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Fired them in, kicked them in,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Bumped them in, thumped them in,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Beat them in, knocked them in,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Rapped them in, squashed them in,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Rammed them in, whipped them in,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Pushed them in, banged them in,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Crusht them in, rushed them in,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Dashed them in, slashed them in,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Flung them in, jerked them in,<br /></span>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62"></a></span><span class="i3">Tossed them in, shied them in,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Hauled them in, forced them in,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Whacked them in, crowded them in,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Prodded them in, pulled them in,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Dumped them in, drove them in,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Hammered them in, battered them in,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Pitched them in, urged them in,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Hustled them in, bustled them in,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Hurried them in, worried them in,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">As if their heads were hollow!<br /></span>
</div></div>


<h3>THE VILLAGE ORACLE<br />
BY J. L. HARBOUR</h3>

<p>"Why, Mis' Farley, is it really you? It's been so long sence
I saw you that I hardly knowed you. Come in an' set down. I
was jest a-wishin' some one would come in. I've felt so kind of
downsy all mornin'. I reckon like enough it is my stummick.
I thought some of goin' to see old Doctor Ball about it, but, la, I
know jest what he'd say. He'd look at my tongue an' say,
'Coffee,' an' look cross. He lays half the mis'ry o' the world to
coffee. Says it is a rank pizen to most folks, an' that lots o' the
folks now wearin' glasses wouldn't need 'em if they'd let coffee
alone. Says it works on the ocular nerves an' all that, but I
reckon folks here in Granby will go on drinkin' coffee jest the
same.</p>

<p>"You won't mind if I keep right on with my work, will you,
seein' that it ain't nothin' but sewin' carpet-rags? I've got to
send my rags to the weaver this week, or she can't weave my
carpet until after she comes home from a visit she 'lows on makin'
to her sister over in Zoar. It's just a hit-er-miss strip o' carpet
I'm makin' for my small south chamber. I set out to make somethin'
kind o' fancy with a twisted strip an' the chain in five colors,
but I found I hadn't the right kind of rags to carry it through
as I wanted to; so I jest decided on a plain hit-er-miss. I don't
use the south chamber no great nohow. It's the room my first
husband and his first wife and sev'ral of his kin all died in; so
the 'sociations ain't none too cheerin', an' I&mdash;I&mdash;s'pose you know
about Lyddy Baxter losin' her husband last week? No? Well,
he's<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63"></a></span> went the way o' the airth, an' Lyddy wore my mournin'-veil
an' gloves to the funeral. They're as good as they were the
day I follered my two husbands to the grave in 'em. When a
body pays two dollars an' sixty-eight cents for a mournin'-veil,
it behooves 'em to take keer of it, an' not switch it out wearin'
it common as Sally Dodd did hern. If a body happens to
marry a second time, as I did, a mournin'-veil may come in
handy, jest as mine did.</p>

<p>"Yes, Lyddy's husband did go off real sudden. It was this
new-fashioned trouble, the appendysheetus, that tuk him off. They
was jest gittin' ready to op'rate on him when he went off jest
as easy as a glove. There's three thousand life-insurance; so
Lyddy ain't as bereft as some would be. Now, if she'll only
have good jedgement when she gits the money, an' not fool it
away as Mis' Mack did her husband's life-insurance. He had
only a thousand dollars, an' she put half of it on her back before
three months, an' put three hundred into a pianny she
couldn't play. She said a pianny give a house sech an air. I
up an' told her that money would soon be all 'air' if she didn't
stop foolin' it away.</p>

<p>"I wouldn't want it told as comin' from me, but I've heerd that
it was her that put that advertisement in the paper about a widder
with some means wishin' to correspond with a gentleman similarly
situated with a view to matrimony. I reckon she had about
fifty dollars left at that time. I tried to worm something about
it out of the postmaster; for of course he'd know about her mail,
but he was as close as a clam-shell. I reckon one has to be kind
of discreet if one is postmaster, but he might of known that anything
he told me wouldn't go no farther if he didn't want it to.
I know when to speak an' when to hold my tongue if anybody
in this town does.</p>

<p>"Did you know that Myra Dart was goin' to marry that Rylan
chap? It's so. I got it from the best authority. An' she's nine
years an' three months an' five days older than him. I looked
it up in the town hist'ry. It's a good deal of a reesk for a man
to marry a woman that's much older than he is.</p>

<p>"But, my land, it's a good deal of a reesk to git married at
all nowadays. You never know what you're gittin' ontil it's too<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64"></a></span>
late to undo the matter. Seems to me there must be a screw
loose somewhere, or matrimony wouldn't be the fizzle it is in so
many instances. An' it's about six o' one an' half a dozen o' the
other when it comes to dividin' the blame. You know my first
husband was jestice o' the peace five years, an' he had considdable
marryin' to do, an' I saw a good deal o' what loose idees
some people had about matrimony.</p>

<p>"I recollect of one couple comin' in to git married one evenin'.
They was both in middle life, an' them kind usually acts the silliest
with the exception of a real old pair. They are the beaterees
for silly actin'. Well, my husband never married any couple
without makin' sure that there was no onlawful hindrances in
the way o' past husbands and wives, an' so he says to the woman,
'Have you ever been married before?' An' she says jest as flippant,
'Yes, but he didn't live but three weeks; so it ain't wuth
speakin' of.' Now wa'n't that scand'lous? It jest showed how
lightly some folks look on the solemn ord'nance o' matrimony.</p>

<p>"I reckon you know that the Porters have a boy at their house?
No? Well, they have. He was born at twenty minutes to one
las' night, or this mornin' ruther, an' old Susan Puffer is to do
the nussin'. I heard a wagon drive by here lickety-split at most
midnight las' night an' I sez to myself, sez I, 'I'll bet that's Hi
Porter tearin' off for old Susan Puffer', an' I got up, an'
wrapped a blanket around me, an' waited for the wagon to come
back; an' when it did, I called out, 'That you, Hi an' Susan?' It
gives 'em a good deal of a start, but Susan called out that it was
her, an' I went back to bed. Some folks would of been
curious-minded enough to of went right over to the Porters', but I ain't
that pryin' an' I didn't go over till after breakfast this mornin'.</p>

<p>"It's a real nice baby, an' it's goin' to be the livin' spit o' Hi
exceptin' for its nose, which is its mother's all over; an' its mouth
is the livin' counterpart o' its grandfather Porter's an' it's got
the Davis ears. You know its mother was a Davis. I hope it
won't have to be a bottle-riz baby. I don't care how good these
infant foods may be; I don't think that a bottle-riz baby is ever
the equal of one that ain't bottle-riz. The Lord must of intended
mothers to nuss their babies, or He wouldn't of made 'em so they
could. So I&mdash;must you be goin'? What's your hurry? I'd love<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65"></a></span>
to have you set all afternoon. It's so long sense you have been
here, an' I do so enjoy havin' the neighbors drop in an' tell me
all that's goin' on. I never go no place to hear the news. I
wish you'd come in real often an' talk to me.</p>

<p>"Looks some like rain. I hope it'll be fair to-morrow, for I
'low on goin' over to Lucindy Baxter's to spend the day. Me an'
her went over to Ware Monday, an' had a real nice all-day visit
with Lucindy's married daughter. She's real nicely fixt, an'
she had three kinds of cake besides cookies for tea. Seems to
me one kind an' the cookies would o' been plenty. Mebbe she
wanted to let us see that her husband was a good pervider.</p>

<p>"I went over to Zion Tuesday, an' Wednesday me an' Nancy
Dodd went over to Becky Means's, and helped her quilt her album
quilt; an' she had a chicken-pie for dinner that went a little
ahead of anything I ever et in the way of chicken-pie. Nancy's
a good cook anyhow. She gives a kind of a taste to things that
only a born cook can give. I'm goin' over to the fair in Greenfield
Friday; so I&mdash;do come over again soon. I git real lonesome
stayin' to home close as I do, an' it's nice to have some one come
in an' talk to me as you have. Good-by.</p>

<p>"Yes, I'll come over soon. But don't you wait for me. Come
when you kin. I'm allus to home. Good-by. See my little
chicks? I put a hen on thirteen eggs, an' she hatched out every
blessed one of 'em. Wa'n't she smart? An she laid all the eggs
herself, too. I got another hen comin' off on the tenth. Didn't
the minister preach beautifully Sunday? I dunno as I ever
heard a more upliftin' sermon. I see that his wife has her black
silk made up that the Ladies' Society gave her on her birthday.
Didn't seem to me it fit real well under the arms. Well,
good-by, good-by."</p>

<p>By permission of the author and the <i>Christian Endeavor World</i>.</p>


<h3>IF I CAN BE BY HER<br />
BY BENJAMIN FRANKLIN KING</h3>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">I d-d-don't c-c-c-are how the r-r-r-obin sings,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Er how the r-r-r-ooster f-f-flaps his wings,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Er whether't sh-sh-shines, er whether't pours,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Er how high up the eagle s-s-soars,<br /></span>
<span class="i9">If I can b-b-b-be by her.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">I don't care if the p-p-p-people s-say<br /></span>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66"></a></span><span class="i3">'At I'm weak-minded every w-way,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">An' n-n-never had no cuh-common sense,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">I'd c-c-c-cuh-climb the highest p-picket fence.<br /></span>
<span class="i9">If I could b-b-b-be by her.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">If I can be by h-h-her, I'll s-s-swim<br /></span>
<span class="i3">The r-r-r-est of life thro' th-th-thick an' thin;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">I'll throw my overcoat away,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">An' s-s-s-stand out on the c-c-c-oldest day,<br /></span>
<span class="i9">If I can b-b-b-be by her.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">You s-s-see sh-sh-she weighs an awful pile,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">B-b-b-but I d-d-d-don't care&mdash;sh-she's just my style,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">An' any f-f-fool could p-p-p-lainly see<br /></span>
<span class="i3">She'd look well b-b-b-by the side of me,<br /></span>
<span class="i9">If I could b-b-b-be by her.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">I b-b-b-braced right up, and had the s-s-s-and<br /></span>
<span class="i3">To ask 'er f-f-f-father f-f-fer 'er hand;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">He said: "Wh-wh-what p-p-prospects have you got?"<br /></span>
<span class="i3">I said: "I gu-gu-guess I've got a lot,<br /></span>
<span class="i9">If I can b-b-b-be by her."<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">It's all arranged f-f-fer Christmas Day,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Fer then we're goin' to r-r-r-run away,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">An' then s-s-some th-th-thing that cu-cu-couldn't be<br /></span>
<span class="i3">At all b-b-efore will then, you s-s-see,<br /></span>
<span class="i9">B-b-b-because I'll b-b-b-be by her.<br /></span>
</div></div>

<p>From "Ben King's Verse," by permission of Forbes &amp; Co., Chicago.

<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67"></a></span></p>

<h3>McCARTHY AND McMANUS<br />
ANONYMOUS</h3>

<p>An Irishman named Patrick McCarthy, having received an invitation
to visit some friends who were stopping at one of the
prominent hotels, suddenly realized that his best suit needed
pressing. He sent the suit to his friend Michael McManus, the
tailor, with instructions to put it in proper shape and to return
it with all haste.</p>

<p>After waiting an hour or more, he became very impatient, and
asked his wife to go for the clothes, telling her to be sure to
bring them back with her. When she returned he was surprized
to find she had not brought back his suit, and he said:</p>

<p>"Well, where are my clothes?"</p>

<p>"Don't ask me, don't ask me. I'm thot mad I'm almost afther
killin' thot McManus!"</p>

<p>"Pfhot's thot? Pfhot's McManus done with thim?"</p>

<p>"He's done nothin' with thim, and he barely took notice of me."</p>

<p>"Shure woman, dear, pfhot's that you be tellin' me? Did Mac
insult you,&mdash;for the love of hivins tell me quick?"</p>

<p>"Well, I will tell you. Whin I wint into the shop, there was
McManus; instid of sittin' on the table as usual, he was sittin'
forninst it, with a long shate of paper spread out, and he was
a-writin' and a-writin' and a-writin'. Says I, 'Mr. McManus.'
No answer. Again I says, 'Mr. McManus.' Still no answer.
Says I, 'Look here, Mr. McManus, pfhot do you mean by kapin'
my husband waitin' for his clothes?&mdash;have you got thim done?'
Without raisin' his head he says, 'No, I haven't,' and wint on
writin' and writin'. Says I, 'He's waitin' for thim.' Says he,
'Let him wait.' Says I, 'He won't.' Says he, 'He'll have to.'
Says I, 'Pfhot do you mean by writin' thot long document, knowin'
well thot my husband is waitin' for his clothes?' Says he, 'Well,
if you must know, it's important business. Do you see thot list?'
pointin' to a long list of names. 'Well,' says he, 'thot's a list of
all the min <i>thot I can lick</i> in this neighborhood.' Says I, 'Is thot
so?' Says he, 'Yes, thot is so.' Says I, 'Mr. McManus, have you
got my husband's name on thot list?' Says he, takin' up the list
and holdin' it near my face, 'Look at thot,&mdash;the <i>very first</i> name
on the list!' and I was thot mad I couldn't talk."</p>

<p>"Do you mean to tell me thot he had <i>my name</i> on thot list?"</p>

<p>"I do, and the <i>very first one</i>,&mdash;on the <i>very top</i>."</p>

<p>"Well, wait till I go over and see McManus."</p>

<p>A few minutes later Mr. McCarthy entered the shop of Mr.
McManus, and said,</p>

<p>"Is McManus here?"</p>

<p>McManus replied, "He is and he's <i>very busy</i>."</p>

<p>"Is thot so?"</p>

<p>"Yes, thot is so."</p>

<p>"Look here, McManus, pfhot makes you so <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68"></a></span>busy?"</p>

<p>"Oh, I'm just doin' a little writin'."</p>

<p>"Well, what is it you're writin'?"</p>

<p>"Well, I'll tell you. I'm makin' out a list of all the min thot
I can lick in this neighborhood, and a moighty big list it is. Just
look at thot."</p>

<p>"Say Mac, is <i>my name</i> on thot list?"</p>

<p>"Is Pat McCarthy's name on this list? Well, you can just bet
your life it is, and it's the <i>very first one</i>!"</p>

<p>"Is thot so, McManus?"</p>

<p>"Yes, thot's so."</p>

<p>McCarthy, taking off his coat and rolling up his sleeves, said:</p>

<p>"Look here, McManus, <i>I can lick you</i>."</p>

<p>"Did you say you <i>thought</i> you could lick me?"</p>

<p>"I said I <i>can</i> lick you."</p>

<p>"You say you <i>can</i> lick me?"</p>

<p>"Yes, thot's what I said."</p>

<p>"All right. <i>Off goes your name from the list.</i>"</p>


<h3>AND SHE CRIED<br />
BY MINNA IRVING</h3>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Miss Muriel Million was sitting alone,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">With a very disconsolate air;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Her fluffy blue tea-gown was fastened awry,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">And frowsy and rumpled her hair.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">"Oh, what is the matter?" I said in alarm,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">"I beg you in me to confide."<br /></span>
<span class="i3">But she buried her face in her 'kerchief of lace,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">And she cried, and she cried, and she cried.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">"Come out for a spin in the automobile,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">The motor-boat waits at the pier;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Or let's take a drive in the sunshiny park,<br /></span>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69"></a></span><span class="i5">Or a canter on horseback, my dear."<br /></span>
<span class="i3">T'was thus that I coaxed her in lover-like tones,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">As I tenderly knelt at her side,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">But refusing all comfort she pushed me aside,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">While she cried, and she cried, and she cried.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">"Pray whisper, my darling, this terrible wo,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">You know I would love you the same,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">If the millions of papa vanish in smoke<br /></span>
<span class="i5">And you hadn't a cent to your name,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">If you came to the church in a garment of rags<br /></span>
<span class="i5">I would wed you with rapturous pride."<br /></span>
<span class="i3">She nestled her cheek to my shoulder at this,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Tho she cried, and she cried, and she cried.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">"You know," she exclaimed in a piteous wail,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">"That love of a hat that I wore?&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">The one with pink roses and chiffon behind,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">And a fluffy pink feather before?&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">I paid Madame Modeste a hundred for that,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">And our parlor-maid, Flora McBride,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Has got one just like it for three twenty-five!"<br /></span>
<span class="i5">And she cried, and she cried, and she cried.<br /></span>
</div></div>

<p>By permission of the author and of the <i>New York Herald</i>.</p>


<h3>DOT LEEDLE BOY<br />
BY JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY</h3>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Ot's a leedle Gristmas story<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Dot I told der leedle folks&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Und I vant you stop dot laughin'<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Und grackin' funny jokes!&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">So help me Peter-Moses!<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Ot's no time for monkeyshine,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Ober I vas told you somedings<br /></span>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70"></a></span><span class="i5">Of dot leedle boy of mine!<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Ot vas von cold vinter vedder,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Ven the snow was all about&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Dot you have to chop der hatchet<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Eef you got der sauerkraut!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Und der cheekens on der hind leg<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Vas standin' in der shine,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Der sun shmile out dot morning<br /></span>
<span class="i5">On dot leedle boy of mine.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">He vas yoost a leedle baby,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Not bigger as a doll<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Dot time I got acquaintet&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Ach! you ought to heard 'im squall!&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">I grackys! dot's der moosie<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Ot make me feel so fine<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Ven first I vas been marriet&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Oh, dot leedle boy of mine!<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">He look' yoost like his fader!&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i5">So, ven der vimmen said,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">"Vot a purty leedle baby!"<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Katrina shake her head&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">I dink she must 'a' notice<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Dot der baby vas a-gryin',<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Und she cover up der blankets<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Of dot leedle boy of mine.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Vell, ven he vas got bigger,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Dot he grawl und bump his nose,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Und make der table over,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Und molasses on his glothes&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Dot make 'im all der sweeter,&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i5">So I say to my Katrina:<br /></span>
<span class="i3">"Better you vas quit a-sphankin'<br /></span>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71"></a></span><span class="i5">Dot leedle boy of mine!"<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">I vish you could 'a' seen id&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Ven he glimb up on der chair<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Und scmash der lookin'-glasses<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Ven he try to comb his hair<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Mit a hammer!&mdash;Und Katrina<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Say, "Dot's an ugly sign!"<br /></span>
<span class="i3">But I laugh und vink my fingers<br /></span>
<span class="i5">At dot leedle boy of mine.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">But vonce, dot vinter morning,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">He shlip out in der snow<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Mitout no stockin's on 'im&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i5">He say he "vant to go<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Und fly some mit der birdies!"<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Und ve give 'im medi-cine<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Ven he catch der "parrygoric"&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Dot leedle boy of mine!<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Und so I set und nurse 'im,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Vile der Gristmas vas come roun',<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Und I told 'im 'bout "Kriss Kringle,"<br /></span>
<span class="i5">How he come der chimbly down;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Und I ask 'im if he love 'im<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Eef he bring 'im someding fine?<br /></span>
<span class="i3">"<i>Nicht besser as mein fader</i>,"<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Say dot leedle boy of mine.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Und he put his arms aroun' me<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Und hug so close und tight,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">I hear der glock a-tickin'<br /></span>
<span class="i5">All der balance of der night!&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Someding make me feel so funny<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Ven I say to my Katrina,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">"Let us go und fill der stockin's,<br /></span>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72"></a></span><span class="i5">Of dot leedle boy of mine."<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Vell&mdash;ve buyed a leedle horses<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Dot you pull 'im mit a shtring,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Und a little fancy jay-bird&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Eef you vant to hear 'im sing<br /></span>
<span class="i3">You took 'im by der topknot<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Und yoost blow in behine&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Und dot make much <i>spectahkle</i><br /></span>
<span class="i5">For dot leedle boy of mine.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Und gandies, nuts und raisins&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Und I buy a leedle drum<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Dot I vant to hear 'im rattle<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Ven der Gristmas morning come!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Und a leedle shmall tin rooster<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Dot vould crow so loud und fine<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Ven he squeeze 'im in der morning,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Dot leedle boy of mine.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Und&mdash;vile ve vas a-fixin'&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Dot leedle boy vake out!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">I t'ought he been a-dreamin'<br /></span>
<span class="i5">"Kriss Kringle" vas about,&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">For he say&mdash;"<i>Dot's him!&mdash;I see 'im</i><br /></span>
<span class="i5"><i>Mit der shtars dot make der shine!</i>"<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Und he yoost keep on a-cryin'&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Dot leedle boy of mine,&mdash;<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Und gettin' vorse und vorser&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Und tumble on der bed!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">So&mdash;ven der doctor seen id,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">He kindo shake his head,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Und veel his pulse&mdash;und visper:<br /></span>
<span class="i5">"Der boy is a-dyin'."<br /></span>
<span class="i3">You dink I could <i>believe</i> id?<br /></span>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73"></a></span><span class="i5"><i>Dot leedle boy of mine?</i><br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">I told you, friends&mdash;dot's someding,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Der last time dot he spheak<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Und say, "<i>Goot-by, Kriss Kringle!</i>"<br /></span>
<span class="i5">&mdash;Dot make me feel so veak<br /></span>
<span class="i3">I yoost kneel down und drimble,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Und bur-sed out a-cryin',<br /></span>
<span class="i3">"<i>Mein Gott, Mein Gott in Himmel!&mdash;</i><br /></span>
<span class="i5"><i>Dot leedle boy of mine!</i>"<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Der sun don't shine <i>dot</i> Gristmas!<br /></span>
<span class="i5">... Eef dot leedle boy vould liff'd&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">No deefer-en'! for <i>heaven</i> vas<br /></span>
<span class="i5">His leedle Gristmas gift!...<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Und der <i>rooster</i>, und der <i>gandy</i>,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Und me&mdash;und my Katrina&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Und der jay-bird&mdash;is a-vatin'<br /></span>
<span class="i5">For dot leedle boy of mine.<br /></span>
</div></div>

<p>From "Green Fields and Running Brooks," copyright 1892. Used by special permission
of the publishers, The Bobbs-Merrill Company.</p>


<h3>MR. DOOLEY ON THE GRIP<br />
BY FINLAY PETER DUNNE</h3>

<p>Mr. Dooley was discovered making a seasonable beverage, consisting
of one part syrup, two parts quinine, and fifteen parts
strong waters.</p>

<p>"What's the matter?" asked Mr. McKenna.</p>

<p>"I have th' lah gr-rip," said Mr. Dooley, blowing his nose and
wiping his eyes. "Bad cess to it! Oh, me poor back! I feels
as if a dhray had run over it. Did ye iver have it? Ye did not?
Well, ye're lucky. Ye're a lucky man.</p>

<p>"I wint to MCGuire's wake las' week. They gave him a dacint
sind-off. No porther. An' himself looked natural, as fine a corpse
as iver Gavin layed out. Gavin tould me so himsilf. He was as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74"></a></span>
proud iv McGuire as if he owned him. Fetched half th' town in
to look at him, an' give ivry wan iv thim cards. He near frightened
ol' man Dugan into a faint. 'Misther Dugan, how old a-are
ye?' 'Sivinity-five, thanks be,' says Dugan. 'Thin,' says Gavin,
'take wan iv me cards,' he says. 'I hope ye'll not forget me,' he
says.</p>

<p>"'Twas there I got th' lah grip. Lastewise, it is me own opinion
iv it, tho th' docthor said I swallowed a bug. It don't
seem right, Jawn, f'r th' MCGuires is a clane fam'ly; but th'
docthor said a bug got into me system. 'What sort if bug?' says
I. 'A lah grip bug,' he says. 'Ye have Mickrobes in ye're lungs,'
he says. 'What's thim?' says I. 'Thim's th' lah grip bugs,' says
he. 'Ye took wan in, an' warmed it,' he says, 'an' it has growed
an' multiplied till ye're system does be full if thim,' he says, 'millions
iv thim,' he says, 'marchin' an' counter-marchin' through ye.'
'Glory be to the saints!' says I. 'Had I better swallow some insect
powdher?' I says. 'Some iv thim in me head has a fallin'
out, an' is throwin' bricks.' 'Foolish man,' says he. 'Go to bed,'
he says, 'an' lave thim alone,' he says; 'whin they find who they're
in,' he says, 'they'll quit ye.'</p>

<p>"So I wint to bed, an' waited while th' Mickrobes had fun with
me. Mondah all iv thim was quiet but thim in me stummick.
They stayed up late dhrinkin' an' carousin' an' dancin' jigs till
wurruds come up between th' Kerry Mickrobes an' thim fr'm
Wexford; an' th' whole party wint over to me left lung, where
they cud get th' air, an' had it out. Th' nex' day th' little Mickrobes
made a tobaggan slide iv me spine; an' manetime some
Mickrobes that was wurkin' f' th' tilliphone comp'ny got it in
their heads that me legs was poles, an' put on their spikes an'
climbed all night long.</p>

<p>"They was tired out th' nex' day till about five o'clock, whin
thim that was in me head begin flushin' out th' rooms; an' I knew
there was goin' to be doin's in th' top flat. What did thim Mickrobes
do but invite all th' other Mickrobes in f'r th' ev'nin'. They
all come. Oh, by gar, they was not wan iv thim stayed away.
At six o'clock they begin to move fr'm me shins to me throat.
They come in platoons an' squads an' dhroves. Some iv thim
brought along brass bands, an' more thin wan hundred thousand<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75"></a></span>
iv thim dhruv through me pipes on dhrays. A trolley line was
started up me back, an iv'ry car run into a wagon-load if scrap iron
at th' base if me skull.</p>

<p>"Th' Mickrobes in me head must 've done thimselves proud.
They tipped over th' chairs an' tables; an' in less time thin it
takes to tell, th' whole party was at it. They'd been a hurlin'
game in th' back iv me skull, an' th' young folks was dancin'
breakdowns an' havin' leppin matches in me forehead; but they
all stopt, to mix in. Oh, 'twas a grand shindig&mdash;tin millions
iv men, women, an childher rowlin' on th' flure, hands an' feet
goin', ice-picks an' hurlin' sticks, clubs, brick-bats, flyin' in th'
air! How many iv thim was kilt I niver knew; f'r I wint as daft
as a hen, an' dhreamt iv organizin' a Mickrobe Campaign Club
that'd sweep th' prim'ries, an' maybe go acrost an' free Ireland.
Whin I woke up, me legs was as weak as a day-old baby's, an'
me poor head impty as a cobbler's purse. I want no more iv thim.
Give me anny bug fr'm a cockroach to an aygle, save an' excipt
thim West if Ireland Fenians, th' Mickrobes."</p>

<p>By permission of Small, Maynard &amp; Company.</p>


<h3>A RAINY DAY EPISODE<br />
ANONYMOUS</h3>

<p>One morning recently as I was about to start from my home,
I noticed that it was raining very hard outside, and as I turned
to the rack to get an umbrella I was surprized to find that out of
five umbrellas there was not one in the lot I could use. On the
impulse of the moment I decided to take the whole five down town
to the umbrella hospital and have them all repaired at once.</p>

<p>Just as I started from the door my wife asked me to be sure
and bring her umbrella back as she wanted to use it that evening.
This imprest the subject of umbrellas very vividly on my mind,
so I did not fail to leave the five umbrellas to be repaired, stating
I would call for them on my way home in the evening.</p>

<p>When I went to lunch at noon it was still raining very hard,
but as I had no umbrella this simply imprest the subject <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76"></a></span>on my
mind. I went to a nearby restaurant, sat down at a table, and
had been there only a few minutes when a young lady came in
and sat down at the same table with me. I was first to finish,
however, and getting up I absent-mindedly picked up her umbrella
and started for the door. She called out to me and reminded
me that I had her umbrella, whereupon I returned it to
her with much embarrassment and many apologies.</p>

<p>This incident served to impress the subject more deeply on
my mind, so on my way home in the evening I called for my
umbrellas, bought a newspaper, and boarded a street-car. I was
deeply engrossed in my newspaper, having placed the five umbrellas
alongside of me in the car, but all at once I had a peculiar
feeling of someone staring at me. Suddenly I looked up from
my paper, and was surprized to see sitting directly opposite me
the same young woman I had met in the restaurant! She had
a broad smile on her face, and looking straight into my eyes she
said knowingly: "You've had a successful day, to-day, haven't
you?"</p>


<h3>I KNEW HE WOULD COME IF I WAITED<br />
BY HORACE G. WILLIAMSON</h3>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">I knew he would come if I waited,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Tho waiting, it caused me despair;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And I sat by the window and listened<br /></span>
<span class="i5">To hear his first step on the stair:<br /></span>
<span class="i3">For I knew he would come if I waited,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">But anxiously I paced 'round the floor;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Oh, to see his own form on the threshold<br /></span>
<span class="i5">As I hastened to open the door.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Would he come? But how dare I question<br /></span>
<span class="i5">His faithfulness to his own word;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Would he dare not come at my calling?<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Or was that his dear step that I heard?<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Oh, I rush to the door for to meet him,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">For to welcome him here after all,<br /></span>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77"></a></span><span class="i3">For I knew he would come if I waited,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">He would come to answer my call.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Yes, yes, it is he on the pavement,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">He's coming, he's ringing the bell,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And my heart beats wild with rapture<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Of a joy which I never can tell,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">For I knew he would come if I waited,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Yes, he'd come at my call; joy, O joy,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">What happiness it is to welcome<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Just to welcome: "the messenger boy."<br /></span>
</div></div>


<h3>LOVE'S MOODS AND SENSES<br />
ANONYMOUS</h3>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Sally Salter, she was a young lady who taught,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And her friend Charley Church was a preacher who praught!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Tho his enemies called him a screecher who scraught.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">His heart when he saw her kept sinking, and sunk,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And his eye, meeting hers, began winking, and wunk;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">While she in her turn fell to thinking, and thunk.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">He hastened to woo her, and sweetly he wooed,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">For his love grew until to a mountain it grewed,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And what he was longing to do then he doed.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">In secret he wanted to speak, and he spoke,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">To seek with his lips what his heart long had soke;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">So he managed to let the truth leak, and it loke.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">He asked her to ride to the church, and they rode,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">They so sweetly did glide, that they both thought they glode,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And they came to the place to be tied, and were tode.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Then, "homeward," he said, "let us drive," and they drove,<br /></span>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78"></a></span><span class="i3">And soon as they wished to arrive, they arrove;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">For whatever he couldn't contrive she controve.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">The kiss he was dying to steal, then he stole:<br /></span>
<span class="i3">At the feet where he wanted to kneel, then he knole,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And said, "I feel better than ever I fole."<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">So they to each other kept clinging and clung;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">While time his swift circuit was winging, and wung;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And this was the thing he was bringing, and brung:<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">The man Sally wanted to catch, and had caught&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">That she wanted from others to snatch, and had snaught&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Was the one that she now liked to scratch, and she scraught.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">And Charley's warm love began freezing, and froze,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">While he took to teasing, and cruelly toze<br /></span>
<span class="i3">The girl he had wished to be squeezing, and squoze.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">"Wretch!" he cried, when she threatened to leave him, and left,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">"How could you deceive me, as you have deceft?"<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And she answered, "I promised to cleave, and I've cleft!"<br /></span>
</div></div>


<h3>A NOCTURNAL SKETCH<br />
BY THOMAS HOOD</h3>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Even is come; and from the dark park, hark,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">The signal of the setting sun&mdash;one gun!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And six is sounding from the chime, prime time<br /></span>
<span class="i3">To go and see the Drury-Lane Dane slain,&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Or hear Othello's jealous doubt spout out,&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Or Macbeth raving at that shade-made blade,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Denying to his frantic clutch much touch;<br /></span>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79"></a></span><span class="i3">Or else to see Ducrow with wide stride ride<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Four horses as no other man can span;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Or in the small Olympic Pit, sit split<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Laughing at Liston, while you quiz his phiz.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Anon Night comes, and with her wings brings things<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Such as, with his poetic tongue, Young sung;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">The gas up-blazes with its bright, white light,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And paralytic watchmen prowl, howl, growl,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">About the streets and take up Pall-Mall Sal,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Who, hasting to her nightly jobs, robs fobs.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Now thieves to enter for your cash, smash, crash,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Past drowsy Charley, in a deep sleep, creep,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">But frightened by Policeman B 3, flee,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And while they're going, whisper low, "No go!"<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Now puss, while folks are in their beds, treads leads.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And sleepers waking, grumble: "Drat that cat!"<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Who in the gutter caterwauls, squalls, mauls<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Some feline foe, and screams in shrill ill will.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Now Bulls of Bashan, of a prize size, rise<br /></span>
<span class="i3">In childish dreams, and with a roar gore poor<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Georgy, or Charley, or Billy, willy-nilly;&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">But Nursemaid, in a nightmare rest, chest-prest,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Dreameth of one of her old flames, James Games,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And that she hears&mdash;what faith is man's!&mdash;Ann's banns<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And his, from Rev. Mr. Rice, twice, thrice:<br /></span>
<span class="i3">White ribbons flourish, and a stout shout out,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">That upward goes, shows Rose knows those bows' woes!<br /></span>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80"></a></span></div></div>

<h3>KATIE'S ANSWER<br />
ANONYMOUS</h3>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Och, Katie's a rogue, it is thrue,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">But her eyes, like the sky, are so blue,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">An' her dimples so swate,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">An' her ankles so nate,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">She dazed, an' she bothered me, too&mdash;<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Till one mornin' we wint for a ride,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Whin, demure as a bride, by my side,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">The darlint, she sat,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">With the wickedest hat,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">'Neath a purty girl's chin iver tied.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">An' my heart, arrah, thin how it bate<br /></span>
<span class="i3">For my Kate looked so temptin' an' swate,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Wid cheeks like the roses,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">An' all the red posies,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">That grow in her garden so nate.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">But I sat just as mute as the dead,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Till she said, wid a toss of the head,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">"If I'd known that to-day<br /></span>
<span class="i5">You'd have nothing to say,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">I'd have gone wid my cousin instead."<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Thin I felt myself grow very bowld,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">For I knew she'd not scold if I towld<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Uv the love in my heart,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">That would never depart,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Tho I lived to be wrinkled an' owld.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">An' I said, "If I dared to do so,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">I'd lit go uv the baste, an' I'd throw<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Both arms 'round yer waist,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">An' be stalin' a taste<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Uv them lips that are coaxin' me so."<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Then she blushed a more illegent red,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">As she said, widout raisin' her head,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">An' her eyes lookin' down<br /></span>
<span class="i5">'Neath her lashes so brown,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">"Would ye like me to drive, Misther Ted?"<br /></span>
</div></div>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81"></a></span></p>


<h3>"'SPÄCIALLY JIM"<br />
ANONYMOUS</h3>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">I wus mighty good-lookin' when I was young,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Peert an' black-eyed an' slim,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">With fellers a-courtin' me Sunday nights,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">'Späcially Jim!<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">The likeliest one of 'em all was he,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Chipper an' han'som' an' trim,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">But I tossed up my head an' made fun o' the crowd,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">'Späcially Jim!<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">I said I hadn't no 'pinion o' men,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">An' I wouldn't take stock in him!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">But they kep' up a-comin' in spite o' my talk,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">'Späcially Jim!<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">I got so tired o' havin' 'em roun'<br /></span>
<span class="i5">'Späcially Jim!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">I made up my mind I'd settle down<br /></span>
<span class="i5">An' take up with him.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">So we was married one Sunday in church,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">'Twas crowded full to the brim;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">'Twas the only way to get rid of 'em all,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">'Späcially Jim.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p><a id="Page_81a"></a></p>

<h3>AGNES, I LOVE THEE!<br />
ANONYMOUS</h3>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">I stood upon the ocean's briny shore;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And, with a fragile reed, I wrote<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Upon the sand&mdash;"Agnes, I love thee!"<br /></span>
<span class="i3">The mad waves rolled by, and blotted out<br /></span>
<span class="i3">The fair impression.<br /></span>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82"></a></span><span class="i3">Frail reed! cruel wave! treacherous sand!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">I'll trust ye no more;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">But, with giant hand, I'll pluck<br /></span>
<span class="i3">From Norway's frozen shore<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Her tallest pine, and dip its top<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Into the crater of Vesuvius,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And upon the high and burnished heavens<br /></span>
<span class="i3">I'll write,&mdash;"Agnes, I love thee!"&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And I would like to see any<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Dog-goned wave wash that out!<br /></span>
</div></div>


<h3>THE GORILLA<br />
ANONYMOUS</h3>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i14">"O mighty ape!<br /></span>
<span class="i16">Half beast, half man,<br /></span>
<span class="i14">Thy uncouth shape<br /></span>
<span class="i16">Betrays a plan<br /></span>
<span class="i10">The gulf of Being at a bound to span.<br /></span>
<span class="i6">Thou art the link between ourselves and brutes,<br /></span>
<span class="i8">Lifting the lower to a higher plane;<br /></span>
<span class="i6">Thy human face all cavilers refutes,<br /></span>
<span class="i8">Who sneer at Darwin as a dreamer vain.<br /></span>
<span class="i6">How camest thou beneath this canvas tent?<br /></span>
<span class="i8">Within this cage? behind these iron bars?<br /></span>
<span class="i6">Thou, whose young days in tropic lands were spent,<br /></span>
<span class="i8">With strange companions, under foreign stars?<br /></span>
<span class="i6">Art thou not lonely? What is life to thee<br /></span>
<span class="i8">Thus mewed in prison, innocent of crime,<br /></span>
<span class="i6">Become a spectacle for crowds to see,<br /></span>
<span class="i8">And reckless boys to jeer at all the time?<br /></span>
<span class="i6">Hast thou no feelings such as we possess?<br /></span>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83"></a></span><span class="i8">Art thou devoid of any sense of shame?<br /></span>
<span class="i6">Rise up, O brother, and thy wrongs redress;<br /></span>
<span class="i8">Rise in thy might, and be no longer tame!"<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">I paused in my apostrophe. The animal arose;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">He seized the bars that penned him in: my blood in terror froze.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">He shook the cage from side to side; the frightened people fled;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Then, in a tone of savage wrath, the horrid monster said:<br /></span>
<span class="i3">"I'm hired by the wake to wear the dhirty craythur's shkin;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">I came from Tipperary, and me name is Micky Flynn!"<br /></span>
</div></div>


<h3>BANGING A SENSATIONAL NOVELIST<br />
ANONYMOUS</h3>

<p>The other day a stout woman, armed with an umbrella, and
leading a small urchin, called at the office of a New York boys'
story paper.</p>

<p>"Is this the place where they fight Indians?" she inquired of
the young man in charge. "Is this the locality where the brave
boy charges up the canyon and speeds a bullet to the heart of
the dusky redskin?" and she jerked the urchin around by the
ear and brought her umbrella down on the desk.</p>

<p>"We publish stories for boys, and&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"I want to know if these are the premises on which the daring
lad springs upon his fiery mustang, and, darting through the circle
of thunderstruck savages, cuts the captive's cords and bears
him away before the wondering Indians have recovered from their
astonishment? That's the information I'm after. I want to
know if that sort of thing is perpetrated here!" and she swung
the umbrella around her head.</p>

<p>"I don't remember those specific facts, but&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"I want to know if this is the precinct where the adventurous
boy jumps on the back of a buffalo and with unerring aim picks
off one by one the bloodthirsty pursuers who bite the dust at
every crack of the faithful rifle! I'm looking for the place
where that sort of thing happens!" and this time she brought
the unlucky man a tremendous whack across the back.</p>

<p>"I think&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"I'm in search of the shop in which the boy road-agent <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84"></a></span>holds
the quivering stage-driver powerless with his glittering eye, while
he robs the male passengers with an adroitness born of long and
tried experience, and kisses the hands of the lady passengers
with a gallantry of bearing that bespeaks noble birth and a chivalrous
nature! I'm looking for the apartment in which that
business is transacted!"</p>

<p>"Upon my word, madam, I&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"I want to be introduced to the jars in which you keep the
boy scouts of the Sierras! Show me the bins full of the boy
detectives of the prairie! Point out to me the barrels full of
boy pirates of the Spanish main!" and with each demand she
brought her umbrella down on the young man's head until he
jumped over the desk and sought safety in a neighboring canyon.</p>

<p>"I'll teach 'em!" she panted, grasping the urchin by the ear
and leading him off. "I'll teach 'em to make it good or dance.
Want to go fight Indians any more (<i>twisting the boy's ear</i>)?
Want to stand proudly upon the pinnacle of the mountain and
scatter the plain beneath with the bleeding bodies of uncounted
slain? Propose to spring upon the taffrail and with a ringing
word of command send a broadside into the richly-laden galley,
and then mercifully spare the beautiful maiden in the cabin,
that she may become your bride? Eh? Going to do it any more?"</p>

<p>The boy exprest his permanent abandonment of all the glories
enumerated.</p>

<p>"Then come along," said she, taking him by the collar. "Let
me catch you around with any more ramrods and carving knives,
and you'll think the leaping, curling, resistless prairie fire has
swept with a ferocious roar of triumph across the trembling
plains and lodged under your jacket to stay!"</p>


<h3>HOPKINS' LAST MOMENTS<br />
ANONYMOUS</h3>

<p>Nurses in hospitals are inclined to lay too much stress on the
advantages received by the patients and their duty of <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85"></a></span>thankfulness,
but it is the poor soldier who suffers most from always having
his cause to be grateful flung in his teeth. The following
true story took place between the chaplain and the hospital orderly:</p>

<p><i>Chaplain</i>&mdash;"So poor Hopkins is dead. I should like to have
spoken to him once more and soothed his last moments. Why
didn't you call me?"</p>

<p><i>Hospital Orderly</i>&mdash;"I didn't think you ought to be disturbed
for 'Opkins, sir; so I just soothed him as best I could myself."</p>

<p><i>Chaplain</i>&mdash;"Why, what did you say to him?"</p>

<p><i>Orderly</i>&mdash;"I sez, ''Opkins, you're mortal bad.'"</p>

<p>"'I am,' sez 'e."</p>

<p>"''Opkins,' sez I, 'I don't think you'll get better.'"</p>

<p>"'No,' sez 'e."</p>

<p>"''Opkins,' sez I, 'you're going fast.'"</p>

<p>"'Yes,' sez 'e."</p>

<p>"''Opkins,' sez I, 'I don't think you can 'ope to go to 'eaven.'"</p>

<p>"'I don't think I can,' sez 'e."</p>

<p>"'Well, then, 'Opkins,' sez I, 'you'll go to 'ell.'"</p>

<p>"'I suppose so,' sez 'e,"</p>

<p>"''Opkins,' sez I, 'you ought to be wery grateful as there's a
place perwided for you, and that you've got somewhere to go.'
And I think 'e 'eard, sir, for 'e just gave a little groan, turned
over, and then 'e died."
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86"></a></span></p>
<h3>THE FAIRIES' TEA<br />
ANONYMOUS</h3>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Five little fairies went out to take tea,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Under the shade of a juniper tree.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Each had a cup from an acorn cut,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And a plate from the rind of a hickory nut.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">The table was spread with a cloth all of lace,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Woven by spiders the banquet to grace.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Oh, what good things they all had to eat!&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Slices of strawberry,&mdash;my what a treat!<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Honey the sweetest the wild bee could hive,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And a humming-bird's egg for each of the five.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Then they drank their host's health in their favorite drink,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Which was,&mdash;now what was it? Can anyone think?<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Why the dew-drop that comes from the heart of the rose<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Is the drink of the fairies, as everyone knows.<br /></span>
</div></div>

<h3>COUNTING EGGS<br />
ANONYMOUS</h3>

<p>Old Moses, who sells eggs and chickens on the streets of Austin
for a living, is as honest an old negro as ever lived; but he
has the habit of chatting familiarly with his customers, hence he
frequently makes mistakes in counting out the eggs they buy.
He carries his wares around in a small cart drawn by a diminutive
donkey. He stopt in front of the residence of Mrs. Samuel
Burton. The old lady herself came out to the gate to make the
purchase.</p>

<p>"Have you any eggs this morning, Uncle Moses?" she asked.</p>

<p>"Yes, indeed I has. Jess got in ten dozen from de kentry."</p>

<p>"Are they fresh?"</p>

<p>"Fresh? Yes, indeed! I guantees 'em, an'&mdash;an'&mdash;de hen guantees
'em."</p>

<p>"I'll take nine dozen. You can just count them into this
basket."</p>

<p>"All right, mum; (<i>he counts</i>) one, two, free, foah, five, six,
seben, eight, nine, ten. You can rely on dem bein' fresh. How's
your son comin' on de school? He must be mos' grown."</p>

<p>"Yes, Uncle Moses; he is a clerk in a bank in Galveston."</p>

<p>"Why, how ole am de boy?"</p>

<p>"He is eighteen."</p>

<p>"You don't tole me so! Eighteen, and getting a salary already!
Eighteen (<i>counting</i>), nineteen, twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two,
twenty-free, twenty-foah, twenty-five. And how's your gal comin'
on? She was most growed up de last time I seed her."</p>

<p>"She is married and living in Dallas."</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87"></a></span></p>

<p>"Wall, I declar'; how time scoots away! And you say she has
childruns? Why, how ole am de gal? She must be just about&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Thirty-three."</p>

<p>"Am dat so? (<i>Counting.</i>) Firty-free, firty-foah, firty-five,
firty-six, firty-seben, firty-eight, firty-nine, forty, forty-one, forty-two,
forty-free. Hit am singular dat you has sich ole childruns.
You don't look more den forty years old yerseff."</p>

<p>"Nonsense, old man; I see you want to flatter me. When a
person gets to be fifty-three years old&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Fifty-free! I jess dun gwinter bleeve hit; fifty-free, fifty-foah,
fifty-five, fifty-six&mdash;I want you to pay 'tenshun when I
count de eggs, so dar'll be no mistake&mdash;fifty-nine, sixty, sixty-one,
sixty-two, sixty-free, sixty-foah. Whew! Dis am a warm day.
Dis am de time ob year when I feels I'se gettin' ole myself; I
ain't long fur dis world. You comes from an ole family. When
your fadder died he was sebenty years ole."</p>

<p>"Seventy-two."</p>

<p>"Dat's old, suah. Sebenty-two, sebenty-free, sebenty-foah,
sebenty-five, sebenty-six, sebenty-seben, sebenty-eight, sebenty-nine.
And your mudder? She was one ob de noblest-lookin'
ladies I eber see. You remind me ob her so much! She libed
to mos' a hundred. I bleeves she was done past a centurion when
she died."</p>

<p>"No, Uncle Moses; she was only ninety-six when she died."</p>

<p>"Den she wan't no chicken when she died, I know dat. Ninety-six,
ninety-seben, ninety-eight, ninety-nine, one hundred, one, two,
free, foah, five, six, seben, eight&mdash;dar, one hundred and eight
nice fresh eggs&mdash;jess nine dozen; and here am one moah egg in
case I have discounted myself."</p>

<p>Old Mose went on his way rejoicing. A few days afterward
Mrs. Burton said to her husband:</p>

<p>"I am afraid that we will have to discharge Matilda. I am
satisfied that she steals the milk and eggs. I am positive about
the eggs, for I bought them day before yesterday, and now about
half of them are gone. I stood right there, and heard Moses
count them myself, and there were nine dozen."</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88"></a></span></p>


<h3>THE OATMOBILE<br />
ANONYMOUS</h3>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Ay yust bane oop by Minnesote<br /></span>
<span class="i5">To sa my Onkle Yohn.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Ay stop me by St. Paul awhile<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Yust for a little fun;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">An' dere Ay saw one oatmobile&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Dat bane de name you call;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Und yo could tak a ride on heem<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Mit out some horse at all.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Dat bane a purty nice machine<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Wit rubber tires an tings;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Yust sit heem lik a vagon on<br /></span>
<span class="i5">An' he run yust lik mit vings.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Ay ask dot man vot make heem go?<br /></span>
<span class="i5">He say, "My hade got vheels."<br /></span>
<span class="i3">He say, "He feed heem plenty oat<br /></span>
<span class="i5">An' call heem Oat-mo-bile."<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Ay say, "Ay know Ay bane grane Sweede<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Yust come from Nord Dakote,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">But Ay dou belave he make heem go<br /></span>
<span class="i5">By feedin' vagin oat."<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Ay say to heem, "Look here! Ay bane<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Some time in Missoure,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Ay know Ay'm grane, but yust de same<br /></span>
<span class="i5">You bet me life, 'show me!'"<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Dat feller lafe an' shake his head<br /></span>
<span class="i5">An' say, "Ay bane good show myself,"<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Ay say, "Ay tink Ay punch your head<br /></span>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89"></a></span><span class="i5">An' lay you on de shelf."<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Ay pick me oop a little stick<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Bane layin' on de seat<br /></span>
<span class="i3">An bet me life, dot Oat-mo-bile<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Yust started oop de street.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Ay holler, "Wo-o-o!" but he don' stop<br /></span>
<span class="i5">An' den you bet my life<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Ay wish Ay bane by Nord Dakote,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">At home mit Ann, my vife,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Dat Oat-mo-bile yust boomped me<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Oop de side valk on an' stopt;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">An' bucked me thro' de window<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Of one dem butcher-shop.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">He split me nose bay my face oop<br /></span>
<span class="i5">He smash me almost dead;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">He punch de inside of me mouth<br /></span>
<span class="i5">All outside of me hade.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">He hurt me eye so bad in one<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Ay'm blin' yust like a beetle.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">In oder one, Ay can see some<br /></span>
<span class="i5">But only just a little.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">De las Ay see of dat machine<br /></span>
<span class="i5">He bane a buckin' still.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Ay tink he feed too many oat<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Tod at old Oat-mo-bile.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Ay tell my wife, if I get vell<br /></span>
<span class="i5">You bet I vill not monkey<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Some anoder time with<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Any Oat-mo-bile.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90"></a></span></p>

<h3>ALMOST BEYOND ENDURANCE<br />
BY JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY</h3>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">I ain't a-goin' to cry no more, no more!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">I'm got earache, an' ma can't make it quit a-tall;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">An' Carlo bite my rubber-ball<br /></span>
<span class="i3">An' puncture it; an' Sis she take<br /></span>
<span class="i3">An' poke my knife down through the stable-floor<br /></span>
<span class="i3">An' loozed it,&mdash;blame it all!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">But I ain't a-goin' to cry no more, no more!<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">An' Aunt Mame <i>wrote</i> she's comin' an' she <i>can't</i>,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Folks is come <i>there</i>!&mdash;An' I don't care if she <i>is</i> my aunt!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">An' my eyes stings; an' I'm<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Ist coughin' all the time,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">An' hurts me so, an' where my side's so sore,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Grampa felt where, an' he<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Says, "Maybe it's <i>pleurasy</i>!"<br /></span>
<span class="i3">But I ain't a-goin' to cry no more, no more!<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">An' I clumbed up an' felled off the fence,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">An' Herbert he ist laugh at me!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">An' my fi' cents,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">It sticked in my tin bank, an' I ist tore<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Purt night my fum-nail off a-tryin' to git<br /></span>
<span class="i3">It out&mdash;nen <i>smash</i> it! An' it's in there yet!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">But I ain't a-goin' to cry no more, no more!<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Oo! I'm so wicked! an' my breath's so <i>hot</i>,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Ist like I run an' don't rest none<br /></span>
<span class="i3">But ist run on when I ought to not;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Yes, an' my chin<br /></span>
<span class="i3">An' lips all warpy, an' teeth's so fast,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">An's a place in my throat I can't swaller past,&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">An' they all hurt so!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">An' oh, my oh!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">I'm a-startin' ag'in,&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">I'm a-startin' ag'in, but I <i>won't</i> fer shore!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">I ist ain't a-goin to cry no more, no more!<br /></span>
</div></div>

<p>By permission from "His Pa's Romance," copyright, 1903, the Bobbs-Merrill Company,
Indianapolis, Ind.</p>


<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91"></a></span></p>


<h3>PROOF POSITIVE<br />
ANONYMOUS</h3>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">I stept into my room one day<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And saw some children there at play.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">I sought my little girl and found her<br /></span>
<span class="i3">With half a dozen youngsters round her;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And from the way she slapped her rule,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">I knew that they were "playing school."<br /></span>
<span class="i3">I gave my little girl a kiss&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">A pleasure that I never miss.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">A murmur through the schoolroom ran,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">A smile pervaded every feature,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">"He must be a committeeman!"<br /></span>
<span class="i3">They loud exclaimed. "He kissed the teacher!"<br /></span>
</div></div>


<h3>THE IRISH PHILOSOPHER<br />
ANONYMOUS</h3>

<p><span class="smcap">Ladies and Gintlemen</span>:&mdash;I see so many foine-lookin' people
sittin' before me, that if you'll excuse me I'll be after takin' a
seat myself.</p>

<p>You don't know me, I'm thinkin,' or some of yees 'ud be noddin'
to me afore this.</p>

<p>I'm a walkin' pedestrian, a traveling philosopher; Terry O'Mulligan's
me name. I'm from Dublin, where many philosophers
before me was raised and bred. Oh, philosophy is a foine study.
I don't know anything about it, but it's a foine study. Before I
kim over I attinded an important meetin' of philosophers in
Dublin, and the discussin' and talkin' you'd hear there about the
world 'ud warm the very heart of Socrates or Aristotle himself.
Well, there was a great many <i>imminent</i> and learned min there at
the meetin,' and I was there, too; and while we was in the very
thickest of a heated argument a man comes up to me, and says
he, "Do you know what we're talkin' about?" "I do," says I,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92"></a></span>
"but I don't understand yees." "Could you explain the sun's
motion round the earth?" says he. "I could," says I; "but I'd
not know could you understand me or not." "Well," says he,
"we'll see," says he.</p>

<p>Sure'n I didn't know anything how to get out of it then; so I
piled in, for, says I to meself, never let on to anyone that you
don't know anything, but make them believe that you do know all
about it. So, says I to him, takin' up me shillalah this way (<i>holding
up a very crooked stick horizontally</i>): "We will take that for
the straight line of the earth's equator." How's that for gehoggraphy?
(<i>To the audience.</i>) Oh, that was straight till the other day
I bent it in an argument.</p>

<p>"Very good" says he. "Well," says I, "now the sun rises in the
east." (<i>Placing the disengaged hand at the eastern end of the
stick.</i>) Well, he couldn't deny that; "and," says I, "he-he-he-rises
in the mornin'." No more could he deny that. "Very early," says
I; "and when he gets up he</p>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">"'Darts his rosy beams<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Through the mornin' gleams.'"<br /></span>
</div></div>

<p>Do you moine the poetry there? (<i>To the audience, with a
smile.</i>) "And he keeps on risin' an' risin' till he reaches his meridan."
"What's that?" says he. "His dinner-toime," says I.
"Sure'n that's my Latin for dinner-time. And when he gets his
dinner</p>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">"'He sinks to rest<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Behind the glorious hills of the west.'"<br /></span>
</div></div>

<p>Oh, begorra, there's more poetry. I feel it croppin' out all
over me.</p>

<p>"There," says I, well satisfied with mesilf, "will that do for ye?"</p>

<p>"You haven't got done with him," says he.</p>

<p>"Done with him?" says I, kinder mad-like. "What more do you
want me to do with him? Didn't I bring him from the east to the
west? What more do you want?" "Oh," says he, "you have to
have him back agin in the east the next mornin'!"</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93"></a></span></p>
<p>By Saint Patrick, and wasn't I near betrayin' me ignorance.
Sure'n I thought there was a large family of suns, and they riz
one after the other; but I gathered meself quick, and says I to
him, "Well," says I, "I'm surprized you ax me that simple question.
I thought any man 'ud know" says I, "when the sun sinks
to rest in the west that er&mdash;when the sun&mdash;&mdash;" says I. "You
said that before" says he. "Well, I want to impress it strongly
upon you," says I. "When the sun sinks to rest behind the glorious
hills of the east&mdash;no, west&mdash;why, he&mdash;why, he waits till it
grows very dark and then he <i>goes back in the noight-toime</i>!"</p>


<h3>BELAGCHOLLY DAYS<br />
ANONYMOUS</h3>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Chilly Dovebber with his boadigg blast<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Dow cubs add strips the beddow add the lawd,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Eved October's suddy days are past&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i11">Add Subber's gawd!<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">I kdow dot what it is to which I cligg<br /></span>
<span class="i5">That stirs to sogg add sorrow, yet I trust<br /></span>
<span class="i3">That still I sigg, but as the liddets sigg&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i11">Because I bust.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Add dow, farewell to roses add to birds,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">To larded fields and tigkligg streablets eke;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Farewell to all articulated words<br /></span>
<span class="i11">I faid would speak.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Farewell, by cherished strolliggs od the sward,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Greed glades add forest shades, farewell to you;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">With sorrowing heart I, wretched add forlord,<br /></span>
<span class="i11">Bid you&mdash;achew!!!<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94"></a></span></p>

<h3>A PANTOMIME SPEECH<br />
ANONYMOUS</h3>

<p>Have you ever realized what a funny thing it is to see a lot of
people talking and gesticulating and not hear a single sound from
them? The next time you are in a crowded dining-room, close
your ears with your hands, and you will be quickly converted to
the Darwinian theory.</p>

<p>This was forcibly imprest upon my mind at a political gathering.
The hall was very large, but was crowded to the doors, so
that when I reached there I was obliged to stand outside and on
my toes to see the speakers. Please remember that altho I could
in this way distinctly see the speakers, I was too far away to hear
the slightest sound. It was simply a pantomime performance to
me, and I shall try to give you a faithful representation of just
what I saw.</p>

<p>Simply say: "The Chairman." The rest is pantomime. Seat
yourself as an old man, put your right hand behind your ear as
if listening to a side remark. Repeat to the left. Evidently someone
has told you it is time to begin. Take out your watch and
compare it with the clock on the wall behind you. Bring out an
imaginary pair of spectacles, clean them with your handkerchief,
and as you put them on your nose draw down your face as old
men do. Get up with seeming difficulty. The business here is
<i>ad lib</i>. Point to the speaker of the evening, who is supposed to
be sitting at your right. By silent movements of the lips seem to
introduce him to the audience. Then suddenly remember that you
have something else to say just as you are about to sit down.
Repeat this two or three times. Then sit down at last with much
difficulty.</p>

<p>Then say aloud: "The Speaker." Impersonate him as assuming
a grandiloquent air. While he speaks in pantomime he rises on
his toes and <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95"></a></span>makes numerous gestures. He pounds fist on table.
Someone evidently interrupts him from the audience. He looks
in that direction and then replies. He seems to say to the man to
come up on the platform or else get out of the hall. He talks for
some time as if in argument, then dodges as if something has been
thrown at him. Two or three times he has to dodge in this way
and then something seems to have struck him in the face. He
takes out his handkerchief and wipes off face and coat. Then
things are thrown at him from right and left, while he continues
to dodge. At last they come so thick that he rushes off the platform
in great alarm.</p>


<h3>THE ORIGINAL LAMB<br />
ANONYMOUS</h3>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Oh, Mary had a little lamb, regarding whose cuticular<br /></span>
<span class="i3">The fluff exterior was white and kinked in each particular.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">On each occasion when the lass was seen perambulating,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">The little quadruped likewise was there a gallivating.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">One day it did accompany her to the knowledge dispensary,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Which to every rule and precedent was recklessly contrary.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Immediately whereupon the pedagog superior,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Exasperated, did eject the lamb from the interior.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Then Mary, on beholding such performance arbitrary,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Suffused her eyes with saline drops from glands called lachrymary,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And all the pupils grew thereat tumultuously hilarious,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And speculated on the case with wild conjectures various.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">"What makes the lamb love Mary so?" the scholars asked the teacher.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">He paused a moment, then he tried to diagnose the creature.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">"Oh, <i>pecus amorem Mary habit omnia temporum</i>."<br /></span>
<span class="i3">"Thanks, teacher dear," the scholars cried, and awe crept darkly o'er 'em.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96"></a></span></p>


<h3>WHEN PA WAS A BOY<br />
BY S. E. KISER</h3>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">I wish 'at I'd of been here when<br /></span>
<span class="i5">My paw he was a boy;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">They must of been excitement then&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i5">When my paw was a boy.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">In school he always took the prize,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">He used to lick boys twice his size&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">I bet folks all had bulgin' eyes<br /></span>
<span class="i5">When my paw was a boy!<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">There was a lot of wonders done<br /></span>
<span class="i5">When my paw was a boy;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">How grandpa must have loved his son,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">When my paw was a boy!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">He'd git the coal and chop the wood,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And think up every way he could<br /></span>
<span class="i3">To always just be sweet and good&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i5">When my paw was a boy!<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Then everything was in its place,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">When my paw was a boy;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">How he could rassle, jump and race,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">When my paw was a boy!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">He never, never disobeyed;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">He beat in every game he played&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Gee! What a record there was made!<br /></span>
<span class="i5">When my paw was a boy!<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">I wish 'at of been here when<br /></span>
<span class="i5">My paw was a boy;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">They'll never be his like agen&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Paw was the moddle boy.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">But still last night I heard my maw<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Raise up her voice and call my paw<br /></span>
<span class="i3">The biggest goose she ever saw&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i5">He ought have stayed a boy.<br /></span>
</div></div>

<p>By permission of Messrs. Forbes &amp; Company, Chicago.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97"></a></span></p>

<h3>THE FRECKLED-FACED GIRL<br />
(She entertains a visitor while her mother is dressing)<br />
ANONYMOUS</h3>

<p>"Ma's up-stairs changing her dress," said the freckled-faced
little girl, tying her doll's bonnet-strings and casting her eye about
for a tidy large enough to serve as a shawl for that double-jointed
young person.</p>

<p>"Oh! your mother needn't dress up for me," replied the female
agent of the missionary society, taking a self-satisfied view of
herself in the mirror. "Run up and tell her to come down just
as she is in her every-day clothes, and not stand on ceremony."</p>

<p>"Oh! but she hasn't got on her every-day clothes. Ma was all
drest up in her new brown silk, 'cause she expected Miss Diamond
to-day. Miss Diamond always comes over here to show off her
nice things, and ma don't mean to get left. When ma saw you
coming, she said, 'The dickens!' and I guess she was mad about
something. Ma said if you saw her new dress she'd have to hear
all about the poor heathen, who don't have silk, and you'd ask her
for more money to buy hymn-books to send to 'em. Say, do the
nigger ladies use hymn-book leaves to do their hair up and make
it frizzy? Ma says she guesses that's all the good the books do
'em, if they ever get any books. I wish my doll was a heathen!"</p>

<p>"Why, you wicked little girl, why do you want a heathen doll?"
inquired the missionary lady, taking a mental inventory of the
new things in the parlor to get material for a homily on worldly
extravagance.</p>

<p>"So folks would send her lots of nice things to wear, and feel
sorry to have her going about naked. I ain't a wicked girl, either,
'cause Uncle Dick&mdash;you know Uncle Dick, he's been out West,
and he says I'm a holy terror, and he hopes I'll be an angel pretty
soon. Ma'll be down in a minute, so you needn't take your cloak
off. She said she'd box my ears if I asked you to. Ma's putting
on that old dress she had last year, 'cause she said she didn't want
you to think she was able to give much this time, and she needed
a new muff worse than the queen of the cannon-ball islands needed
religion. Uncle Dick says you ought to go to the islands, 'cause
you'd be safe there, and the natifs'd be sorry they was such sinners
if anybody would send you to 'em. He says he never seen a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98"></a></span>
heathen hungry enough to eat you 'less 'twas a blind one, and
you'd set a blind pagan's teeth on edge so he'd never hanker after
any more missionary. Uncle Dick's awful funny, and makes pa
and ma die laughing sometimes."</p>

<p>"Your Uncle Richard is a bad, depraved man, and ought to have
remained out West, where his style is appreciated. He sets a bad
example for little girls like you."</p>

<p>"Oh! I think he's nice. He showed me how to slide down the
banisters, and he's teaching me to whistle when ma ain't 'round.
That's a pretty cloak you've got, ain't it? Do you buy all your
good clothes with missionary money? Ma says you do."</p>

<p>Just then the freckled-faced little girl's ma came into the parlor
and kissed the missionary lady on the cheek, and said she was delighted
to see her, and they proceeded to have a real sociable chat.
The little girl's ma can't understand why a person who professes
to be so charitable as the missionary agent does should go right
over to Miss Diamond's and say such ill-natured things as she did,
and she thinks the missionary is a double-faced gossip.</p>


<h3>WILLIE<br />
BY MAX EHRMANN</h3>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">A little boy went forth to school<br /></span>
<span class="i5">One day without his chum.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">The teacher said, "Why, you're alone!<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Why doesn't Willie come?"<br /></span>
<span class="i3">"O Willie!" sobbed the little boy,&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i5">"There ain't no Willie now."<br /></span>
<span class="i3">"What do you mean?" the teacher asked,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">With puzzled, knitted brow.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">"Please, sir," the little boy replied,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">"We made a bet fur fun,&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Which one could lean the farthest out<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Our attic,&mdash;Willie won."<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99"></a></span></p>


<h3>AMATEUR NIGHT<br />
ANONYMOUS</h3>

<p>It was one of those little evening entertainments where everyone
talks at once, where everyone asks questions and does not wait
for an answer. Mrs. Fitzgibbon, the hostess, finally broke into the
babble:</p>

<p>"Sh! I want you all to be very quiet. Mr. Chooker&mdash;Mr. Chooker,&mdash;please
don't talk,&mdash;don't talk, please,&mdash;Mr. Chooker is very
excitable. Chooker,&mdash;yes, he is one of the Chookers. Young people
come off the stairs. Sh! I have very great pleasure in introducing
to you Mr. Chooker."</p>

<p>Mr. Chooker came forward with a malicious look, which seemed
to say, "You all seem to be very happy,&mdash;very jolly,&mdash;and enjoying
yourselves. Just wait a bit. I am about to recite a little
poem of my own entitled, 'The Triple Suicide!'"</p>

<p>Then came the boy of the family, a kind of child prodigy, who,
after giving a low and jerky bow, recited as follows: (<i>Here impersonate
a boy in awkward style.</i>)</p>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">"A soldier of the Legion lay dying in Algiers,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">There was lack of woman's nursing, there was dearth of woman's<br /></span>
<span class="i6">tears;&mdash;there was dearth of woman's tears." (<i>Stops.</i>)<br /></span>
</div></div>

<p>"The women were crying, you know. Some were crying and
others were weeping. Those that weren't weeping were crying!"
(<i>Pauses, then bows low, and begins again.</i>)</p>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">"A soldier of the Legion lay dying in Algiers,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">There was lack of woman's nursing, there was dearth of woman's tears;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">But a comrade stood beside him, while his life-blood ebbed away&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">while his life-blood ebbed away,&mdash;while his life-blood ebbed away<br /></span>
<span class="i3">&mdash;&mdash;"<br /></span>
</div></div>

<p>"His blood was flowing along, you know. There was blood here
and there. There was blood spattered over everything, and&mdash;&mdash;"
(<i>Pauses long, bows low, and begins again with great determination
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100"></a></span>and in loud voice.</i>)</p>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">"A soldier of the Legion lay dying in Algiers,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">There was lack of woman's nursing, there was dearth of woman's tears;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">But a comrade stood beside him, while his life-blood ebbed away,&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">ebbed away,&mdash;ebbed away (<i>gradually begins to cry</i>),&mdash;ebbed away (<i>as</i><br /></span>
<span class="i3"><i>if speaking to someone at the side</i>)&mdash;eh?" (<i>Exits slowly with hands</i><br /></span>
<span class="i3"><i>at eyes silently weeping.</i>)<br /></span>
</div></div>

<p>The young miss of the family, recently graduated, next gave
an original poem entitled "The Hen," as follows:</p>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">"Tell me not in mournful numbers,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Life is but an empty dream!&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">For the hen is dead that slumbers,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">And things are not what they seem.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">"Life is real, life is earnest,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">And the shell is not its pen,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Egg thou wert and egg remainest,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Was not spoken of the hen.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">"In the world's broad field of battle,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">In the great barnyard of life,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Be not like those lazy cattle,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Be a rooster in the strife.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">"Lives of roosters all remind us<br /></span>
<span class="i5">We can make our lives sublime,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And when roasted leave behind us<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Hen-tracks on the sands of time.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">"Hen-tracks that perhaps another chicken<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Drooping idly in the rain,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Some forlorn and henpecked brother,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">When he sees shall crow again."<br /></span>
</div></div>

<p>The gem of the evening, however, was a recitation given in
fine style by Mr. Chillingworth Chubb. He had rather a husky<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101"></a></span>
voice and a wooden arm. His memory, moreover, was defective.
The effect of his wooden arm, which was made to perform the
various actions of a real one, was highly amusing. (<i>Here the reciter
may use "Excelsior," "The Speech of Mark Antony," or
some similar selection. The left arm represents the wooden one.
The hand should wear a right-hand, white kid glove, put on wrong
way round with the finger-tips screwed into points. The arm
should be assisted in all its movements by the right one. It
should be made to move in a jerky and unnatural manner at all
its joints. A violent push at the elbow raises it suddenly aloft,
and it is brought again to the side by a tremendous slap from the
right hand. Finally, the arm appears to get out of order, and
moves violently in all directions, until at last the right hand, after
vainly trying to reach it, pins it down to a table or to some other
object. This imitation requires considerable practise, but when
properly done never fails to send an audience into fits of laughter.</i>)</p>


<h3>BOUNDING THE UNITED STATES<br />
BY JOHN FISKE</h3>

<p>Among the legends of our late Civil War there is a story of a
dinner-party, given by the Americans residing in Paris, at which
were propounded sundry toasts concerning not so much the past
and present as the expected glories of the American nation. In
the general character of these toasts, geographical considerations
were very prominent, and the principal fact which seemed to occupy
the minds of the speakers was the unprecedented bigness of
our country.</p>

<p>"Here's to the United States!" said the first speaker,&mdash;"bounded
on the north by British America, on the south by the Gulf of
Mexico, on the east by the Atlantic Ocean, and on the west by the
Pacific Ocean!" "But," said the second speaker, "this is far too
limited a view of the subject, and, in assigning our boundaries,
we must look to the great and glorious future, which is prescribed
for us by the manifest destiny of the Anglo-Saxon race. Here's
to the United States!&mdash;bounded on the north by the North Pole,
on the east by the rising, and on the west by the setting, sun!"</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102"></a></span></p>
<p>Emphatic applause greeted the aspiring prophecy. But here
arose the third speaker, a very serious gentleman, from the far
West. "If we are going," said this truly patriotic gentleman, "to
lessen the historic past and present, and take our manifest destiny
into account, why restrict ourselves within the narrow limits
assigned by our fellow countryman who has just sat down? I
give you the United States!&mdash;bounded on the north by the Aurora
Borealis, on the south by the precession of the equinoxes, on the
east by the primeval chaos, and on the west by the Day of
Judgment!"</p>


<h3>DER DOG UND DER LOBSTER<br />
ANONYMOUS</h3>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Dot dog, he vas dot kind of dog<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Vot ketch dot ret so sly,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Und squeeze him mit his leedle teeth,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Und den dot ret vas die.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Dot dog, he vas onquisitive<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Vereffer he vas go,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Und like dot voman, all der time,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Someding he vants to know.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Von day, all by dot market stand,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Vere fish und clams dey sell,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Dot dog vas poke his nose aboud<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Und find out vot he smell.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Dot lobster, he vas dook to snooze<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Mit vone eye open vide,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Und ven dot dog vas come along,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Dot lobster he vas spied.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Dot dog, he smell him mit his noze<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Und scratch him mit his paws,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Und push dot lobster all aboud,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Und vonder vat he vas.<br /></span>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103"></a></span></div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Und den dot lobster, he voke up,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Und crawl yoost like dot snail,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Und make vide open ov his claws,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Und grab dot doggie's tail.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Und den so quick as neffer vas,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Dot cry vent to der sky,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Und like dot swallows vot dey sing,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Dot dog vas homevard fly.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Yoost like dot thunderbolt he vent&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Der sight vas awful grand,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Und every street dot dog vas turn,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Down vent dot apple-stand.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Der children cry, der vimmin scream,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Der mens fell on der ground,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Und dot boliceman mit his club<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Vas novare to pe found.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">I make dot run, und call dot dog,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Und vistle awful kind;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Dot makes no different vot I say,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Dot dog don't look pehind.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Und pooty soon dot race vas end,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Dot dog vas lost his tail&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Dot lobster, I vas took him home,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Und cook him in dot pail.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Dot moral vas, I tole you 'boud,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Pefore vas neffer known&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Don't vant to find out too much tings<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Dot vasn't ov your own.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104"></a></span></p>


<h3>HE LAUGHED LAST<br />
ANONYMOUS</h3>

<p>A young man was sitting in the Grand Central Depot the other
day, holding a baby in his arms, when the child began to cry so
lustily as to attract the attention of everyone around him. By
and by a waiting passenger walked over to him with a smile of
pity on his face and said:</p>

<p>"A woman gave you that baby to hold while she went to see
about her baggage, didn't she?"</p>

<p>"Yes."</p>

<p>"Ha! ha! ha! I tumbled to the fact as soon as I saw you.
You expect her back, I suppose?"</p>

<p>"Of course."</p>

<p>"Ha! ha! ha! This is rich! Looking for her every minute,
aren't you?"</p>

<p>"Yes, and I think she'll come back."</p>

<p>"Well this makes me laugh,&mdash;ha! ha! ha! I had a woman play
that same trick on me in a Chicago depot once, but no one ever
will again. Young man, you've been played on for a hayseed.
I would advise you to turn that baby over to a policeman and get
out of here before some newspaper reporter gets hold of you."</p>

<p>"Oh, she'll come back, she'll come back."</p>

<p>"She will, eh? Ha! ha! ha! The joke grows richer and richer.
Now what makes you think she'll come back?"</p>

<p>"Because she's my wife and this is our baby."</p>

<p>"Oh&mdash;um&mdash;I see," muttered the fat man, who got over feeling
tickled all at once, and seeing a dog that a farmer had tied to
one of the seats with a piece of clothes-line, he went over and
gave it three swift kicks.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105"></a></span></p>
<hr class="chap" />

<h3>NORAH MURPHY AND THE SPIRITS<br />
BY HENRY HATTON</h3>

<p>Miss Honora Murphy, a young female engaged in the honorable
and praiseworthy occupation of general housework, merely to
dispel <i>ennui</i>, not hearing in some time from the "boy at home,"
to whom she was engaged to be married, was advised by the girl
next door to consult the spirits. The result I shall give as detailed
by her to her friend:</p>


<p>"How kem I by the black eye? Well, dear, I'll tell ye. Afther
what yer wur tellin' me, I niver closed me eyes. The nixt marnin'
I ast Maggie, the up-stairs gerrl, where was herself. 'In her boodoore,'
sez Maggie, an' up I goes to her.</p>

<p>"'What's wantin', Nora?' sez she.</p>

<p>"'I've heerd as how me cousin's very sick,' sez I, 'an' I'm that
frettin'. I must go an' see her.'</p>

<p>"'Fitter fur ye to go ter yer worruk,' sez she, lookin' mighty
cross, an' she the lazy hulks as niver does a turn from mornin'
till night.</p>

<p>"Well, dear, I niver takes sass from anny av 'em; so I ups an'
tould her, 'Sorra taste av worruk I'll do the day, an' av yer don't
like it, yer can find some one else,' an' I flounced mesel' out av
the boodoore.</p>

<p>"Well, I wint to me room ter dress mesel', an' whin I got on
me sale-shkin sack, I thought av me poor ould mother&mdash;may the
hivins be her bed!&mdash;could only see me, how kilt she'd be intoirely.
Whin I was drest I wint down-stairs an' out the front-doore, an'
I tell yer <i>I slammed it well after me</i>.</p>

<p>"Well, me dear, whin I got ter the majum's, a big chap wid
long hair and a baird like a billy-goat kem inter the room.
Sez he:</p>

<p>"'Do yer want ter see the majum?'</p>

<p>"'I do,' sez I.</p>

<p>"'Two dollars,' sez he.</p>

<p>"'For what?' sez I.</p>

<p>"'For the sayants,' sez he.</p>

<p>"'Faix, it's no aunts I want ter see,' sez I, 'but Luke Corrigan's
own self.' Well, me dear, wid that he giv a laugh ye'd
think would riz the roof.</p>

<p>"'Is he yer husband?' sez he.</p>

<p>"'It's mighty 'quisitive ye are,' sez I, 'but he's not me husband,
av yer want ter know, but I want ter larn av it's alive or dead
he is, which the Lord forbid!'</p>

<p>"'Yer jist in the nick o' time,' sez he.</p>

<p>"'Faix, Ould Nick's here all the time, I'm thinkin', from what
I hear,' sez I.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106"></a></span></p>

<p>"Well, ter make a long story short, I paid me two dollars, an'
wint into another room, an' if ye'd guess from now till Aisther,
ye'd never think what the majum was. As I'm standin' here,
'twas <i>nothin' but a woman</i>! I was that bet, I was almost spacheless.</p>

<p>"'Be sated, madam,' sez she, p'intin' to a chair, 'yer must jine
the circle.'</p>

<p>"'Faix, I'll ate a triangle, av yer wish,' sez I.</p>

<p>"'Yer must be very quiet,' sez she. An' so I set down along
a lot av other folks at a table.</p>

<p>"'First I'll sing a hymn,' sez the majum, 'an' thin do all yees
jine in the chorus.'</p>

<p>"Yer must excuse me, mum,' sez I. 'I niver could sing, but
rather than spile the divarshun of the company, av any wan'll
whistle, I'll dance as purty a jig as ye'll see from here to Bal'nasloe,
tho it's meself as sez it.'</p>

<p>"Two young whipper-snappers begun ter laugh, but the look
I gev them shut them up.</p>

<p>"Jist then, the big chap as had me two dollars kem into the
room an' turned down the lights. In a minit the majum, shtickin'
her face close to me own, whispers:</p>

<p>"'The sperrits is about&mdash;I kin feel them!'</p>

<p>"'Thrue for you, mum,' sez I, 'fur I kin shmell them!'</p>

<p>"'Hush, the influence is an me,' sez the majum. 'I kin see the
lion an' the lamb lying down together.'</p>

<p>"'Bedad! it's like a wild beastess show,' sez I.</p>

<p>"'Will yer be quiet?' sez an ould chap next ter me. 'I hev a
question to ax.'</p>

<p>"'Ax yer question,' sez I, 'an' I'll ax mine. I paid me two
dollars, an' I'll not be put down.'</p>

<p>"'Plaze be quiet,' sez the majum, 'or the sperrits 'll lave.'</p>

<p>"Jist then came a rap on the table.</p>

<p>"'Is that the sperrit of Luke Corrigan?' sez the majum.</p>

<p>"'It is not,' sez I, 'for he could bate any boy in Killballyowen,
an' if his fisht hit that table 'twould knock it to smithereens.'</p>

<p>"'Whist!' sez the majum, 'it's John Bunion.'</p>

<p>"'Ax him 'bout his progress,' sez a woman wid a face like a
bowl of stirabout.</p>

<p>"'Ah, batherashin!' sez I. 'Let John's bunion alone, an' bring
Luke Corrigan to the fore.'</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107"></a></span></p>
<p>"'Hish!' whispers the majum, 'I feel a sperrit near me.'</p>

<p>"'Feel av it has a lump on his nose,' sez I, 'for be that token
ye'll know it's Luke.'</p>

<p>"'The moment is suspicious,' sez the majum.</p>

<p>"'I hope yer don't want to asperge me character,' sez I.</p>

<p>"'Whist!' sez she, 'the sperrits is droopin'.'</p>

<p>"'It's droppin' yer mane,' sez I, pickin' up a shmall bottle she
let fall from her pocket.</p>

<p>"'Put that woman out,' sez an ould chap.</p>

<p>"'Who do you call a woman?' sez I. 'Lay a fing-er on me,
an' I'll scratch a map of the County Clare on yer ugly phiz.'</p>

<p>"'Put her out!' 'Put her out!' sez two or three others, an'
they made a lep for me. But, holy rocket! I was up in a minute.</p>

<p>"'Bring on yer fightin' sperrits,' I cried, 'from Julis Sazar to
Tim Macould, an' I'll bate them all, for the glory of Ireland!'</p>

<p>"The big chap as had me money kem behind me, and put his
elbow in me eye; but, me jewel, I tossed him over as ef he'd bin
a feather, an' the money rolled out his pocket. Wid a cry of
'Faugh-a-ballah!' I grabbed six dollars, runned out av the doore,
an' I'll niver put fut in the house again. An' that's how I kem
be the black eye."</p>


<h3>OPIE READ<br />
BY WALLACE BRUCE AMSBARY</h3>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Dis language Anglaise dat dey spe'k,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">On State of Illinois,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Is hard for Frenchmen heem to learn,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">It give me moch annoy.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Las' w'ek ma frien', McGover<i>ane</i><br /></span>
<span class="i5">He com' to me an' say:<br /></span>
<span class="i3">"You mak' a toas' on Opie Read<br /></span>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108"></a></span><span class="i5">W'en dey geeve gran' banqay."<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">"I mak' a toas'? Not on your life!<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Dat man's wan frien' of me.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">W'at for I warm heem op lak' toas'?<br /></span>
<span class="i5">De reason I can't see."<br /></span>
<span class="i3">An' den John laugh out on hees eye<br /></span>
<span class="i5">W'en he is to me say:<br /></span>
<span class="i3">"To mak' a toas' is not a roas',<br /></span>
<span class="i5">It's jus' de odder way."<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Dat's how I learn dat toas' an' roas'<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Is call by different name,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Dough bot' are warm in dere own way,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Dere far from mean de same.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">An' so, ma frien', in lof' I clasp<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Your gr'ad, beeg, brawny han',<br /></span>
<span class="i3">An' share vit you in fellowship,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">An' pay you on deman'.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">You're built upon a ver' large plan,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Overe seex feet you rise:<br /></span>
<span class="i3">You need it all to shelter in<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Your heart dat's double size.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">You are too broad for narrow t'ings,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">You gr'ad for any creed;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">I'll eat de roas', but drink de toas',<br /></span>
<span class="i5">To ma frien', Opie Read.<br /></span>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109"></a></span>
</div></div>

<h3>THE VILLAGE CHOIR<br />
After the Charge of the Light Brigade<br />
ANONYMOUS</h3>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Half a bar, half a bar,<br /></span>
<span class="i7">Half a bar onward!<br /></span>
<span class="i7">Into an awful ditch<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Choir and precentor hitch,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Into a mess of pitch,<br /></span>
<span class="i7">They led the Old Hundred.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Trebles to right of them,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Tenors to left of them,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Basses in front of them,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Bellowed and thundered.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Oh, that precentor's look,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">When the sopranos took<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Their own time and hook<br /></span>
<span class="i7">From the Old Hundred!<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Screeched all the trebles here,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Boggled the tenors there,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Raising the parson's hair,<br /></span>
<span class="i7">While his mind wandered;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Theirs not to reason why<br /></span>
<span class="i3">This psalm was pitched too high:<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Theirs but to gasp and cry<br /></span>
<span class="i7">Out the Old Hundred.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Trebles to right of them,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Tenors to left of them,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Basses in front of them,<br /></span>
<span class="i7">Bellowed and thundered.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Stormed they with shout and yell,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Not wise they sang nor well,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Drowning the sexton's bell,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">While all the church wondered.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Dire the precentor's glare,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Flashed his pitchfork in air,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Sounding fresh keys to bear<br /></span>
<span class="i7">Out the Old Hundred.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Swiftly he turned his back,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Reached he his hat from rack,<br /></span>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110"></a></span><span class="i3">Then from the screaming pack,<br /></span>
<span class="i7">Himself he sundered.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Tenors to right of him,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Tenors to left of him,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Discords behind him,<br /></span>
<span class="i7">Bellowed and thundered.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Oh, the wild howls they wrought:<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Right to the end they fought!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Some tune they sang, but not,<br /></span>
<span class="i7">Not the Old Hundred.<br /></span>
</div></div>


<h3>BILLY OF NEBRASKA<br />
BY J. W. BENGOUGH</h3>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">'Twas out in Nebraska&mdash;a town they call Lincoln,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">(I but mention the place, and everyone's thinkin'<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Of W. J. B., the favorite son,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Who twice for the Washington sweepstakes has run),<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">But this is not a political story,<br /></span>
<span class="i7">And has nothing to do with the Silver question,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Or Rate-bills, or Trusts, or even Old Glory,&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i7">Tho Bryan's name may start the suggestion;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And he, as a matter of fact, is the source<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Of the tale, which makes it much better, of course;<br /></span>
<span class="i7">For it goes to show<br /></span>
<span class="i7">What some may be slow<br /></span>
<span class="i3">To believe,&mdash;that this Democrat, earnest and stern,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">On whose lips the eloquent sentences burn,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And who never is known to drink or to smoke,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Has a fondness for fun and enjoys a good joke.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">It appears that Billy&mdash;if I may make free,<br /></span>
<span class="i7">(Like the G. O. P. press) with the Commoner's name&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111"></a></span><span class="i7">Kept a goat, with a cognomen just the same,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">(At least I suppose such was likely to be,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">For Billy's the name of each goat that is <i>he</i>);<br /></span>
<span class="i7">And I likewise suppose,<br /></span>
<span class="i7">(Tho nobody knows)<br /></span>
<span class="i3">That William's idea in keeping a goat<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Was to make himself sound with the shantytown vote;<br /></span>
<span class="i7">But be that as it may,<br /></span>
<span class="i7">It happened one day<br /></span>
<span class="i3">That he went to the court-house, did W. J.,&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">To lodge in due form a complaint&mdash;to protest<br /></span>
<span class="i3">'Gainst the manner in which his estate was assessed;<br /></span>
<span class="i7">And especially to kick<br /></span>
<span class="i3">(For even a peace-arbitrationist hollers<br /></span>
<span class="i7">When you cut to the quick)&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">To kick 'gainst the taxing at twenty-five dollars<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Of Billy the goat. "I say it's too much,"<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Cries Bryan, "and savors of kingcraft and such!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Tax-dodging's a thing I abhor, but I swear<br /></span>
<span class="i3">This tax is unrighteous, unjust, and unfair;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">'Tis a tax more odious than taxes on tea,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And illegal, moreover, for I fail to see<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Where the law gives you power to impose such a rate,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">For the statutes don't say that a goat's <i>real estate</i>.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">I stand on my rights!"&mdash;Here he threw back his coat,<br /></span>
<span class="i7">And like Hampton of old<br /></span>
<span class="i7">Stood up brave and bold,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">"I refuse," he declared, "to be taxed for my goat!"<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">The assessor, a gentle and mild-faced old chap,<br /></span>
<span class="i7">Most anxious to do only that which was right,<br /></span>
<span class="i7">Grew pale with affright<br /></span>
<span class="i3">When he saw the great orators angry eyes snap;<br /></span>
<span class="i7">But he ventured to speak<br /></span>
<span class="i7">In a mild little squeak,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">"If you will excuse me, I think you're astray;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">The rules 'nd riglations is printed that way;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And I haint did nothin' but what I am bid;<br /></span>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112"></a></span><span class="i3">I done it this year as I always have did;<br /></span>
<span class="i7">Here's the book;<br /></span>
<span class="i7">Take a look,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And read for yerself how the law sets it out,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And I guess you will see I know what I'm about.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">"Your goat he runs on the highway, I guess?"<br /></span>
<span class="i7">"Well, yes, I suppose,"<br /></span>
<span class="i7">Says Bryan, "he does."<br /></span>
<span class="i3">"And he butts, I presume, don't he, now, more or less?"<br /></span>
<span class="i7">"Yes," says Bryan, "no doubt<br /></span>
<span class="i7">He butts when he's out,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">But what has that got to do with&mdash;&mdash;"<br /></span>
<span class="i7">"See here!"<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Says the old man, as one who had made his point clear:<br /></span>
<span class="i3">"I calk'late, mister, you hain't read the laws,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">If you'll just take a look at this here little clause;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Where the duties of 'sessors it specially notes;<br /></span>
<span class="i7">It says, as you see,<br /></span>
<span class="i7"><i>Tax all property</i><br /></span>
<span class="i3"><i>Runnin' and a-buttin' on the highway!</i><br /></span>
<span class="i3">And that has jest exactly bin <i>my</i> way;<br /></span>
<span class="i7">And the 'pinion's sound as oats<br /></span>
<span class="i7">That it taxes on billy-goats<br /></span>
<span class="i3">So you can't git out o' payin' in such a sly way!"<br /></span>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113"></a></span>
</div></div>

<h3>DOT LAMBS VOT MARY HAF GOT<br />
ANONYMOUS</h3>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Mary haf got a leetle lambs already;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Dose vool vas vite like shnow;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Und efery times dot Mary dit vent oued,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Dot lambs vent also oued mit Mary.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Dot lambs did follow Mary von day of der schoolhouse,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Vich vas obbosition to der rules of der schoolmaster,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Also, vich it dit caused dose schillen to schmile out loud,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Ven dey dit saw dose lambs on der inside of der schoolhouse.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Und zo dot schoolmaster dit kick dot lambs quick oued,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Likevize, dot lambs dit loaf around on der outsides,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Und did shoo der flies mit his tail off patiently bound,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Until Mary dit come also from dot schoolhouse oued.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Und den dot lambs dit run right away quick to Mary,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Und dit make his het on Mary's arms,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Like he would say, "I doand vas schkared,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Mary would keep from drouble ena how."<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">"Vot vas der reason aboud it, of dot lambs und Mary?"<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Dose schillen dit ask it dot schoolmaster;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Veil, doand you know it, dot Mary lov dose lambs already,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Dot schoolmaster dit zaid.<br /></span>
</div></div>

<p><i>Moral</i></p>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i2">Und zo, alzo, dot moral vaz,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Boued Mary's lamb's relations;<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Of you lofe dese like she lofe dose,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Dot lambs vas obligations.<br /></span>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114"></a></span>
</div></div>

<h3>GEORGA WASHINGDONE<br />
ANONYMOUS</h3>

<p>Georga Washingdone vos a vera gooda man. Hees fadda he
keepa bigga place in Washingdone Street. He hada a greata
bigga lot planta wees cherra, peacha, pluma, chesnutta, peanutta,
an' banan trees. He sella to mena keepa de standa. Gooda mana
to Italia mana was Georga Washingdone. He hata de Irish.
Kicka dem vay lika dees.</p>

<p>One tay wen litta Georga, hees son, vos dessa high, like de hoppa-grass,
he take hees litta hatchet an' he beginna to fool round de
place. He vos vera fresh, vos litta Georga. Poota soon he cutta
downa de cherra tree lika dees. Dat spoila de cherra cropa for
de season. Den he goa round trea killa de banan an' de peanutta.</p>

<p>Poota soon Georga's fadda coma rounda quicka lika dees. Den
he lifta uppa hees fista looka lika big bunch a banan, an' he vos
just goin' to giva litta Georga de smaka de snoota if he tola lie.
Hees eyes blaze lika dees.</p>

<p>Litta Georga he say in hees minda, "I gitta puncha anyhow,
so I tella de square ting." So he holda up hees litta hands lika
dees, an' he calla "Tima!"</p>

<p>Den he says, "Fadda, I cutta de cherra tree weesa mia own
litta hatchet!"</p>

<p>Hees fadda he say, "Coma to de barn weesa me! Litta Georga,
I wanta speeka weesa you!"</p>

<p>Den hees fadda cutta big club, an' he spitta hees handa, lika
dees!</p>

<p>Litta Georga say, "Fadda, I could notta tella de lie, because I
knowa you caughta me deada to rights!"</p>

<p>Den de olda man he smila lika dees, an' he tooka litta Georga
righta down to Wall Street, an' made him a present of de United
States!</p>


<h3>DA 'MERICANA GIRL<br />
BY T. A. DALY</h3>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">I gatta mash weeth Mag McCue,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">An' she ees 'Mericana, too!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Ha! w'at you theenk? Now mebbe so,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">You weell no calla me so slow<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Eef som' time you can looka see<br /></span>
<span class="i3">How she ees com' an' flirt weeth me.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Most evra two, t'ree day, my frand,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">She stop by dees peanutta-stand<br /></span>
<span class="i3">An' smile an' mak' do googla-eye<br /></span>
<span class="i3">An' justa look at me an' sigh.<br /></span>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115"></a></span><span class="i3">An' alla time she so excite'<br /></span>
<span class="i3">She peeck som' fruit an' taka bite.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">O! my, she eesa look so sweet<br /></span>
<span class="i3">I no care how much fruit she eat.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Me? I am cool an' mak' pretand<br /></span>
<span class="i3">I want no more dan be her frand;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">But een my heart, you bat my life,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">I theenk of her for be my wife.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">To-day I theenk: "Now I weell see<br /></span>
<span class="i3">How moocha she ees mash weeth me,"<br /></span>
<span class="i3">An' so I speak of dees an' dat,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">How moocha playnta mon' I gat,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">How mooch I makin' evra day<br /></span>
<span class="i3">An' w'at I spend an' put away.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">An' den I ask, so queeck, so sly:<br /></span>
<span class="i3">"You theenk som' pretta girl weell try<br /></span>
<span class="i3">For lovin' me a leetla beet?"&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">O! my! she eesa blush so sweet!&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">"An' eef I ask her lika dees<br /></span>
<span class="i3">For geevin' me a leetla keess,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">You s'pose she geeve me wan or two?"<br /></span>
<span class="i3">She tal me: "Twanty-t'ree for you!"<br /></span>
<span class="i3">An' den she laugh so sweet, an' say:<br /></span>
<span class="i3">"Skeeddoo! Skeeddoo!" an' run away.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">She like so mooch for keessa me<br /></span>
<span class="i3">She gona geev me twanty-t'ree!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">I s'pose dat w'at she say&mdash;"skeeddoo"&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Ees alla same "I lova you."<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Ha! w'at you theenk! Now, mebbe so<br /></span>
<span class="i3">You weell no calla me so slow!<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116"></a></span></p>

<h3>BECKY MILLER<br />
ANONYMOUS</h3>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">I don'd lofe you now von schmall little bit,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">My dream vas blayed oudt, so blease git up and git,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Your false-heardted vays I can't got along mit&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i17">Go vay, Becky Miller, go vay!<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Vas all der young vomans so false-heardted like you,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Mit a face so bright, but a heart black and plue,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Und all der vhile schworing you lofed me so drue&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i17">Go vay, Becky Miller, go vay!<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Vy, vonce I t'ought you vas a shtar vay up high;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">I like you so better as gogonut bie;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">But oh, Becky Miller, you hafe profed von big lie&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i17">Go vay, Becky Miller, go vay!<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">You dook all de bresents vat I did bresent,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Yes, gobbled up efery virst thing vot I sent;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">All der vhile mit anoder rooster you vent&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i17">Go vay, Becky Miller, go vay!<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Vhen first I found oudt you vas such a big lie,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">I didn't know vedder to schmudder or die;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Bud now, by der chingo, I don't efen cry&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i17">Go vay, Becky Miller, go vay!<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Don'd dry make belief you vas sorry aboudt,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">I don'd belief a dings vot comes oudt by your moudt;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Und besides I don'd care, for you vas blayed oudt&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i17">Go vay, Becky Miller, go vay!<br /></span>
</div></div>

<p>P. S. (pooty short)&mdash;Vell, he dold Becky to go avay enough
dimes, enner how. I dinks he vas an uckly vellow. Vell, berhaps
dot serfs Becky choost right for daking bresents from von
vellow, vhile she vas vinking her nose by anoder vellow.
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117"></a></span></p>

<h3>PAT AND THE MAYOR<br />
ANONYMOUS</h3>

<p>An Irishman named Patrick Maloney, recently landed, called
upon the mayor to see if he could give him a position on the
police force. The mayor, thinking he would have some fun with
him, said:</p>

<p>"Before I can do anything for you, you will have to pass a
Civil Service examination."</p>

<p>"Ah, dthin," said Pat, "and pfhat is the Civil Sarvice?"</p>

<p>"It means that you must answer three questions I put to you,
and if you answer them correctly I may be able to place you."</p>

<p>"Well," said Pat, "I think I can answer dthim if they're not
too hard."</p>

<p>"The first question is, 'What is the weight of the moon?'"</p>

<p>"Ah, now, how can I tell you that? Shure and I don't know."</p>

<p>"Well, try the second one, 'How many stars are in the sky?'"</p>

<p>"Now you're pokin' fun at me. How do I know how many
Stars there are in the shky?"</p>

<p>"Then try the third question, and if you answer it correctly
I'll forgive you the others, 'What am I thinking of?'"</p>

<p>"Pfhat are you thinkin' of? Shure, how can any man tell
what you politicians are thinkin' about. Bedad I don't belave
you know pfhat you're thinkin' about yourself. I guess I'll be
lookin' for work ilsewhere, so good-day to you!"</p>

<p>The mayor called Pat back and told him not to be discouraged,
but to go home and think about it, and if on the morrow he
thought he could answer the questions to come down again and he
would give him another chance.</p>

<p>So Pat went home and told his brother Mike about it, whereupon
Mike said:</p>

<p>"Now you give me dthim clothes of yours and I'll go down and
answer his questions for him."</p>

<p>So next morning Mike went down bright and early, and the
mayor recognizing Patrick as he thought, said:</p>

<p>"Ah, good morning, Patrick. Have you really come back to
answer those three questions I put to you yesterday?"</p>

<p>"Yis, I have."</p>

<p>"Well the first question is, 'What is the weight of the moon?'"</p>

<p>"The weight of the moon is one hundred pounds, twenty-five
pounds to each quarther, four quarthers make one hundred."</p>

<p>"Capital, Patrick, capital! Now the second question is, 'How
many stars are in the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118"></a></span>sky?'"</p>

<p>"How many shtars are in the shky? There are four billion,
sivin million, noine hundred and thirty-two tousand and one."</p>

<p>"Splendid, Patrick, splendid. Now look out for the last question
which is, 'What am I thinking of?'"</p>

<p>"Pfhat are you thinkin' of? Well I know pfhat you're thinkin'
of. You're thinkin' I'm Pat, but you're tirribly mistakin'; <i>I'm
his brother Mike!</i>"</p>


<h3>THE WIND AND THE MOON<br />
BY GEORGE MACDONALD</h3>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Said the wind to the moon, "I will blow you out.<br /></span>
<span class="i11">You stare<br /></span>
<span class="i11">In the air<br /></span>
<span class="i11">Like a ghost in a chair,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Always looking what I am about;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">I hate to be watched; I will blow you out."<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">The wind blew hard and out went the moon.<br /></span>
<span class="i11">So, deep<br /></span>
<span class="i11">On a heap<br /></span>
<span class="i11">Of clouds, to sleep,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Down lay the wind, and slumbered soon&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Muttering low, "I've done for that moon."<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">He turned in his bed; she was there again!<br /></span>
<span class="i11">On high<br /></span>
<span class="i11">In the sky,<br /></span>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119"></a></span><span class="i11">With her one ghost eye,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">The moon shone white and alive and plain.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Said the wind&mdash;"I will blow you out again."<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">The wind blew hard, and the moon grew dim.<br /></span>
<span class="i11">"With my sledge<br /></span>
<span class="i11">And my wedge<br /></span>
<span class="i11">I have knocked off her edge!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">If only I blow right fierce and grim,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">The creature will soon be dimmer than dim."<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">He blew and he blew, and she thinned to a thread.<br /></span>
<span class="i11">"One puff<br /></span>
<span class="i11">More's enough<br /></span>
<span class="i11">To blow her to snuff!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">One good puff more where the last was bred,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And glimmer, glimmer, glum will go the thread!"<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">He blew a great blast, and the thread was gone;<br /></span>
<span class="i11">In the air<br /></span>
<span class="i11">Nowhere<br /></span>
<span class="i11">Was a moonbeam bare;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Far off and harmless the shy stars shone;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Sure and certain the moon was gone!<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">The wind, he took to his revels once more;<br /></span>
<span class="i11">On down,<br /></span>
<span class="i11">In town,<br /></span>
<span class="i11">Like a merry mad clown,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">He leaped and halloed with whistle and roar,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">"What's that?" The glimmering thread once more!<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">He flew in a rage&mdash;he danced and blew;<br /></span>
<span class="i11">But in vain<br /></span>
<span class="i11">Was the pain<br /></span>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120"></a></span><span class="i11">Of his bursting brain;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">For still the broader the moon-scrap grew,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">The broader he swelled his big cheeks and blew.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Slowly she grew&mdash;till she filled the night,<br /></span>
<span class="i11">And shone<br /></span>
<span class="i11">On her throne<br /></span>
<span class="i11">In the sky alone,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">A matchless, wonderful, silvery light,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Radiant and lovely, the Queen of the Night.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Said the wind&mdash;"What a marvel of power am I!<br /></span>
<span class="i11">With my breath<br /></span>
<span class="i11">Good faith!<br /></span>
<span class="i11">I blew her to death&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">First blew her away right out of the sky&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Then blew her in; what a strength am I!"<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">But the moon she knew nothing about the affair,<br /></span>
<span class="i11">For, high<br /></span>
<span class="i11">In the sky,<br /></span>
<span class="i11">With her one white eye,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Motionless, miles above the air,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">She had never heard the great wind blare.<br /></span>
<a id="Page_120a"></a>
</div></div>

<h3>TOTAL ANNIHILATION<br />
ANONYMOUS</h3>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Oh, he was a Bowery boot-black bold,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">And his years they numbered nine.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Rough and unpolished was he,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Albeit he constantly aimed to "shine."<br /></span>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121"></a></span></div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Proud as a king on his box he sat<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Munching an apple red,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">While the boys of his set looked wistfully on.<br /></span>
<span class="i5">And "give us a bite," they said.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">That boot-black smiled a lordly smile&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i5">"No free bites here," he cried.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Then his comrades sadly walked away,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Save one, who stood at his side.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">"Bill, give us the core," he whispered low.<br /></span>
<span class="i5">That boot-black smiled once more,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And a mischievous dimple grew in his cheek&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i5">"There ain't going to be no core."<br /></span>
</div></div>


<h3>UPS AND DOWNS OF MARRIED LIFE<br />
ANONYMOUS</h3>

<p>A well-drest woman walked into a prominent New York office
building the other day and took one of the elevators. Her husband
saw her from across the street, and hurrying over took the
next elevator. He went to the office where he knew she had
business, and found she had stept in only for a moment and had
gone down again.</p>

<p>The elevator despatcher said to her: "Your husband just went
up, and I think he's looking for you."</p>

<p>She took the next elevator up. Just then her husband came
down. He looked all around and then inquired:</p>

<p>"Have you seen my wife here?"</p>

<p>"Yes, she went up this minute."</p>

<p>He took the next elevator and was just out of sight when she
came down.</p>

<p>"Your husband has just gone up."</p>

<p>"Then I'll go right up, as he'll wait for me this time."</p>

<p>Down came her husband a second afterward.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122"></a></span></p>
<p>"Did my wife come down again?"</p>

<p>"Yes, and just went up. She thought you'd wait for her."</p>

<p>After waiting a few moments he became impatient and went
up again. She had been waiting for him, and came down.</p>

<p>"Husband just gone up."</p>

<p>"Then I'll wait here, as he will surely come down."</p>

<p>She waited a few moments and then hurried up again just as
he came down.</p>

<p>"Wife here?"</p>

<p>"Just gone up!"</p>

<p>"Well I'm going home and you tell her&mdash;&mdash;" He paused, turned
around and went up again. Down she came.</p>

<p>"Did he come down?"</p>

<p>"Yes, and he's gone up again as mad as a hornet."</p>

<p>"Then I had better go right up."</p>

<p>Up she went and down he came.</p>

<p>"Just gone up."</p>

<p>"Well, I'll be hanged if I'm going up again. No, sir! I've
seen many ups and downs in my time, but this is the limit. I'm
going to sit right here and wait if she never comes down!"</p>

<p>When they closed the building for the night, he was still sitting
down-stairs, and she, equally determined, was waiting up-stairs,
while the elevator man remarked:</p>

<p>"Well, I hope dey'll meet in heav'n!"
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123"></a></span></p>


<h3>THE CROOKED MOUTH FAMILY<br />
ANONYMOUS</h3>

<p>In a locality not far removed from the city's busy hum, there
lived a family noted for certain remarkable peculiarities of facial
distortion. In the father the lower jaw protruded; in the mother
it receded so that the upper jaw overhung it like a canopy; the
daughter had her face drawn to the left side, while the son had
his drawn to the right, and in addition to this deformity stammered
most dreadfully. While he attempted to talk his face
assumed an expression equally grotesque as the caricatures in a
yellow journal.</p>

<p>The father kept a store and one day a man entered whose face,
strangely enough, was drawn strongly to the right side. Addressing
the daughter, who was standing back of the counter, he said,
"I want a pound of tea," his words coming from the corner of
his mouth.</p>

<p>"What are you making fun of me for?" replied the girl, her
face drawn in the opposite direction.</p>

<p>"I ain't making fun of you. Can't help it. I was born this
way."</p>

<p>The young lady, however, was not satisfied that the stranger
was telling the truth, so, stepping to the door she called to her
father, "Pa, there's a man down here making fun of me."</p>

<p>The father put in an appearance and demanded of the customer
why he had made fun of his daughter.</p>

<p>"I didn't make fun of her."</p>

<p>"Yes you did," said the girl.</p>

<p>"I s-s-saw y-y-you," stammered the brother, from out the corner
of his twisted face.</p>

<p>"I tell you I didn't. I was born this way. Can't talk any other."</p>

<p>"Well," said the old man, "you would make a good match and
you ought to marry each other."</p>

<p>This proposition meeting with a favorable consideration, the
two were made one.</p>

<p>The entire family went on the wedding tour, and one night
they spent at a country inn where candles were used for purposes
of illumination. Picking up a candle the groom attempted to
blow it out, but he nearly exhausted himself in the effort without
accomplishing his purpose. The bride came to his rescue and
blew, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124"></a></span>and blew, and blew, but with no better result. Papa
appearing upon the scene, said, "Let me have it. I'll show you
how to do it," and he went to work with a noise that sounded like
the exhaust of a high-pressure engine, but the candle stubbornly
refused to go out. The mother, hearing the racket, then came
upon the scene, and learning of their quandary, put the candle
on her head and blew upward but the flame merely flickered as
tho fanned by a gentle zephyr. Just then they saw the watchman
passing by, so, in their extremity, they called him to their
aid and he promptly blew out the candle because he had a straight
mouth.</p>


<h3>"IMPH-M"<br />
ANONYMOUS</h3>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">When I was a laddie lang syne at the schule,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">The maister aye ca'd me a dunce an' a fule;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">For somehoo his words I could ne'er un'erstan',<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Unless when he bawled, "Jamie, hand oot yer han'!"<br /></span>
<span class="i9">Then I gloom'd, and said, "Imph-m,"<br /></span>
<span class="i9">I glunch'd, and said, "Imph-m"&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">I wasna owre proud, but owre dour to say&mdash;a-y-e!<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Ae day a queer word, as lang-nebbits' himsel',<br /></span>
<span class="i3">He vow'd he would thrash me if I wadna spell,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Quo I, "Maister Quill," wi' a kin' o' a swither,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">"I'll spell ye the word if ye'll spell me anither:<br /></span>
<span class="i9">Let's hear ye spell 'Imph-m,'<br /></span>
<span class="i9">That common word 'Imph-m,'<br /></span>
<span class="i3">That auld Scotch word 'Imph-m,' ye ken it means a-y-e!"<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Had ye seen hoo he glour'd, hoo he scratched his big pate,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">An' shouted, "Ye villain, get oot o' my gate!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Get aff to your seat! yer the plague o' the schule!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">The de'il, o' me kens if yer maist rogue or fule!"<br /></span>
<span class="i9">But I only said, "Imph-m,"<br /></span>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125"></a></span><span class="i9">That pawkie word "Imph-m,"<br /></span>
<span class="i3">He couldna spell "Imph-m," that stands for an a-y-e!<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">An' when a brisk wooer, I courted my Jean&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">O' Avon's braw lasses the pride an' the queen&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">When 'neath my gray pladie, wi' heart beatin' fain,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">I speired in a whisper if she'd be my ain,<br /></span>
<span class="i9">She blushed, an' said, "Imph-m,"<br /></span>
<span class="i9">That charming word "Imph-m,"<br /></span>
<span class="i3">A thousan' times better an' sweeter than a-y-e!<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Just ae thing I wanted my bliss to complete&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Ae kiss frae her rosy mou', couthie an' sweet&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">But a shake o' her head was her only reply&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Of course, that said no, but I kent she meant a-y-e,<br /></span>
<span class="i9">For her twa een said "Imph-m,"<br /></span>
<span class="i9">Her red lips said, "Imph-m,"<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Her hale face said "Imph-m," an' "Imph-m" means a-y-e!<br /></span>
</div></div>


<h3>THE USUAL WAY<br />
ANONYMOUS</h3>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">There was once a little man, and his rod and line he took,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">For he said, "I'll go a-fishing in the neighboring brook."<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And it chanced a little maiden was walking out that day,<br /></span>
<span class="i19">And they met&mdash;in the usual way.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Then he sat down beside her, and an hour or two went by,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">But still upon the grassy brink his rod and line did lie;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">"I thought," she shyly whispered, "you'd be fishing all the day."<br /></span>
<span class="i19">And he was&mdash;in the usual way.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">So he gravely took his rod in hand and threw the line about,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">But the fish perceived distinctly, he was not looking out;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And he said, "Sweetheart, I love you," but she said she could not stay,<br /></span>
<span class="i19">But she did&mdash;in the usual way.<br /></span>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126"></a></span></div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Then the stars came out above them, and she gave a little sigh,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">As they watched the silver ripples, like the moments, running by;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">"We must say good-by," she whispered, by the alders old and gray,<br /></span>
<span class="i19">And they did&mdash;in the usual way.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">And day by day beside the stream, they wandered to and fro,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And day by day the fishes swam securely down below,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Till this little story ended, as such little stories may<br /></span>
<span class="i19">Very much&mdash;in the usual way.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">And now that they are married, do they always bill and coo?<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Do they never fret or quarrel, like other couples do?<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Does he cherish her and love her? Does she honor and obey?<br /></span>
<span class="i19">Well, they do&mdash;in the usual way.<br /></span>
</div></div>


<h3>NOTHING SUITED HIM<br />
ANONYMOUS</h3>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">He sat at the dinner-table there,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">With discontented frown.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">The potatoes and steak were underdone<br /></span>
<span class="i5">And the bread was baked too brown.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">The pie too sour, the pudding too sweet,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">And the mince-meat much too fat,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">The soup was greasy, too, and salt&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i5">'Twas hardly fit for a cat.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">"I wish you could taste the bread and pies<br /></span>
<span class="i5">I have seen my mother make;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">They were something like, and 'twould do you good<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Just to look at a slice of her cake."<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Said the smiling wife: "I'll improve with age.<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Just now, I'm a beginner.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">But your mother called to see me to-day<br /></span>
<span class="i5">And I got <i>her</i> to cook the dinner."<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127"></a></span></p>


<h3>A LITTLE FELLER<br />
ANONYMOUS</h3>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Say, Sunday's lonesome fur a little feller,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">With pop and mom a-readin' all the while,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">An' never sayin' anything to cheer ye,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">An' lookin' 's if they didn't know how to smile;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">With hook an' line a-hangin' in the wood-shed,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">An' lots o' 'orms down by the outside cellar,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">An' Brown's creek just over by the mill-dam&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Say, Sunday's lonesome fur a little feller.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Why, Sunday's lonesome fur a little feller<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Right on from sun-up when the day commences<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Fur little fellers don't have much to think of,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">'Cept chasin' gophers 'long the corn-field fences,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Or diggin' after moles down in the wood-lot,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Or climbin' after apples what's got meller,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Or fishin' down in Brown's creek an' mill-pond&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Say, Sunday's lonesome fur a little feller.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">But Sunday's never lonesome fur a little feller<br /></span>
<span class="i5">When he's a-stayin down to Uncle Ora's;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">He took his book onct right out in the orchard,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">An' told us little chaps just lots of stories,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">All truly true, that happened onct fur honest,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">An' one 'bout lions in a sort o' cellar,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">An' how some angels came an' shut their mouths up,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">An' how they never teched that Dan'l feller.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">An' Sunday's pleasant down to Aunt Marilda's;<br /></span>
<span class="i5">She lets us take some books that some one gin her,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">An' takes us down to Sunday-school 't the schoolhouse;<br /></span>
<span class="i5">An' sometimes she has a nice shortcake fur dinner.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">An' onct she had a puddin' full o' raisins,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">An' onct a frosted cake all white an' yeller.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">I think, when I stay down to Aunt Marilda's,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">That Sunday's pleasant fur a little feller.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128"></a></span></p>


<h3>ROBIN TAMSON'S SMIDDY<br />
BY ALEXANDER RODGER</h3>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">My mither men't my auld breeks,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">An' wow! but they were duddy,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And sent me to get Mally shod<br /></span>
<span class="i5">At Robin Tamson's smiddy.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">The smiddy stands beside the burn<br /></span>
<span class="i5">That wimples through the clachan,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">I never yet gae by the door,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">But aye I fa' a-laughin'.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">For Robin was a walthy carle,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">An' had ae bonnie dochter,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Yet ne'er wad let her tak' a man,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Tho mony lads had sought her.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And what think ye o' my exploit?&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i5">The time our mare was shoeing,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">I slippit up beside the lass,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">An' briskly fell a-wooing.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">An' aye she e'ed my auld breeks,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">The time that we sat crackin',<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Quo' I, "My lass, ne'er mind the <i>clouts</i>,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">I've new anes for the makin';<br /></span>
<span class="i3">But gin ye'll just come hame wi' me,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">An' lea' the carle, your father,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Ye'se get my breeks to keep in trim,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Mysel', an' a' thegither."<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">"'Deed, lad," quo' she, "your offer's fair,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">I really think I'll tak' it,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Sae, gang awa', get out the mare,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">We'll baith slip on the back o't;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">For gin I wait my father's time,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">I'll wait till I be fifty;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">But na;&mdash;I'll marry in my prime,<br /></span>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129"></a></span><span class="i5">An' mak' a wife most thrifty."<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Wow! Robin was an angry man,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">At tyning o' his dochter;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Through a' the kintra-side he ran,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">An' far an' near he sought her;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">But when he cam' to our fire-end,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">An' fand us baith thegither,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Quo' I, "Gudeman, I've ta'en your bairn,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">An' ye may tak' my mither."<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Auld Robin girn'd an' sheuk his pow,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">"Guid sooth!" quo' he, "you're merry,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">But I'll just tak' ye at your word,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">An' end this hurry-burry."<br /></span>
<span class="i3">So Robin an' our auld wife<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Agreed to creep thegither;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Now, I ha'e Robin Tamson's pet,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">An' Robin has my mither.<br /></span>
</div></div>


<h3>A BIG MISTAKE<br />
ANONYMOUS</h3>

<p>Recently our church has had a new minister. He is a nice, good,
sociable man; but having come from a distant State, of course
he was totally unacquainted with our people.</p>

<p>Therefore, it happened that during his pastoral calls he made
several ludicrous blunders.</p>

<p>The other evening he called upon Mrs. Hadden. She had just
lost her husband, and naturally supposed that his visit was relative
to the sad occurrence. So, after a few commonplaces had
been exchanged, she was not at all surprized to hear him remark:</p>

<p>"It was a sad bereavement, was it not?"</p>

<p>"Yes," faltered the widow.</p>

<p>"Totally unexpected?"</p>

<p>"Oh, yes; I never dreamed of it."</p>

<p>"He died in the barn, I suppose?"</p>

<p>"Oh, no; in the house."</p>

<p>"Ah&mdash;well, I suppose you must have thought a great deal of
him."</p>

<p>"Of course, sir,"&mdash;this with a vim.</p>

<p>The minister looked rather surprized, but continued:</p>

<p>"Blind <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130"></a></span>staggers was the disease, I believe?"</p>

<p>"No, sir," snapped the widow, "apoplexy."</p>

<p>"Indeed; you must have fed him too much."</p>

<p>"He was always capable of feeding himself, sir."</p>

<p>"Very intelligent he must have been. Died hard, didn't he?"</p>

<p>"He did."</p>

<p>"You had to hit him on the head with an ax to put him out of
misery, I was told."</p>

<p>"Whoever told you so did not speak the truth. James died
naturally."</p>

<p>"Yes," repeated the minister, in a slightly perplexed tone, "he
kicked the side of the barn down in his last agonies, did he not?"</p>

<p>"No, sir, he didn't."</p>

<p>"Well, I have been misinformed, I suppose. How old was he?"</p>

<p>"Thirty-five."</p>

<p>"Then he did not do much active work. Perhaps you are better
without him, for you can easily supply his place with another."</p>

<p>"Never, sir&mdash;never will I see one as good as he."</p>

<p>"Oh, yes, you will. He had the heaves bad, you know."</p>

<p>"Nothing of the kind!"</p>

<p>"Why, I recollect I saw him, one day, passing along the road,
and I distinctly recollect that he had the heaves, and walked as
if he had the string-halt."</p>

<p>"He could never have had the string-halt, for he had a cork
leg!"</p>

<p>"A cork leg!&mdash;remarkable. But really, now, didn't he have a
dangerous trick of suddenly stopping and kicking a wagon all
to pieces?"</p>

<p>"Never; he was not a madman, sir!"</p>

<p>"Probably not. But there were some good points about him."</p>

<p>"I should think so!"</p>

<p>"The way in which he carried his ears, for example."</p>

<p>"Nobody else ever noticed that particular merit; he was warm-hearted,
generous and frank!"</p>

<p>"Good qualities. How long did it take him to go a mile?"</p>

<p>"About fifteen minutes."</p>

<p>"Not much of a goer. Wasn't his hair apt to fly?"</p>

<p>"He didn't have any hair. He was bald-headed."</p>

<p>"Quite<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131"></a></span> a curiosity?"</p>

<p>"No, sir; no more of a curiosity than you are."</p>

<p>"Did you use the whip much on him?"</p>

<p>"Never, sir."</p>

<p>"Went right along without it, eh?"</p>

<p>"Yes!"</p>

<p>"He must have been a very good sort of a brute!"</p>

<p>"The idea of you coming here and insulting me!" she sobbed.
"If my husband had lived you wouldn't have done it. Your remarks
in reference to that poor, dead man have been a series of
insults. I won't stand it."</p>

<p>He colored and looked dumbfounded.</p>

<p>"Are you not Mrs. Blinkers, and has not your old gray horse
died?"</p>

<p>"I never owned a h-horse, but my husband died a week ago!"</p>

<p>Ten minutes later the minister came out of that house with the
reddest face ever seen on mortal man.</p>

<p>"And to think," he groaned, as he strode home, "that I was
talking horse to that woman all the time, and she was talking
husband."</p>


<h3>LORD DUNDREARY'S LETTER<br />
ANONYMOUS</h3>

<p>(<i>He enters holding a letter in his hand and a monocle in his
eye.</i>) I wonder who w-w-wote me this letter? I thuppose the
b-b-best way to f-f-find out ith to open it and thee. (<i>Opens
letter.</i>) Thome lun-lunatic hath w-w-witten me this letter. He
hath w-w-witten it upthide down. I w-w-wonder if he th-thought
I wath going to w-w-wead it thanding on my head. Oh, yeth, I
thee; I had it t-t-turned upthide down.</p>

<p>"Amewica." Who do I know in Amewica? I am glad he hath
g-g-given me hith addwess anyhow. Oh, yeth, I thee, it ith from
Tham. I alwaths know Tham's handwiting when I thee hith name
at the b-b-bottom of it.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132"></a></span></p>

<p>"My dear bwother." Tham alwaths called me bwother, becauthe
we never had any thisters. When we were boyths, we were
ladths together&mdash;both of us. They used to g-g-get off a pwoverb
when they thaw uth com-com-coming down the stweet. It iths
awfully good, if I could only think of it. Iths&mdash;it iths the early
bir-bir-bird&mdash;iths the early bir-bir-bird that knowths iths own
f-f-father. What nonthense that iths! How co-co-could a b-b-bird
know iths own father? Iths a withe child&mdash;iths a withe
child&mdash;iths a wise child that geths the worm. T-t-that's not wite.
Wat nonthense that iths! No pa-pa-pawent would allow hiths
child to ga-ga-gather worms. Iths a wyme. Fish of-of-of a
feather,&mdash;fish of a f-f-feather,&mdash;now what nonthense that iths!
Fish don't have feathers. Iths a b-b-bird&mdash;iths b-b-birds of a
feather,&mdash;b-b-birds of a feather&mdash;flock together. B-b-birds of a
f-f-feather! Just as if a who-who-whole flock of b-b-birds had
only one f-f-feather. They'd all catch cold. Only one b-b-bird
could have that f-f-feather, and he'd fly sidewithse. What con-confounded
nonthense that iths! Flock to-to-together! Of
courthse th-th-they'd flock together. Who ever heard of a b-b-bird
being such a f-f-fool as to g-g-go into a corner and flock by himself?
That's one of those things no fellow can find out.</p>

<p>"I wote you a letter thome time ago&mdash;&mdash;" Thath's a lie; he
d-d-didn't w-w-wite me a letter. If he had witten me a letter he
would have posted it, and I would have g-g-got it; so, of courthse,
he didn't post it, and then he didn't wite it. Thath's easy. Oh,
yeths, I thee: "but I dwopped it into the poth-potht-office without
putting any name on it." I wonder who the d-d-dickens got that
letter. I w-w-wonder if the poth-pothman iths gwoin' awound
asking for a fellow without any name. I wonder if there iths
such a fellow, a fellow without any name? If there iths any
fellow without any name, how doeths he know who he iths himself?
I-I-I wonder if thuch a fellow could get mawaid. How could he
ask a girl to take hiths name if he h-h-had no name? That's one
of those things no fellow can find out.</p>

<p>"I have just made a startling dithcovery." Tham's alwaths
d-d-doing thomthing. "I have dithcovered that my mother iths&mdash;that
m-m-my mother iths not my m-m-mother; that a&mdash;the old<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133"></a></span>
nurthe iths my m-m-mother, and that you are not my b-b-bwother,
and a&mdash;that-that-that I was changthed at my birth." How ca-ca-can
a fellow be changthed at hith b-b-birth? If he hiths not himthelf,
who iths he? If Tham's m-m-mother iths not hiths m-m-mother,
and the old nurthe iths hith m-m-mother, and Tham iths
not my b-b-bwother, then who the dickens am I? Stope a minute.
(<i>Points to forefinger of left hand.</i>) That's Tham's m-m-mother,
and that's Tham's nurthe (<i>pointing to thumb of left hand</i>).
Tham's nurthe ith only half the size of hith m-m-mother. Well,
that's my m-m-mother (<i>pointing to second finger of left hand</i>).
I can't get my m-m-mother to stand up! (<i>All the fingers spring
up</i>.) Hello, there's a lot of other fellows' m-m-mothers. Well,
as far as I can make out, Tham hath left me no m-m-mother at all!
That's one of those things no fellow can find out.</p>

<p>"I have just purchathed an ethstate som-som-somewhere&mdash;&mdash;" Dothn't
the idiot know wh-wh-where he hath bought it? Oh,
yeth: "on the banks of the M-M-M-Mith-ith-ippi." Who iths Mit-this
Thippi? I g-g-gueth iths Tham's m-m-mother-in-law. Tham's
got mawaid. He thayths he felt awfully ner-ner-nervouths. S-s-speaking
of m-m-mother-in-lawths, I had a fwiend who had a
m-m-mother-in-law, and he didn't like her very well; and she felt
the thame way toward him; and they went away on a steamer
acwoths the ocean, and they got shipwecked, catht away on a waft,
and they floated awound in the water, living on thuch things ath
they could pick up&mdash;such ath thardines, ice-cweam, owanges, and
other canned goods that were floating awound. When that was
all gone, everybody ate everybody else. F-f-finally only himthelf
and hiths m-m-mother-in-law waths left, and they played a game
of c-c-checkers to thee who thould be eaten up&mdash;himthelf or hith
m-m-mother-in-law. He w-w-won! He thays that wath the only
time that he weally cared for his mother-in-law!</p>

<p>Oh, herthe a pothscript. "By the way, what do you think of
the f-f-following widdle?" One of Tham's widdles. "If fourteen
dogs with three legs each catch forty-eight rabbits with
seventy-six legs in twenty-five minutes, how many legs must
twenty-four rabbits have to get away from ninety-three dogs with
two legs each in half an hour!" That's one of those things no
fellow can find out.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134"></a></span></p>


<h3>SLANG PHRASES<br />
ANONYMOUS</h3>

<p>It is not strange that children misunderstand our slang phrases.
Not long ago a gentleman about to go abroad, made the round
of the steamship. When he came back he walked up to the captain
and said: "Captain, what has become of the old steward? I do
not see anything of him this trip."</p>

<p>"The old steward,&mdash;hm,&mdash;the old steward, well, he got too big
for his breeches, and we fired him."</p>

<p>Now it happened that a little girl stood by and overheard the
conversation, and not long after a second gentleman made the
round of the ship, and coming up to a fellow traveler said:</p>

<p>"John, we do not see anything of the old steward this trip;
what do you suppose has become of him?"</p>

<p>"I do not know, I am sure."</p>

<p>"I do," said a small voice.</p>

<p>They looked around and saw a little girl peeping out from a
cabin door.</p>

<p>"Well, well, my little friend, could you tell us what has become
of the old steward?"</p>

<p>"I don't like to say."</p>

<p>"Oh, that's a nice little girl, I am sure; was he discharged?"</p>

<p>"Yes, sir."</p>

<p>"What was the matter? What was the matter?"</p>

<p>"His pants were too short."<a id="Page_134a"></a></p>

<h3>THE MERCHANT AND THE BOOK AGENT<br />
ANONYMOUS</h3>

<p>A book agent importuned James Watson, a rich merchant,
living a few miles out of the city, until he bought a book entitled
"The Early Christian Martyrs." Mr. Watson didn't want the
book, but he bought it to get rid of the agent; then taking it
under his arm he started for the train which takes him to his
office in the city.</p>

<p>Mr. Watson had not been gone long before Mrs<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135"></a></span>. Watson came
home from a neighbor's. The book agent saw her, and went in
and persuaded the wife to buy a copy of the book. She was
ignorant of the fact that her husband had bought the same book
in the morning.</p>

<p>When Mr. Watson came back in the evening, he met his wife
with a cheery smile as he said: "Well, my dear, how have you
enjoyed yourself to-day? Well, I hope."</p>

<p>"Oh, yes! had an early caller this morning."</p>

<p>"Ah, and who was she?"</p>

<p>"It wasn't a 'she' at all; it was a gentleman&mdash;a book agent."</p>

<p>"A what?"</p>

<p>"A book agent, and, to get rid of his importuning, I bought his
book, the 'Early Christian Martyrs.' See, here it is."</p>

<p>"I don't want to see it."</p>

<p>"Why, husband?"</p>

<p>"Because that rascally book agent sold me the same book this
morning. Now we've got two copies of the same book&mdash;two
copies of the 'Early Christian Martyrs,' and&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"But, husband, we can&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"No, we can't, either! The man is off on the train before this.
Confound it! I could kill the fellow&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Why, there he goes to the depot now!" said Mrs. Watson,
pointing out of the window at the retreating form of the book
agent making for the train.</p>

<p>"But it's too late to catch him, and I'm not drest. I've taken
off my boots, and&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>Just then Mr. Stevens, a neighbor of Mr. Watson, drove by,
when Mr. Watson pounded on the window-pane in a frantic
manner, almost frightening the horse.</p>

<p>"Here, Stevens! You're hitched up! Won't you run your horse
down to the train and hold that book agent till I come? Run!
Catch 'im now!"</p>

<p>"All right," said Mr. Stevens, whipping up his horse and tearing
down the road.</p>

<p>Mr. Stevens reached the train as the conductor shouted, "All
aboard!"</p>

<p>"Book agent!" he yelled, as the book agent stept on the train.
"Book agent! hold on! Mr. Watson wants to see you."</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136"></a></span></p>
<p>"Watson? Watson wants to see me?" repeated the seemingly
puzzled book agent. "Oh, I know what he wants; he wants to buy
one of my books; but I can't miss the train to sell it to him."</p>

<p>"If that is all he wants, I can pay for it and take it to him.
How much is it?"</p>

<p>"Two dollars for the 'Early Christian Martyrs,'" said the book
agent as he reached for the money and passed the book out the
car-window.</p>

<p>Just then Mr. Watson arrived, puffing and blowing, in his shirt
sleeves. As he saw the train pull out he was too full for utterance.</p>

<p>"Well, I got it for you," said Stevens; "just got it and that's
all."</p>

<p>"Got what?"</p>

<p>"Got the book&mdash;'Early Christian Martyrs,' and paid&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"By-the-great-guns!" moaned Watson, as he placed his
hand to his brow and swooned right in the middle of the street.</p>


<h3>THE COON'S LULLABY<br />
ANONYMOUS</h3>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i6">Heah, yo' Rastus, shet yo' sleepy head,<br /></span>
<span class="i8">Mammy's gwine tuh rock huh lamb tuh res'&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i6">Ebry little possom coon am sleepin' in its bed,<br /></span>
<span class="i8">Yo's my precious honey&mdash;yes yo' am.<br /></span>
<span class="i6">Swing oh; swing oh;&mdash;Lucy whar yo' bin so late?<br /></span>
<span class="i8">Lemme catch a niggah courtin' you, yes you!<br /></span>
<span class="i6">Hurry up yo' rascals fo' dah's corn bread on de plate,<br /></span>
<span class="i8">Fo' mammy loves huh honey, yes she do!<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">(<i>Sings</i>)<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Swing oh; swing oh; fo' mammy loves huh honey, yes she do.<br /></span>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137"></a></span><span class="i3">Swing oh; swing oh; fo' mammy loves huh honey, yes she do.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i6">Laws now, Rastus, I done gwine to swat yo' one ha'd,<br /></span>
<span class="i8">Slap yo' tuh a peak an' break it off&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i6">Monst'us drefful Bogie man am waitin' in de ya'd&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i8">Mammy's only jokin', yes she am.<br /></span>
<span class="i6">Swing oh; swing oh;&mdash;Petah, yes I see yo' git!<br /></span>
<span class="i8">Washin'ton, I'll cu'l yo' wool fo' you,<br /></span>
<span class="i6">Neber in dis whole, roun' wo'ld I seen sich chilluns yit,<br /></span>
<span class="i8">But mammy loves huh honey, yes she do!<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">(<i>Sings</i>)<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Swing oh; swing oh; fo' mammy loves huh honey, yes she do.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Swing oh; swing oh; fo' mammy loves huh honey, yes she do.<br /></span>
</div></div>

<p>(After the last chorus the speaker should softly hum the tune
again, with an occasional "Sh!" to the audience, and with pantomime
of putting the baby in the cradle, putting it to sleep, and
softly tiptoeing out.)</p>


<div class="figcenter" style="width: 367px;">
<img src="images/i_152a.png" width="367" height="70" alt="" />
</div>

<div class="figcenter" style="width: 369px;">
<img src="images/i_152b.png" width="369" height="60" alt="" />
</div>

<div class="figcenter" style="width: 369px;">
<img src="images/i_152c.png" width="369" height="66" alt="" />
</div>

<div class="figcenter" style="width: 374px;">
<img src="images/i_152d.png" width="374" height="57" alt="" />
</div>


<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138"></a></span></p>


<h3>PARODY ON BARBARA FRIETCHIE<br />
ANONYMOUS</h3>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Drough der streeds of Friedrichtown,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Mit der red-hot sun a-shinin' down,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Past dose saloons all filled mit beer,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Dose repel fellers valked on der ear.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">All day drough Friedrichtown so fasd,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Hosses foot und sojers past,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Und der repel flag skimmerin' oud so pright,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">You vould dink, py jiminy, id had a ridght.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Off all der flags dot flopped in der morning vind,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Nary a vone could enypody find.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Ub shumbed old Miss Frietchie den,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Who vas pent down py nine score years und den.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">She took der flag the men hauled down,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Und stuck it fasd on her nighd-gown,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Und pud id in der vinder vere all could see<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Dot dear old flag so free.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Yust den ub came Stonewall Jack,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Ridin' on his hosses' pack,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Under his prows he squinted his eyes,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">By gracious, dot old flag make him much surprize.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">"Halt!" Vell, efery man stood sdill,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">"Fire!" vas echoed from hill to hill;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Id broke der strings of dot nighd-gown,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Put olt Miss Frietchie, she vas round.<br /></span>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139"></a></span></div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">She freezed on dot olt flag right quick,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Und oud of der vindow her head did stick:<br /></span>
<span class="i3">"Scoot, if you must, dis olt cray head,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Put spare dot country's flag!" she said.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">A look of shameness soon came o'er<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Der face of Jack, und der tears did pour;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">"Who pulls oud a hair of dot pauld head<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Dies like a donkey!&mdash;skip along," he said.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">All dot day and all dot night,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Undil der repels vas knocked oud of sight,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Und vay pehind from Friedrichtown,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Dot flag stuck fasd to dot olt nighd-gown.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Barbara Frietchie's vork vas done,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">She don'd eny more kin hafe some fun;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Pully for her! und drop a tear<br /></span>
<span class="i3">For dot olt gal midoud some fear.<br /></span>
<a id="Page_139a"></a>
</div></div>

<h3>BEFORE AND AFTER<br />
BY CHARLES T. GRILLEY</h3>

<p><i>Before</i></p>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">We had been engaged for just a week<br /></span>
<span class="i5">And now that we must part<br /></span>
<span class="i3">The thought of it was maddening,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">And it nearly broke my heart.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">As I waved her adieux from the steamer<br /></span>
<span class="i5">She answered back from the pier,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And I murmured softly to myself,<br /></span>
<span class="i9">"My, but isn't she dear!"<br /></span>
</div></div>


<p><i>After</i></p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140"></a></span></p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">A year has passed of married life,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">I received a note to-day<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Written in wifey's well-known hand:<br /></span>
<span class="i5">"Send me fifty right away!"<br /></span>
<span class="i3">I thought of all she had cost me<br /></span>
<span class="i5">During that one brief year,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And then I murmured softly,<br /></span>
<span class="i9">"My, but isn't she dear!"<br /></span>
</div></div>



<h3>WHEN GREEK MEETS GREEK<br />
ANONYMOUS</h3>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3"><i>Stranger here?</i> Yes, come from Varmount<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Rutland county. You've hern tell<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Mebbe of the town of Granville?<br /></span>
<span class="i5">You born there? No! sho! Well, well!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">You was born at Granville was you?<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Then you know Elisha Brown,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Him as runs the old meat market<br /></span>
<span class="i5">At the lower end of town!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Well! well! well! Born down in Granville!<br /></span>
<span class="i5">And out here, so far away!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Stranger, I'm homesick already,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Tho it's but a week to-day<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Since I left my good wife standin'<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Out there at the kitchen door,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Sayin' she'd ask God to keep me;<br /></span>
<span class="i5">And her eyes were runnin' o'er!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">You must know ole Albert Withers,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Henry Bell and Ambrose Cole?<br /></span>
<span class="i3"><i>Know them all?</i> And born in Granville!<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Well! well! well! Why, bless my soul!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Sho! You're not old Isaac's nephew!<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Isaac Green, down on the flat!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Isaac's eldest nephew,&mdash;Henry?<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Well, I'd never thought of that!<br /></span>
<span class="i3"><i>Have I got a hundred dollars</i><br /></span>
<span class="i5"><i>I could loan you for a minute,</i><br /></span>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141"></a></span><span class="i3"><i>Till you buy a horse at Marcy's?</i><br /></span>
<span class="i5">There's my wallet! Just that in it!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Hold on tho! You have ten, mebbe,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">You could let me keep; you see<br /></span>
<span class="i3">I might chance to need a little<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Betwixt now and half past three!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Ten. That's it; you'll owe me ninety;<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Bring it round to the hotel.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">So you're old friend Isaac's nephew?<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Born in Granville! Sho! Well, well!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">What! policeman, did you call me?<br /></span>
<span class="i5"><i>That a rascal going there?</i><br /></span>
<span class="i3">Well, sir, do you know I thought so,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">And I played him pretty fair;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Hundred-dollar bill I gave him&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Counterfeit&mdash;and got this ten!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Ten ahead. No! you don't tell me!<br /></span>
<span class="i5"><i>This bad, too?</i> Sho! Sold again!<br /></span>
</div></div>


<h3>MR. POTTS' STORY<br />
BY MAX ADELER</h3>

<p>While I was over at Jersey City, the other day, I called on the
Potts. Mr. Potts is liable to indulge in extravagance in his conversation,
and as Mrs. Potts is an extremely conscientious woman
where matters of fact are concerned, she's obliged to keep her
eye on him. Potts was telling me about an incident that occurred
in the town a few days before, and this is the way he related it:</p>

<p><i>Potts.</i>&mdash;"You see old Bradley over here is perfectly crazy on the
subject of gases, and the atmosphere, and such things&mdash;absolutely
wild; and one day he was disputing with Green about how high
up in the air life could be sustained, and Bradley said an animal
could live about forty million miles above the earth, if&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p><i>Mrs. Potts.</i>&mdash;"Not forty millions, my dear; only forty miles,
he said."</p>

<p><i>P.</i>&mdash;"Forty, was it? Thank you. Well sir, old Green, you
know, said that was ridiculous; and he said he'd bet Bradley a
couple of hundred thousand dollars that life couldn't be sustained
half that way up, and so&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142"></a></span></p>
<p><i>Mrs. P.</i>&mdash;"William, you are wrong; he offered to bet only fifty
dollars."</p>

<p><i>P.</i>&mdash;"Well, anyhow, Bradley took him up quicker'n a wink, and
they agreed to send up a cat in a balloon to decide the bet. So
what does Bradley do but buy a balloon about twice as big as our
barn, and begin to&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p><i>Mrs P.</i>&mdash;"It was only about ten feet in diameter, Mr. Adeler;
William forgets."</p>

<p><i>P.</i>&mdash;"Begin to inflate her. When she was filled, it took eighty
men to hold her, and&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p><i>Mrs. P.</i>&mdash;"Eighty men, Mr. Potts? Why, you know Mr. Bradley
held the balloon himself."</p>

<p><i>P.</i>&mdash;"He did, did he? Oh, very well; what's the odds? And
when everything was ready, they brought out Bradley's tom-cat,
and put it in the basket, and tied it in so that it couldn't jump,
you know. There were about one hundred thousand people looking
on, and, when they let go, you never heard such a&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p><i>Mrs. P.</i>&mdash;"There were not more than two hundred people there.
I counted them myself."</p>

<p><i>P.</i>&mdash;"Oh, don't bother me! I say you never heard such a yell,
as the balloon went scooting up into the sky, pretty near out of
sight. Bradley said she went up about one thousand miles, and&mdash;now
don't interrupt me, Henrietta; I know what the man said&mdash;and
that cat, mind you, a-howling like a hundred fog-horns, so's
you could a' heard her from here to Peru. Well, sir, when she
was up so's she looked as small as a pin-head, something or other
burst. I dunno how it was, but pretty soon down came that
balloon a-flickering toward the earth at the rate of fifty miles
a minute, and old&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p><i>Mrs. P.</i>&mdash;"Mr. Potts, you know that the balloon came down as
gently as&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p><i>P.</i>&mdash;"Oh, do hush up! Women don't know anything about such
things. And old Bradley, he had a kind of a registering thermometer
fixt in the balloon along with that cat. Some sort of a
patent machine; cost thousands of dollars, and he was expecting
to examine it; and Green had an idea he'd lift out a dead cat and
scoop in the stakes. When all of a sudden, as she came pelting
down, a tornado struck her&mdash;now, Henrietta, what in the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143"></a></span>thunder
are you staring at me in that way for? It was a tornado&mdash;a
regular cyclone&mdash;and it struck her and jammed her against the
lightning-rod on the Baptist Church steeple, and there she stuck&mdash;stuck
on that spire, about eight hundred feet up in the air."</p>

<p><i>Mrs. P.</i>&mdash;"You may get just as mad as you like, but I am
positively certain that steeple's not an inch over ninety-five feet."</p>

<p><i>P.</i>&mdash;"Henrietta, I wish to gracious you'd go up-stairs and look
after the children. Well, about half a minute after she struck
out stept that tom-cat on to the weathercock. It made Green
sick. And just then the hurricane reached the weathercock, and
it began to revolve six hundred or seven hundred times a minute,
the cat howling until you couldn't hear yourself speak&mdash;now, Henrietta,
you've had your put; you keep quiet. That cat stood on
that weathercock about two months&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p><i>Mrs. P.</i>&mdash;"Mr. Potts, that's an awful story; it only happened
last Tuesday."</p>

<p><i>P.</i> (<i>confidentially</i>)&mdash;"Never mind her. And on Sunday the way
that cat carried on and yowled, with its tail pointing due east, was
so awful that they couldn't have church. And Sunday afternoon
the preacher told Bradley if he didn't get that cat down he'd
sue him for a million dollars damages. So Bradley got a gun, and
shot at the cat fourteen hundred times&mdash;now, you didn't count
'em, Henrietta, and I did&mdash;and he banged the top of the steeple
all to splinters, and at last fetched down the cat, shot to rags,
and in her stomach he found the thermometer. She'd ate it on
her way up, and it stood at eleven hundred degrees, so old&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p><i>Mrs. P.</i>&mdash;"No thermometer ever stood at such a figure as that."</p>

<p><i>P.</i> (<i>indignantly</i>)&mdash;"Oh, well, if you think you can tell the story
better than I can, why don't you tell it? You're enough to worry
the life out of a man."</p>

<p>Then Potts slammed the door and went out, and I left. I
don't know whether Bradley got the stakes or not.</p>


<h3>AT FIVE O'CLOCK TEA<br />
BY MORRIS WADE</h3>

<p>"So good of you to come!"</p>

<p>"Ah, thanks."</p>

<p>"So good of you to come!"</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144"></a></span></p>

<p>"As if I could get along without you! The obligation is all
on my side."</p>

<p>"How sweet of you to say so!"</p>

<p>"Now I want you to meet Mrs. Slambang. Mrs. Slambang, let
me present to you my deah friend, Mrs. Twiddle-twaddle."</p>

<p>"So glad to know you, Mrs. Slambang! I have so often heard
deah Mrs. Sweet speak of you that I feel quite as if I knew you.
Beautiful day, isn't it?"</p>

<p>"Chawming!"</p>

<p>"What a lovely wintah we are having."</p>

<p>"Chawming! So very, very gay, isn't it?"</p>

<p>"Oh, very, very gay! Haven't I met you at Mrs. Titters' teas?"</p>

<p>"I daresay you have. Isn't she a deah?"</p>

<p>"Oh, I am extravagantly fond of her!"</p>

<p>"I am, too. So clevah!"</p>

<p>"Of course you go to the opera?"</p>

<p>"Oh, I couldn't exist without it. Oh, Melba! Melba!"</p>

<p>"And Nordica! I rave over them all!"</p>

<p>"I fairly CRY over them. And, do you know, I have a friend
who does not care in the least for them. She isn't a bit musical."</p>

<p>"Oh, how sad! I would die if I did not&mdash;&mdash;Who is the tall
lady in black over by the piano?"</p>

<p>"I'm sure I do not know. What exquisite lace on her gown!
Do you know that I just simply rave over beautiful lace!"</p>

<p>"Really?"</p>

<p>"Yes, indeed! I care more for it than for jewels, because it&mdash;&mdash;Do
you know the tall, fine-looking man who has just come in?"</p>

<p>"I'm sure I have seen him somewhere, and yet I can not&mdash;&mdash;Yes,
thank you, I think I <i>will</i> have a cup of tea. How lovely
the dining-room looks!"</p>

<p>"Lovely!"</p>

<p>"Mrs. Sweet has such exquisite taste!"</p>

<p>"EXQUISITE! I often say&mdash;&mdash;How <i>do</i> you do, my deah?
So glad to see you!"</p>

<p>"Thanks! So glad to meet YOU!"</p>

<p>"So good of you to say so! Quite well, deah?"</p>

<p>"Oh, vulgarly so. I really must <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145"></a></span>say good-by to dear Mrs.
Sweet and go. I must look in at Mrs. Shoddy's for a few minutes."</p>

<p>"So must I. We'll go together."</p>

<p>"HOW LOVELY! Good-by, deah Mrs. Sweet. Have had
<i>such</i> a chawming time!"</p>

<p>"Must you go so soon?"</p>

<p>"Yes, really! Such a lovely time!"</p>

<p>"So glad! But it is quite naughty of you to go so soon. So
glad you came!"</p>

<p>"By-by, deah."</p>

<p>"By-by. You will come to see me soon?"</p>

<p>"Yes, indeed."</p>

<p>"You MUST. By-by!"</p>

<p>"By-by!"</p>

<p>And as she gathers up her trailing skirts to walk down the steps,
she says: "Thank goodness, that's over!"</p>

<p>Reprinted from <i>Lippincott's Magazine</i>.</p>



<h3>KEEP A-GOIN'!<br />
BY FRANK L. STANTON</h3>


<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">If you strike a thorn or rose,<br /></span>
<span class="i9">Keep a-goin'!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">If it hails or if it snows,<br /></span>
<span class="i9">Keep a-goin'!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">'Taint no use to sit an' whine<br /></span>
<span class="i3">When the fish ain't on your line;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Bait your hook an' keep on tryin'&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i9">Keep a-goin'!<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">When the weather kills your crop,<br /></span>
<span class="i9">Keep a-goin'!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">When you tumble from the top,<br /></span>
<span class="i9">Keep a-goin'!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">S'pose you're out of every dime?<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Gittin' broke ain't any crime;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Tell the world you're feelin' prime,&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146"></a></span><span class="i9">Keep a-goin'!<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">When it looks like all is up,<br /></span>
<span class="i9">Keep a-goin'!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Drain the sweetness from the cup,<br /></span>
<span class="i9">Keep a-goin'!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">See the wild birds on the wing!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Hear the bells that sweetly ring&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">When you feel like sighin'&mdash;sing!<br /></span>
<span class="i9">Keep a-goin'!<br /></span>
</div></div>


<h3>A LOVER'S QUARREL<br />
BY CYNTHIA COLES</h3>

<p>"O Kitty, you <i>are</i> so sweet, and I <i>do</i> love you so. Tell me
you love me, dearie."</p>

<p>"I do love you, Dick; why, I never supposed I <i>could</i> love anybody
so much."</p>

<p>"O little girl, I only wished you loved me half as much as
I love you."</p>

<p>"Half as much! Why, dear, I love you more than you love
me&mdash;a great deal more&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Now, don't be silly, pet. It would be impossible for you to
love me as much as I love you. Of course, I love you best."</p>

<p>"Of course you don't! You love me, I know, but not as much
as I love you."</p>

<p>"Now, Kitty, be reasonable."</p>

<p>"I will if you'll admit that I do love you best."</p>

<p>"How can I admit what isn't true?"</p>

<p>"Well, you might say it was so just to please me."</p>

<p>"Oh, no, dear, I can't do that."</p>

<p>"Because you don't love me enough!"</p>

<p>"Oh, the idea!"</p>

<p>"If you <i>did</i> love me the best, you'd say anything I asked you
to, whether it was true or not."</p>

<p>"Would <i>you</i> do that?"</p>

<p>"Of course I would."</p>

<p>"All right, then you admit that I love you best, because I ask
you to do so!"</p>

<p>"O Dick, how horrid you are! How can you be so cruel to me?"</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147"></a></span></p>
<p>"There, there, don't cry. I'll admit that you love me best,
but I only admit it <i>because</i> you ask me to."</p>

<p>"Then that's all right."</p>

<p>"But, don't you see, Kitty, when I say that because you ask
me to, and you <i>won't</i> say it when I ask you to, that <i>proves</i> I love
you best after all."</p>

<p>"There you go on again! I do think you're too mean for anything!"</p>

<p>"Well, never mind, sweetheart, let's kiss and be friends. You
do love me best I'm sure."</p>

<p>"Oh, no, I don't, Dick. Oh, you are so sweet. You love me
best, darling."</p>

<p>"Oh, no, I don't, love. You love me best!"</p>

<p>"No, my Dick, <i>you</i> love <i>me</i> best&mdash;&mdash;"</p>



<h3>CASEY AT THE BAT<br />
BY PHINEAS THAYER</h3>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">It looked extremely rocky for the Mudville nine that day;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">The score stood two to four, with but an inning left to play.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">So, when Cooney died at second, and Burrows did the same,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">A pallor wreathed the features of the patrons of the game.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">A straggling few got up to go, leaving there the rest,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">With that hope which springs eternal within the human breast,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">For they thought: "If only Casey could get a whack at that,"<br /></span>
<span class="i3">They'd put up even money now, with Casey at the bat.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">But Flynn preceded Casey, and likewise so did Blake,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And the former was a puddin', and the latter was a fake,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">So on that stricken multitude a deathlike silence sat,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">For there seemed but little chance of Casey's getting to the bat.<br /></span>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148"></a></span></div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">But Flynn let drive a "single," to the wonderment of all,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And the much-despised Blakey "tore the cover off the ball."<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And when the dust had lifted, and they saw what had occurred,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">There was Blakey safe at second, and Flynn a-huggin' third.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Then, from the gladdened multitude went up a joyous yell,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">It rumbled in the mountain-tops, it rattled in the dell;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">It struck upon the hillside and rebounded on the flat;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">For Casey, mighty Casey, was advancing to the bat.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">There was ease in Casey's manner as he stept into his place;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">There was pride in Casey's bearing, and a smile on Casey's face.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And when, responding to the cheers, he lightly doffed his hat,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">No stranger in the crowd could doubt 'twas Casey at the bat.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Ten thousand eyes were on him as he rubbed his hands with dirt,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Five thousand tongues applauded when he wiped them on his shirt;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Then while the New York pitcher ground the ball into his hip,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Defiance gleamed in Casey's eye, a sneer curled Casey's lip.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">And now the leather-covered sphere came hurling through the air,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And Casey stood a-watching it in haughty grandeur there.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Close by the sturdy batsman the ball unheeded sped&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">"That ain't my style," said Casey. "Strike one," the umpire said.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">From the benches, black with people, there went up a muffled roar,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Like the beating of storm waves on a stern and distant shore.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">"Kill him! Kill the umpire!" shouted some one on the stand.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And it's likely they'd have killed him had not Casey raised a hand.<br /></span>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149"></a></span></div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">With a smile of Christian charity great Casey's visage shone;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">He stilled the rising tumult; he bade the game go on:<br /></span>
<span class="i3">He signaled to Sir Timothy, once more the spheroid flew;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">But Casey still ignored it, and the umpire said, "Strike two."<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">"Fraud!" cried the maddened thousands, and echo answered "Fraud!"<br /></span>
<span class="i3">But one scornful look from Casey and the audience was awed.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">They saw his face grow stern and cold, they saw his muscles strain,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And they knew that Casey wouldn't let that ball go by again.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">The sneer is gone from Casey's lip, his teeth are clenched in hate;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">He pounds with cruel violence his bat upon the plate.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And now the pitcher holds the ball, and now he lets it go,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And now the air is shattered by the force of Casey's blow.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Ah, somewhere in this favored land the sun is shining bright;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And somewhere men are laughing, and somewhere children shout:<br /></span>
<span class="i3">But there is no joy in Mudville&mdash;mighty Casey has struck out.<br /></span>
</div></div>



<h3>FAMILIAR LINES<br />
ANONYMOUS</h3>

<p>(<i>Arranged so that the little ones can always remember them</i>)</p>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">The boy stood on the burning deck,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">His fleece was white as snow;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">He stuck a feather in his hat,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">John Anderson, my Jo!<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">"Come back, come back!" he cried in grief,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">From India's coral strands,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">The frost is on the pumpkin and<br /></span>
<span class="i5">The village smithy stands.<br /></span>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150"></a></span></div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Am I a soldier of the cross<br /></span>
<span class="i5">From many a boundless plain?<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Should auld acquaintance be forgot<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Where saints immortal reign?<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Ye banks and braes o' bonny Doon<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Across the sands o' Dee,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Can you forget that night in June&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i5">My country, 'tis of thee!<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Of all sad words of tongue or pen,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">We're saddest when we sing,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">To beard the lion in his den&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i5">To set before the king.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Hark! from the tombs a doleful sound,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">And Phoebus gins arise;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">All mimsy were the borogroves<br /></span>
<span class="i5">To mansions in the skies.<br /></span>
</div></div>


<h3>A FRIENDLY GAME OF CHECKERS<br />
ANONYMOUS</h3>

<p>"Now, my dear," said Mr. Italics, as he drew on his slippers
and settled himself for the evening, "if you will get the checker-board,
I'll play you a game&mdash;you're learning so rapidly that it's
really a pleasure to try quits with you."</p>

<p>Mrs. Italics giggled with delight, kissed her husband on the
top of the head and fluttered away to find the board and checkers.
After she had found them, she plumped herself down in a rocking-chair
about a foot and a half lower than his easy-chair and
arranged the apparatus at an angle of fifty degrees, whereupon
Mr. Italics said:</p>

<p>"I think you misapprehend my suggestion. I didn't propose
to go sliding down hill at this season of the year, neither do I
intend to shoot the chutes. My idea was a game of checkers and
if you think those men are going to stand around on a board
tipped up on one end and wait to be moved, you are not familiar
with their habits."</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151"></a></span></p>

<p>"Perhaps I had better put a book under it; or if you could
lower your knees a little it would come even."</p>

<p>"Oh, that's your idea, is it? My knees weren't constructed
with special regard to playing checkers. They were put where
they are and fastened and they won't run up and down like a
flag. Do you think I'm the india-rubber man from the circus,
or the cork-legged man from Oskoloosa? If you can't hold up
your side of the board, we won't play."</p>

<p>"Now, dear, it's all right. Let me see, is it your move, or
mine?"</p>

<p>"What are you trying to play? Do you think this is a game
of baseball? Don't you know you've got to move cattecornered?
'Taint your move anyway. Put that back. There. Now I'll
move there."</p>

<p>"Oh, I know you're going to jump me and take my man," said
Mrs. Italics, picking up the checker she had moved before and
putting it in her mouth. "If I put it here, you'll&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"SWALLOW IT, why don't you? If you don't want it taken,
why don't you masticate it? Can't you leave the thing alone
until you get ready to move? Put it down before it chokes you."</p>

<p>"There, dear (<i>swallowing it</i>), I've put it down, but it hurt
my throat."</p>

<p>"What in thunder do you mean by eating up my set of checkers.
When I said 'put it down' I meant put it back on the board. Will
you please play this game instead of masticating it."</p>

<p>"If I put this man there, you'll jump it."</p>

<p>"Just watch and see."</p>

<p>"Now, I'll put this man there,&mdash;no,&mdash;perhaps I had better
move here,&mdash;or I think I'll&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Going to move in six places at once? Think this is the first
of May and that you're looking for a new flat? 'Taint your move
anyway. Now will you please hold the board straight? D'ye
think this is a washboard? Well it isn't and it isn't a teeter-board
either. Now, I'll move into your king row. Ha! ha!"</p>

<p>"Then do I jump these two men and get a king? Of course,
I do. Crown me! I've got the first king!"</p>

<p>"No, you haven't. I didn't mean that move. If you can't play
checkers without cackling like a hen you'd better stop. I'll take
back that move. Now, so. Now you can move."</p>

<p>"Over here."</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152"></a></span></p>
<p>"Certainly. That's splendid. Now I'll take these two men."</p>

<p>"I didn't see that, I'd rather put it here."</p>

<p>"Too late now. You can't take back a move in this game. You
should study your moves first."</p>

<p>"Well, if I jump here I get another king."</p>

<p>"What do you want to tumble them all over for? Haven't
you got any sense scarcely? You make more fuss over a measly
king than most women over a mouse. Don't you know it's my
move? Give me back those men. Can't you hold the board
straight? What's that? Oh, of course, you know. You know it
all. All you want is a pair of hinges and painted sides to be a
checker-box. If ever I want to play with some good player
I'll put the coal-scuttle on your head and move you around for
a king. There goes the whole business! Now, are you satisfied?
Do you wonder a man won't play checkers with a woman? I'll
throw the measly things out of the window so that I won't waste
any time playing with you again." And Mr. Italics suited the
action to the word. But then Mr. Italics was such an <i>odd type</i>.</p>


<h3>MODERN ROMANCE<br />
BY HENRY M. BLOSSOM, JR.</h3>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Information, speculation; fluctuation; ruination.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Dissipation, degradation; reformation or starvation.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Application, situation; occupation, restoration.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Concentration, enervation, nerve prostration. A vacation.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153"></a></span>
<span class="i3">Destination, country station. Nice location, recreation.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Exploration, observation; fascination&mdash;a flirtation.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Trepidation, hesitation, conversation, simulation;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Invitation, acclamation, sequestration, cold libation.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Stimulation, animation; inspiration, new potation.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Demonstration, agitation, circulation, exclamation!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Declaration, acceptation, osculation, sweet sensation.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Exultation, preparation, combination, new relation.<br /></span>
</div></div>

<p>From <i>The Smart Set</i>, New York.</p>


<h3>LULLABY<br />
BY PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR</h3>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Kiver up yo' haid, my little lady,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Hyeah de win' a-blowin' out o' do's.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Don' you kick, ner projick wid de comfo't,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Less'n fros'll bite yo' little toes.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Shut yo' eyes an' snuggle up to mammy,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Gi' me bofe yo' han's, I hol' 'em tight;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Don' you be afeard an' 'mence to trimble<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Des ez soon ez I blows out de light.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Angels is a-mindin' you, my baby,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Keepin' off de Bad Man in de night.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">What de use o' bein skeered o' nuffin'?<br /></span>
<span class="i5">You don' fink de dakness gwine to bite?<br /></span>
<span class="i3">What de crackin' soun' you heah erroun' you?<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Lawsey, chile, you tickles me to def:&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Dats de man what brings de fros', a paintin'<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Picters on de winder wid his bref.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154"></a></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Mammy ain' afeard, you hyeah huh laffin'?<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Go' away, Mistah Fros', you can't come in;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Baby ain' receivin' folks this evenin',<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Reckon dat you'll have to call agin.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Curl yo' little toes up so, my possum&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Umph, but you's a cunnin' one fu' true!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Go to sleep, de angels is a-watchin',<br /></span>
<span class="i5">An' yo' mammy's mindin' of you, too.<br /></span>
</div></div>

<p>Reprinted by permission.</p>


<h3>THE REASON WHY<br />
BY MARY E. BRADLEY</h3>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">"When I was at the party," said Betty (aged just four),<br /></span>
<span class="i3">"A little girl fell off her chair, right down upon the floor;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And all the other little girls began to laugh but me&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">I didn't laugh a single bit," said Betty, seriously.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">"Why not?" her mother asked her, full of delight to find<br /></span>
<span class="i3">That Betty&mdash;bless her little heart&mdash;had been so sweetly kind.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">"Why didn't you laugh, darling, or don't you like to tell?"<br /></span>
<span class="i3">"I didn't laugh," said Betty, "'cause it was me that fell!"<br /></span>
</div></div>


<h3>HOW A BACHELOR SEWS ON A BUTTON<br />
ANONYMOUS</h3>

<p>This is a very laughable piece of pantomime. It is well to have
a small table and a chair, but everything else is left to the
imagination of the audience. The success of the selection depends
upon the varied facial expression and other business. It is advisable
to first practise with a needle and thread so as to get a
correct imitation.</p>

<p>First say to the audience: "Ladies and gentlemen, I shall endeavor
to give you an imitation of how a bachelor sews on a
button." Then seat yourself and take from the table an <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155"></a></span>imaginary
spool of thread. Hold it in your left hand and pull out several
lengths with your right hand. Then bite the thread off and put
the spool back on the table. Hold the end of the thread in your
left hand, then wet the first finger and thumb of your right
hand and make the thread into a point. Now start to thread
your needle. The thread refuses to find the eye of the needle
and there is a lot of laughable business here. Change your
position frequently, and at every turn vary the facial expression.
Then blow through the eye of the needle. Just as you think you
have at last put the thread through, the needle is lost and you
look all over for it. After some difficulty you find it on the floor.
Then as you seat yourself again you find the thread in a snarl,
so you take the spool again and pull off several fresh lengths.
Try again to thread the needle and as you get it through the
needle's eye, turn it very carefully around and take hold of the
thread with your teeth, drawing it through slowly with appropriate
facial expression. Now tie a knot in your thread and to make it
secure bite it with your teeth. Reach to the table for your
imaginary button and place it on the <i>inside</i> of your coat. Begin
to sew, with difficulty at first, pulling the thread through at arm's
length. At the third stitch prick your finger and jump as if in
great pain. The thread gradually gets shorter. As you seem
to gain facility you begin to smile. Then wind the thread around
the button, make several short stitches, and bite it off with your
teeth. Now stand and try to button your coat. You first feel
for the button but can not find it. Then you look down at your
coat, but there is no button there. You turn the coat over and
discover that you have sewed the button on the inside. With a
look of anger you pull the button off the coat, throw it violently
on the floor, and exit hastily.</p>


<h3>CHRISTOPHER COLUMBUS<br />
ANONYMOUS</h3>

<p>Deesa man liva in Italia a gooda longa time ago. He hada a
greata heada ever since he was a kidda. Not a bigga heada <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156"></a></span>likea
de politicians nowaday&mdash;not a swella heada. His fadda keepa
de standa in Italia. Sella de peanutta and de banan. Maka
plente de mon. Christopher Colum he say, "Fadda, gimma de
stamp, I go finda de new world." His fadda he laugh, "Ha! ha!"
just so. Den Christopher he say, "Whata you maka fun? I
betta you I finda new world." After a long time his fadda say,
"You go finda new world, and bringa it over here." Den de olda
man he buy him a grip-sack, an' giva him boodle, an' maka him
a present of three ships to come over to deesa contra. Well,
Christopher Colum he saila an' saila for gooda many day. He
don't see any landa. An' he say, "I giva fiva-dollar-bill if I was
back in Italia!" Well, he saila, an' he saila, an' vera soon he
strika Coney Island. Den dat maka him glad! Very soon he
coma to Castle Garden, an' den he walka up Broadway an' he
feel very bada. He finda outa dat de Irish gang has gotta possession
of New Yorka! He don't lika de Irish, an' de Shamrocka
donta lika him. He donta go vera far before a pleasanter mana
speaks to him. He say, "How-a-you do, Mista Jones? How
a-de folks in Pittaburg?" Christopher Colum he say, "I notta
Mista Jones; I reada the papers; I tinka you sella de green
goods, ha? You go away, or I broka your jaw!" Den he shaka
hees fista deesa way, an' de man he skedaddle. Den he tries to
crossa de Broad-a-way, but it fulla de mud an' he canta swim.
Very soon he sees a policeman cluba de mana, one, two, three
times, an' he feel secka de stom'! Next he meeta de politicians
uppa Tammany Hall an' dees wanta him to runna for Alderman.
He getta plenty friend. He learna to "settom up" at de
bar many times. Next day he hava heada lika deesa!</p>

<p>His fadda writa: "Why you notta bringa back de new world?
I like to hava de earth!" Christopher Colum he writa back dat
New Yorka is already in de hands of de Shamrocka. Den he goes
to Ohio and buys a place an' calla it after himself&mdash;Colum. Soon
he goa broka an' taka de nexta train home in disgusta, because
he reada in de paper dat de Fair in '93 will be holda in Chicago!</p>


<h3>THE FLY<br />ANONYMOUS</h3>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157"></a></span></p>


<p>The following is told in child dialect. She finds a fly and
speaks to it affectionately:</p>

<p>"Poor little fly! Ain't you got anyone to love you? Ain't
you got any brothers or any sisters, little fly? Ain't you got any
aunts, little fly? Ain't you got anyone to love you? Your
mother loves you, little fly. (<i>She slaps her hand and kills the
fly.</i>) Go home to your mother!"</p>


<h3>THE YARN OF THE "NANCY BELL"<br />
BY W. S. GILBERT</h3>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">'Twas on the shores that round our coast<br /></span>
<span class="i5">From Deal to Ramsgate span,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">That I found alone on a piece of stone<br /></span>
<span class="i5">An elderly naval man.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">His hair was weedy, his beard was long,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">And weedy and long was he,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And I heard this wight on the shore recite<br /></span>
<span class="i5">In a singular minor key:<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">"Oh, I am a cook, and a captain bold,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">And the mate of the <i>Nancy</i> brig,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And a bo'sun tight, and a midshipmite,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">And the crew of the captain's gig!"<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">And he shook his fists, and he tore his hair,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Till I really felt afraid,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">For I couldn't help thinking the man had been drinking,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">And so I simply said:<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">"O elderly man, it's little I know<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Of the duties of men of the sea,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And I'll eat my hand if I understand<br /></span>
<span class="i5">How you can possibly be<br /></span>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158"></a></span></div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">"At once a cook and a captain bold,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">And the mate of the <i>Nancy</i> brig,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And a bo'sun tight, and a midshipmite,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">And the crew of the captain's gig."<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Then he gave a hitch to his trousers, which<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Is a trick all seamen larn,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And having got rid of a thumpin' quid,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">He spun this painful yarn:<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">"'Twas in the good ship <i>Nancy Bell</i><br /></span>
<span class="i5">That we sailed to the Indian sea,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And there on a reef we come to grief,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Which has often occurred to me.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">"And pretty nigh all o' the crew was drowned,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">(There was seventy-seven o' soul),<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And only ten of the <i>Nancy's</i> men<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Said 'Here!' to the muster roll.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">"There was me, and the cook, and the captain bold,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">And the mate of the <i>Nancy</i> brig,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And the bo'sun tight, and a midshipmite,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">And the crew of the captain's gig.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">"For a month we'd neither wittles nor drink,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Till a-hungry we did feel,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">So we drawed a lot, and accordin' shot<br /></span>
<span class="i5">The captain for our meal.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">"The next lot fell to the <i>Nancy's</i> mate,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">And a delicate dish he made;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Then our appetite with the midshipmite<br /></span>
<span class="i5">We seven survivors stayed.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">"And then we murdered the bo'sun tight,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">And he much resembled pig;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Then we wittled free, did the cook and me,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">On the crew of the captain's gig.<br /></span>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159"></a></span></div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">"Then only the cook and me was left,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">And the delicate question, 'Which<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Of us two goes to the kettle?' arose,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">And we argued it out as sich.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">"For I loved that cook as a brother, I did,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">And the cook he worshiped me;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">But we'd both be blowed if we'd either be stowed<br /></span>
<span class="i5">In the other chap's hold, you see.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">"'I'll be eat if you dines of me,' says Tom<br /></span>
<span class="i5">'Yes, that,' says I, 'you'll be.'<br /></span>
<span class="i3">'I'm boiled if I die, my friend,' quoth I;<br /></span>
<span class="i5">And 'Exactly so,' quoth he.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">"Says he, 'Dear James, to murder me<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Were a foolish thing to do,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">For don't you see that you can't cook <i>me</i>,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">While I can&mdash;and will&mdash;cook <i>you</i>?'<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">"So he boils the water, and takes the salt,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">And the pepper in portions true<br /></span>
<span class="i3">(Which he never forgot), and some chopped shalot<br /></span>
<span class="i5">And some sage and parsley, too.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">"'Come here,' says he, with a proper pride,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Which his smiling features tell,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">''Twill soothing be if I let you see<br /></span>
<span class="i5">How extremely nice you'll smell.'<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">"And he stirred it round and round and round,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">And he sniffed at the foaming froth&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">When I ups with his heels, and smothers his squeals<br /></span>
<span class="i5">In the scum of the boiling broth.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">"And I eat that cook in a week or less,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">And&mdash;as I eating be<br /></span>
<span class="i3">The last of his chops, why, I almost drops,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">For a wessel in sight I see.<br /></span>
</div>
<hr class="tb" />
<div class="stanza">
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160"></a></span></div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">"And I never grieve, and I never smile,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">And I never larf nor play,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">But I sit and croak, and a single joke<br /></span>
<span class="i5">I have&mdash;which is to say:<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">"Oh, I am a cook, and a captain bold,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">And the mate of the <i>Nancy</i> brig,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And a bo'sun tight, and a midshipmite,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">And the crew of the captain's gig!"<br /></span>
</div></div>



<h3>I TOL' YER SO<br />
BY JOHN L. HEATON</h3>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">John Jones he was the beatenus cuss.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Allus a-pickin' 'n' sayin' to us:<br /></span>
<span class="i5">"I tol' yer so, I tol' yer so!"<br /></span>
<span class="i3">No matter what happened, he'd up an' say:<br /></span>
<span class="i3">"Yer sorry ye done it, haint ye, hey?<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Well, well, I tol' yer so!"<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">When Kerin-Happuck wuz tuk down sick<br /></span>
<span class="i3">From the pizen ivy she'd gin a lick,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">He'd tol' us so, he'd tol' us so.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">'N' Shadrack's fuss with his mother-in-law,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Before the weddin' John Jones foresaw;<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Well, well, he tol' us so.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">If a fellow wuz hit by a fallin' tree,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Or kicked by a horse, says Jones, says he:<br /></span>
<span class="i5">"I tol' yer so, I tol' yer so!"<br /></span>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161"></a></span><span class="i3">If a barn tuck fire, or a well-sweep broke,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">We might a-knowed it before Jones spoke,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">The time he tol' us so.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">It got so tejus, says Bill one day:<br /></span>
<span class="i3">"Ye're a dern ol' idjit, 'ith nothin' ter say<br /></span>
<span class="i5">But 'tol' yer so,' 'n 'tol' yer so,'&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">A mean, contemptible, sneakin' cuss!"<br /></span>
<span class="i3">'N' jes from habit, Jones sez to us:<br /></span>
<span class="i5">"Well, well, I tol' yer so!"<br /></span>
</div></div>


<h3>"YOU GIT UP!"<br />
BY JOE KERR</h3>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">There's lots of folks that has good times,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">There's lots that never does;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">But the ones that don't like morning naps<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Is the meanest ever wuz.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">It's very nice to eat a meal<br /></span>
<span class="i5">With pie for its wind-up;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">'Taint half so sweet's th' nap pa spoils<br /></span>
<span class="i5">When he yells, "You git up!"<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">I'd rather lay in bed and snooze,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Jest one small minit more<br /></span>
<span class="i3">In the morning, when the sunshine<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Comes a-creeping o'er the floor,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Then to go to Barnum's circus or<br /></span>
<span class="i5">To own a bulldog pup.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">The meanest thing pa ever said<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Wuz, "Come now&mdash;you git up!"<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">I like to go in swimming,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">And I like to play baseball;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">I like to fight and fly a kite,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">'N' I sometimes like to bawl;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">But them thare forty winks of sleep<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Pa tries to interrup',<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Is better 'n' all. It breaks my heart<br /></span>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162"></a></span><span class="i5">When pa yells, "You git up!"<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">I'd stand the hurt and ache and pain<br /></span>
<span class="i5">And all the smart and itch<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Of having him turn the bedclothes down<br /></span>
<span class="i5">To wake me with a switch,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Ef he 'ud on'y jest go 'way<br /></span>
<span class="i5">And let me finish up<br /></span>
<span class="i3">The nap I started jest before<br /></span>
<span class="i5">He yelled out, "You git up!"<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">You bet, when I git growed up big,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Es rich 'n' old as pa,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">'N' never haf to go to school,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Nor work nor stand no jaw&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">I'll sleep all day and all night, too,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">And only jest git up<br /></span>
<span class="i3">When I git 'nough sleep to suit me<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Ef all the world yells, "You git up!"<br /></span>
</div></div>

<p>By permission of G. W. Dillingham Company.</p>


<h3>PRESENTATION OF THE TRUMPET<br />
ANONYMOUS</h3>

<p>In the days of the old volunteer fire department there existed
in this city a certain hose company noted for the bravery of its
foreman, whose reckless daring in time of danger, coupled with
his pugilistic attainments, had made him a local celebrity.</p>

<p>The members of his company decided to present him with a
handsome silver trumpet, as an expression of their regard and appreciation
of his pluck, courage and fighting qualities. One of
the members was chosen to prepare a fitting speech for the occasion,
and after some weeks of labor announced himself as being
thoroughly prepared for the task.</p>

<p>In the meantime, the foreman, who was supposed to be in
blissful ignorance of all the preparations being made to surprize
him, was let into the "secret" through the kindness of one of the
boys. He recognized this as his supreme opportunity to display
his literary qualifications in the shape of a speech of acceptance.
He secured the services of a literary friend to write a <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163"></a></span>glowing
oration, replete with metaphors, similes, and sweet-sounding poetry,
expressing his "unworthiness of the honor," the "deep gratitude
which words failed him to adequately express," etc.</p>

<p>The night in question at last arrived. The building was filled
to overflowing. The band played "See the Conquering Hero
Comes," and the boys gave three hearty cheers and a "tiger" for
the proud foreman.</p>

<p>The chairman advanced to the front, holding the massive trumpet
in one hand, while his other hand grasped convulsively at the
collar of his shirt.</p>

<p>After staring around the room and giving a few preparatory
coughs, he said:</p>

<p>"Mr. Foreman, and Members of Hose Company Number 10:
I&mdash;a&mdash;a&mdash;I&mdash;a&mdash;I&mdash;&mdash;(<i>Looks hard at the floor. Begins again with
great determination.</i>) Mr. Foreman, and Members of Hose Company
Number 10: I&mdash;a&mdash;a&mdash;I&mdash;a&mdash;feel&mdash;I feel a&mdash;&mdash;(<i>Puts one
hand in his pocket and looks very foolish. Begins again, shouting,
and looking very angry.</i>) Mr. Foreman, and Members of
Hose Company Number 10: I&mdash;I&mdash;I&mdash;I feel a&mdash;much a pleas&mdash;&mdash;(<i>Word
sticks in his throat. Very angrily, and striding toward
the foreman.</i>) Ah! take your trumpet!"</p>

<p>A look of consternation spread over the faces of the boys at
the failure of their spokesman, and there were many whisperings
of "I told you so!"</p>

<p>It was now the foreman's turn. He drew his hand across his
mouth and began as follows:</p>

<p>"Mr. Chairman, and Members of Hose Company Number 10:
It is&mdash;it is&mdash;it is&mdash;it is with a&mdash;with a&mdash;&mdash;(<i>Looks at ceiling, and
shifts his position uneasily. Begins over again, with a very confident
air.</i>) Mr. Chairman, and Members of Hose Company Number
10: It is with&mdash;with a&mdash;with a&mdash;with a&mdash;a&mdash;a&mdash;a&mdash;a heart&mdash;&mdash;(<i>Stops,
stares wildly at the ceiling, floor and company. Begins
over again, very angrily, and with his body in fighting
attitude.</i>) Mr. Chairman, and Members of Hose Company Number
10: I&mdash;I&mdash;I&mdash;it is&mdash;it is with a heart&mdash;with a heart full&mdash;-full&mdash;&mdash;(<i>Stops.
Very loud and violently.</i>) Ah! give us yer
trumpet!"</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164"></a></span></p>


<h3>DON'T USE BIG WORDS<br />
ANONYMOUS</h3>

<p>In promulgating your esoteric cogitations, or articulating your
superficial sentimentalities and amicable, philosophical or psychological
observations, beware of platitudinous ponderosity. Let
your conversational communications possess a clarified conciseness,
a compact comprehensibleness, coalescent consistency, and
a concatenated cogency. Eschew all conglomerations of flatulent
garrulity, jejune babblement and asinine affectations. Let your
extemporaneous descantings and unpremeditated expatiations have
intelligibility and veracious vivacity, without rhodomontade or
thrasonical bombast. Sedulously avoid all polysyllabic profundity,
pompous prolixity, psittaceous vacuity, ventriloquial verbosity,
and vaniloquent vapidity. Shun double-entendres, prurient
jocosity, and pestiferous profanity, obscurant or apparent.</p>

<p>In other words, talk plainly, briefly, naturally, sensibly, truthfully,
purely. Keep from "slang"; don't put on airs; say what
you mean; mean what you say. And don't use big words!</p>


<h3>DER MULE SHTOOD ON DER STEAMBOAD DECK<br />
ANONYMOUS</h3>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Der mule shtood on der steamboad deck,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">For der land he wouldn't dread,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Dhey tied a halder rount his neck,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Und vacked him over der headt.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">But obstinate und braced he shtood,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">As born der scene to rule,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">A creature of der holt-back brood&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i5">A shtubborn, shtedfast mule.<br /></span>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165"></a></span></div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Dhey curst und shwore, but he vould not go<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Undill he felt inclined,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Und dhough dhey dundered blow on blow,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">He aldered nod his mind.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Der boats-boy to der shore complained,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">"Der varmint's bound do shtay,"<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Shtill ubon dot olt mule's hide<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Der sounding lash made blay.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">His masder from der shore reblied,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">"Der boats aboud do sail;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">As oder means in vain you've dried.<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Subbose you dwist his dail.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">"I dhink dot dat will magke him land,"<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Der boats-boy brave, dhough bale,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Den near drew mit oudstretched hand,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Do magke der dwist avail.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Dhen game a kick of thunder sound!<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Dot boy&mdash;oh, vhere vas he?<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Ask of der vaves dot far around<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Beheld him in der sea.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">For a moment nod a voice vas heard,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Bud dot mule he vinked his eye,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">As dhough to ask, to him occurred,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">"How vas dot for high?"<br /></span>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166"></a></span></div></div>

<h3>THE NEW SCHOOL READER<br />
ANONYMOUS</h3>

<p>I will now give you a selection from my New School Reader.
It is built upon the lines of the school-books in use in the years
preceding our early childhood. It is one of the selections that
unfortunate boys would render in an heroic attitude, and in stilted,
unnatural tones:</p>

<p>"The October sun was shining down upon an avenue of trees,
and gilding with its golden splendor the chromatic nose of a solitary
horseman, who reigned up his steed at the sight of a small
boy with a school-book on his shoulder. 'Where do you live, my
fine fellow?' said the stranger, in low, pleasing tones. 'In yonder
cottage, near the glen; my widowed mother and her thirteen children
dwell with me,' replied the boy, in a rich, mellow voice.
'And is your father dead?' asked the stranger with a rising
inflection. 'Extremely so,' murmured the lad, 'and that is why
my mother is a widow.' 'And how does your mother gain a livelihood?'
asked the horseman, his voice dropping to a gentle whisper.
'I support the family,' proudly replied George. 'You support
the family? Why, what can such a little fellow as you do?'
'I dig wells during the day, and help my mother at night. I have
a good education and am able to dig wells almost as well as a
man.' 'But you must have to work very hard,' said the stranger,
wiping a tear from his eyebrow. 'Indeed I do, sir, and since my
little sister Ann got married, and brought her husband home to
live with us, I have to work with more assiduity than ever. I am
enabled to barely maintain our family in a precarious manner;
but, oh, sir, should my other sisters marry, I fear that some of
my brothers-in-law would have to suffer.' 'My boy,' asked the
solitary horseman, looking at the youth proudly, 'what would you
say if I told you your father was not dead?' 'Sir,' replied the boy
respectfully, 'I am too polite to tell you what I would say,&mdash;besides
you are much larger than I am.' 'But, my brave lad,'
said the man in low, musical tones, 'do you not recognize your
parent on your father's side?&mdash;do you not know me, Georgie? O
George!' 'I must say,' replied George, 'that you have the advantage
of me. While I may have met you before, I can not at this
moment place you, sir!' At this the stranger opened<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167"></a></span> his valise
and took therefrom a large-sized strawberry mark, which he placed
on his right arm. Immediately the boy recognized him as his
long-lost parent, and he, drawing the lad to his bosom, ejaculated,
'O my son, my son!' 'But how did you escape, father?' said the
boy through his tears, in a voice broken by emotion. 'We were
far away at sea,' said the heartbroken man. 'The winds howled
and the waves threatened to engulf our frail bark. When everybody
was lost, the rest of the crew turned and sprang into the
foaming billows and swam several miles. At last I felt my feet
touch something <i>hard</i>,&mdash;it was Jersey City!'"</p>


<h3>THE POOR WAS MAD<br />
A FAIRY SHTORY FOR LITTLE CHILDHER<br />
BY CHARLES BATTELL LOOMIS</h3>

<p>Wance upon a toime the poor was virry poor indade, an' so
they wint to a rich leddy that was that rich she had goold finger-nails,
an' was that beautiful that it'u'd mek you dopey to luke at
her. An' the poor asht her would she give thim the parin's of
her goold finger-nails fer to sell. An' she said she would that, an'
that ivery Chuesdeh she did be afther a-parin' her nails. So of
a Chuesdeh the poor kem an' they tuke the gold parin's to a
jewel-ery man, an' he gev thim good money fer thim. Wasn't
she the koind leddy, childher? Well, wan day she forgot to pare
her nails, an' so they had nothin' to sell. An' the poor was mad,
an' they wint an' kilt the leddy intoirely. An' when she was
kilt, sorra bit would the nails grow upon her, an' they saw they
was silly to kill her. So they wint out to sairch fer a leddy wid
silver finger-nails. An' they found her, an' she was that beautiful
that her face was all the colors of the rainbow an' two more
besides. An' the poor asht her would she give thim the parin's
of her finger-nails fer to sell. An' she said that she would that,
an' that every Chuesdeh she did be afther a-parin' her nails. So
of a Chuesdeh the poor kem an' they tuk the silver parin's to the
jewel-ery man, an' he giv thim pretty good money fer thim, but<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168"></a></span>
not nair as good as fer the goold. But he was the cute jewel-ery
man, wasn't he, childher? Well, wan day she forgot to pare her
nails an' so they had nothin' to sell. An' the poor was mad, an'
they wint an' kilt the leddy intoirely. An' when she was kilt,
sorra bit would the nails grow upon her, an' they saw they was
silly to kill her. So they wint out to sairch for a leddy with tin
finger-nails. An' they found her, and she was that beautiful that
she would mek you ristless. An' the poor asht her would she give
thim the parin's of her tin finger-nails fer to sell. An' she said
she would that, an' that ivery Chuesdeh she did be afther a-parin'
her nails. So of a Chuesdeh the poor kem. An' did they get the
tin nails, childher? Sure, that's where y are out. They did not,
fer the leddy had lost a finger in a mowin'-machine, an' she didn't
have tin finger-nails at arl, at arl&mdash;only noine.</p>


<h3>LIDES TO BARY JADE<br />
ANONYMOUS</h3>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">The bood is beabig brighdly love,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">The sdars are shidig, too;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">While I ab gazing dreabily<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Add thigkig, love, of you;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">You caddot, oh, you caddot kdow,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">By darlig, how I biss you,&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">(Oh, whadt a fearful cold I've got&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Ck-<i>tish</i>-u! Ck-ck-<i>tish</i>-u!)<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">I'b sittig id the arbor, love<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Where you sat by by side,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Whed od that calb, Autubdal dight<br /></span>
<span class="i5">You said you'd be by bride.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Oh, for wud bobedt to caress<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Add tederly to kiss you;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Budt do! we're beddy biles apart&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169"></a></span><span class="i5">(Ho-<i>rash</i>-o! Ck-ck-<i>tish</i>-u!)<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">This charbig evedig brigs to bide<br /></span>
<span class="i5">The tibe whed first we bet;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">It seebs budt odly yesterday,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">I thigk I see you yet.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Oh, tell be, ab I sdill your owd?<br /></span>
<span class="i5">By hopes, oh, do dot dash theb!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">(Codfoud by cold, 'tis gettig worse&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Ck-<i>tish</i>-u! ck-ck-<i>thrash</i>-eb!)<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Good-by, by darlig Bary Jade<br /></span>
<span class="i5">The bid-dight hour is dear,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Add it is hardly wise by love<br /></span>
<span class="i5">For be to ligger here!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">The heavy dews are fallig fast;<br /></span>
<span class="i5">A fod good-dight I wish you;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">(Ho-<i>rash</i>-o!&mdash;there it is agaid&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Ck-<i>tish</i>-u! Ck-ck-<i>thrash</i>-eb!)<br /></span>
</div></div>


<h3>"CHARLIE MUST NOT RING TO-NIGHT"<br />
Parody on "Curfew Must not Ring To-night"<br />
ANONYMOUS</h3>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Slowly England's sun was setting o'er a mansion old and grey;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Filling all the land with glory, in the usual kind of way.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And its bright rays tinged the foreheads of a man and maiden fair:<br /></span>
<span class="i3">He with powdered head and whiskers, she with locks of&mdash;someone's hair.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">She was clutching at it wildly, as, with lips all cold and white,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">She was saying, "Listen, Thomas,&mdash;Charlie must not ring to- night!"<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">"Thomas," Bessie's white lips murmur'd, as she feverishly laid hold<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Of the buttons of his liv'ry&mdash;lobster-red with spots of gold&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">"Freddie Smith will call this evening; he'll be ringing by and by;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Charlie does not know about him; if they met here I should die!<br /></span>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170"></a></span><span class="i3">Tell him I am out, dear Thomas; gone to call on Mrs. Blight;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Tell him any lie you like but&mdash;Charlie must not ring to-night."<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">"Bessie," calmly said the flunkey-ev'ry word was like a dart<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Barbed with poison, entering in that damsel's heart&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">"For the last three weeks that pusson&mdash;w'ich 'is name are Charlie Power&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Hev'ry hevenink's called to see you, jest about the dinner-hour.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">'E' as never failed to tip me&mdash;w'ich is only just and right&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">So I still must do my duty, should that pusson ring to-night!"<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">She with quick steps bounded upward, till she reached the chamber-door,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Seized her purse, and quick returning, threw it wildly on the floor.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">"Take it, Thomas," cried the maiden, with her eyes and cheeks aglow,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">"Take it all and welcome&mdash;what there is I do not know&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">But 'tis yours, ay, ev'ry farthing; gold and precious silver bright,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Only, take good care, dear Thomas, Charlie must not ring to-night!"<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">She had fled to dress for Freddie; Thomas seeks the front door-bell.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">He will muffle up the clapper, in a way he knows full well.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">See! The bell is being shaken; 'tis the fateful moment now!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Thomas hastes to "do his dooty," with a firm, determined brow.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Shall he let it ring? No, never; he has touched the guerdon bright,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">So he grasps the clapper, whisp'ring, "Charlie <i>shall</i> not ring to-night!"<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">It was o'er; the youth ceased pulling, and the maiden breathed once more.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">But, alas! that fickle maiden wept as maid ne'er wept before<br /></span>
<span class="i3">When she learn'd that he who'd called there, promptly at the dinner-hour,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Was the long-expected Freddie, <i>not</i> the hated Charlie Power.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">While the tried and trusted Thomas, knowing not her evil plight,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Open'd wide the door for Charlie when that "pusson" called that night!<br /></span>

<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171"></a></span></div></div>


<h3>A SHORT ENCORE</h3>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Man wants but little here below,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">He's not so hard to please;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">But woman (bless her little heart)<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Wants everything she sees!<br /></span>
</div></div>


<h3>MY DOUBLE, AND HOW HE UNDID ME<br />
BY EDWARD EVERETT HALE</h3>

<p>I am, or rather, was a minister, and was settled in an active,
wide-awake town with a bright parish and a charming young
wife. At first it was all delightful, but as my duties increased
I found myself leading a double life&mdash;one for my parish, whom
I loved, and the other for a vague public, for whom I did not
care two straws. It was then that on my wife's suggestion I
looked for a double&mdash;some one who would pass for me and fill
the many engagements I wanted to shirk. I found him. When
he was discovered his name was Dennis Shea, and he was not
shaved, had no spectacles, and his style of dress was not at all
like mine; but these difficulties were soon surmounted, for, by
application to the Judge of Probate, his name was soon changed
to Frederick Ingham&mdash;my name. As for appearance, he was so
much like me that by the united efforts of Polly and myself and
a tailor he was made to look the exact image of me. Then in
four successive afternoons I taught him four speeches, which
were to be his stock in trade:</p>

<p>No. 1&mdash;"Very well, thank you; and you?" (This for an
answer to casual salutations.)</p>

<p>No. 2&mdash;"I am very glad you liked it." (This in response to
a compliment on a sermon.)</p>

<p>No. 3&mdash;"There has been so much said, and on the whole so
well said, that I will not occupy the time." (This for public
meetings when called to speak.)</p>

<p>No. 4&mdash;"I agree in general with my friend on the other side<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172"></a></span>
of the room." (This when asked for an opinion of his own.)</p>

<p>Thus equipped, my double attended a number of conventions
and meetings which I was too busy to notice and was very successful.
He gained a good reputation for me, and people began to
say I was less exclusive than I used to be, and that I was more
punctual, less talkative, etc. His success was so great that one
evening I risked him at a reception. I could ill afford the time
to go, and so I sent him with Polly, who kept her eye on him,
and afterward told me about it. He had to take a very talkative
lady&mdash;Mrs. Jeffries&mdash;down to supper, and at sight of the eatables
he became a little excited, and attempted one of his speeches to
the lady. He tried the shortest one in his most gallant manner:
"Very well, thank you; and you?" Polly, who stood near his
chair, was much frightened, as this speech had no connection
with anything that had been said, but Mrs. Jeffries was so much
engrossed with her own talking that she noticed nothing. She
rattled on so busily that Dennis was not obliged to say anything
more until the eating was over, when he said, to fill up a pause:
"There has been so much said, and on the whole so well said,
that I will not occupy the time." This again frightened Polly,
but she managed to get him away before he had done anything
serious.</p>

<p>After this my double relieved me in so many ways that I grew
quite light-hearted. That happy year I began to know my wife
by sight. We saw each other sometimes, and how delightful it
was! But all this could not last; and at length poor Dennis,
my double, undid me!</p>

<p>There was some ridiculous new movement on foot to organize
some kind of a society, and there was to be a public meeting.
Of course I was asked to attend and to speak. After much urging
I consented to go and sit on the platform, upon condition that
I would not be called upon to make a speech. This was agreed
upon, and I went&mdash;that is, Dennis went, having been told to say
nothing on any subject. He sat resplendent on the platform,
and kept his peace during the preliminary exercises, which were
rather dry. Governor Blake called the meeting to order, but
as he really did not know what the object of the gathering <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173"></a></span>was,
he said that there were other gentlemen present who could entertain
them better than he. Then there followed an awkward
scene, for nobody wanted to speak, and every one that was
called upon was either absent or unprepared; and finally a
wretched boy in the gallery called out, "Ingham! Ingham!" The
governor thought I would respond, and as nothing had been said
so far, he ventured to ask me, saying: "Our friend, Mr. Ingham,
is always prepared, and tho we had not relied upon him, he
will say a word perhaps." Applause followed, which turned
Dennis' head. He rose and tried speech No. 3: "There has been
so much said, and on the whole so well said, that I will not longer
occupy the time!"</p>

<p>Then he sat down, looking for his hat&mdash;for things seemed
squally. But the people cried, "Go on! Go on!" and some applauded.
Dennis still confused, but flattered by the applause,
rose again, and this time tried No. 2: "I am very glad you like
it." Which, alas! should only be said when complimented on a
sermon. My best friends stared, and people who didn't know me
yelled with delight. A boy in the gallery cried out: "It's all
a humbug!" just as Dennis, waving his hand, commanded silence,
and tried No. 4: "I agree in general with my friend on the other
side of the room." The poor governor, doubting his senses,
crossed to stop him, but too late. The same gallery boy shouted:
"How's your mother?" And Dennis, completely lost, tried as
his last shot No. 1: "Very well, thank you; and you?" The
audience rose in a whirl of excitement. Some other impertinence
from the gallery was aimed at Dennis; he broke all restraint and
to finish undoing me, he called out: "Any wan o' ye blatherin'
rascals that wants to fight, can come down an' I'll take any five
o' yez, single-handed; ye're all dogs and cowards! Sure an'
I've said all his riverance an' the mistress bade me say!"</p>

<p>That was all; my double had undone me.</p>

<p>Reprinted by permission of Little, Brown &amp; Co., Boston, Mass.</p>


<h3>ROMANCE OF A HAMMOCK<br />
ANONYMOUS</h3>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174"></a></span></p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Shady tree&mdash;babbling brook,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Girl in hammock&mdash;reading book.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Golden curls&mdash;tiny feet,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Girl in hammock&mdash;looks so sweet.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Man rides past&mdash;big mustache,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Girl in hammock&mdash;makes a "mash."<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">"Mash" is mutual&mdash;day is set,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Man and maiden&mdash;married get.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Married now a year and a day,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Keeping house in Avenue A.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Red-hot stove&mdash;beefsteak frying,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Girl got married&mdash;cooking trying.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Cheeks all burning&mdash;eyes look red,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Girl got married&mdash;almost dead.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Biscuit burnt up&mdash;beefsteak charry,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Girl got married&mdash;awful sorry.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Man comes home&mdash;tears mustache,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Mad as blazes&mdash;got no cash.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Thinks of hammock&mdash;in the lane;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Wishes maiden&mdash;back again.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Maiden also&mdash;thinks of swing,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And wants to go back, too, poor thing!<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Hour of midnight&mdash;baby squawking;<br /></span>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175"></a></span><span class="i3">Man in bare feet&mdash;bravely walking;<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">The baby yells&mdash;now the other<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Twin, he strikes up&mdash;like his brother.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Paregoric&mdash;by the bottle<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Poured into&mdash;the baby's throttle.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Naughty tack&mdash;points in air,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Waiting some one's&mdash;foot to tear.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Man in bare feet&mdash;see him there!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">O my gracious!&mdash;hear him swear!<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Raving crazy&mdash;gets his gun<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Blows his head off&mdash;dead and gone.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Pretty widow&mdash;with a book<br /></span>
<span class="i3">In the hammock&mdash;by the brook.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Man rides past&mdash;big mustache;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Keeps on riding&mdash;nary "mash."<br /></span>
</div></div>


<h3>FINNIGIN TO FLANNIGAN<br />
BY S. W. GILLINAN</h3>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Superintindent wuz Flannigan;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Boss av the siction wuz Finnigin;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Whiniver the kyars got offen the thrack,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">An' muddled up things t' th' divil an' back,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Finnigin writ it to Flannigan,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Afther the wrick wuz all on ag'in;<br /></span>
<span class="i9">That is, this Finnigin<br /></span>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176"></a></span><span class="i9">Repoorted to Flannigan.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Whin Finnigin furst writ to Flannigan,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">He writed tin pages&mdash;did Finnigin,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">An' he tould jist how the smash occurred;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Full minny a tajus, blunderin' wurrd<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Did Finnigin write to Flannigan<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Afther the cars had gone on ag'in.<br /></span>
<span class="i9">That wuz how Finnigin<br /></span>
<span class="i9">Repoorted to Flannigan.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Now Flannigan knowed more than Finnigin&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">He'd more idjucation, had Flannigan;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">An' it wore'm clane an' complately out<br /></span>
<span class="i3">To tell what Finnigin writ about<br /></span>
<span class="i3">In his writin' to Muster Flannigan.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">So he writed back to Finnigin:<br /></span>
<span class="i9">"Don't do sich a sin ag'in;<br /></span>
<span class="i9">Make 'em brief, Finnigin!"<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Whin Finnigin got this from Flannigan,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">He blushed rosy rid, did Finnigin;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">An' he said: "I'll gamble, a whole month's pa-ay<br /></span>
<span class="i3">That it will be minny an' minny a da-ay<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Befoore Sup'rintindint&mdash;that's Flannigan&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Gits a whack at this very same sin ag'in.<br /></span>
<span class="i9">From Finnigin to Flannigan<br /></span>
<span class="i9">Repoorts won't be long ag'in."<br /></span>
</div>
<hr class="tb" />
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0"><br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Wan da-ay, on the siction av Finnigin,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">On the road sup'rintinded by Flannigan,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">A rail gave way on a bit av a curve,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">An' some kyars went off as they made the swerve.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">"There's nobody hurted," sez Finnigin,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">"But repoorts must be made to Flannigan."<br /></span>
<span class="i9">An' he winked at McCorrigan,<br /></span>
<span class="i9">As married a Finnigin.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177"></a></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">He wuz shantyin' thin, wuz Finnigin,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">As minny a railroader's been ag'in,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">An' the shmoky ol' lamp wuz burnin' bright<br /></span>
<span class="i3">In Finnigin's shanty all that night&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Bilin' down his repoort, was Finnigin!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">An' he writed this here: "Muster Flannigan:<br /></span>
<span class="i9">Off ag'in, on ag'in,<br /></span>
<span class="i9">Gone ag'in&mdash;Finnigin."<br /></span>
</div></div>

<p>From <i>Life</i>, by courtesy of the publishers.</p>


<h3>AN INTRODUCTION<br />
BY MARK TWAIN</h3>

<p>"Ladies&mdash;and&mdash;gentlemen:&mdash;By&mdash;the request of the&mdash;Chairman
of the&mdash;Com-mit-tee&mdash;I beg leave to&mdash;introduce&mdash;to you&mdash;the
reader of the evening&mdash;a gentleman whose great learning&mdash;whose
historical ac-curacy&mdash;whose devotion&mdash;to science&mdash;and&mdash;and&mdash;whose
veneration for the truth&mdash;are only equaled by his
high moral character&mdash;and&mdash;his&mdash;majestic presence. I allude&mdash;in
these vague general terms&mdash;to my-self. I&mdash;am a little opposed
to the custom of ceremoniously introducing a reader to the audience,
because it seems&mdash;unnecessary&mdash;where the man has been
properly advertised! But as&mdash;it is&mdash;the custom&mdash;I prefer to
make it myself&mdash;in my own case&mdash;and then I can rely on getting
in&mdash;all the facts! I never had but one introduction&mdash;that seemed
to me just the thing&mdash;and the gentleman was not acquainted with
me, and there was no nonsense. Ladies and gentlemen, I shall
waste no time in this introduction. I know of only two facts
about this man: first, he&mdash;has never been in the state prison;
and second, I can't&mdash;imagine why."</p>


<h3>THE HARP OF A THOUSAND STRINGS<br />
A Hard-shell Baptist Sermon<br />
BY JOSHUA S. MORRIS</h3>

<p>(This characteristic effusion first appeared in a New Orleans<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178"></a></span>
paper. The sermon is supposed to have been preached at a
village on the bank of the Mississippi River, whither the volunteer
parson had brought his flatboat for the purpose of trade.)</p>

<p>I may say to you, my brethring, that I am not an edicated
man, an' I am not one of them as beleeves that edication is
necessary for a Gospel minister, for I beleeve the Lord edicates
his preachers jest as He wants 'em to be edicated; an' altho I say
it that oughtn't to say it, yet in the State of Indianny, whar I
live, thar's no man as gits bigger congregations nor what I gits.</p>

<p>Thar may be some here to-day, my brethring, as don't know
what persuasion I am uv. Well, I must say to yu, my brethring,
that I'm a Hard-shell Baptist. Thar's some folks as don't like
the Hard-shell Baptists, but I'd rather have a hard shell as no
shell at all. You see me here to-day, my brethring, drest up in
fine clothes; you mout think I was proud, but I am not proud,
my brethring; and altho I've been a preacher of the Gospel for
twenty years, an' altho I'm capting of the flatboat that lies at
your landing, I'm not proud, my brethring.</p>

<p>I am not gwine to tell edzactly whar my tex may be found;
suffice to say, it's in the leds of the Bible, and you'll find it
somewhar between the fust chapter of the book of Generations
and the last chapter of the book of Revolutions; and ef you'll go
and sarch the Scriptures, you'll not only find my tex thar, but
a great many other texes as will do you good to read; and my
tex, when you shall find it, you shall find it to read thus: "And
he played on a harp uv a thousand strings, sperits uv jest men
made perfeck."</p>

<p>My tex, my brethring, leads me to speak of sperits. Now,
thar's a great many kinds of sperits in the world. In the fust
place, thar's the sperits as some folks call ghosts; and thar's
the sperits of turpentine; and thar's the sperits as some folks
call liquor, an' I've got as good an artikel of them kind of sperits
on my flatboat as ever was fotch down the Mississippi River.
But thar's a great many other kinds of sperits, for the tex says,
"He played on a harp uv a t-h-o-u-s-and strings, sperits uv jest
men made perfeck."</p>

<p>But I tell you the kind uv sperits as is meant in the tex is
FIRE. That's the kind uv sperits as is meant in the tex, my<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179"></a></span>
brethring. Now, thar's a great many kinds uv fire in the world.
In the fust place, there's the common sort of fire you light your
cigars or pipe with; and then thar's foxfire and camphire, fire
before you're ready, and fire and fall back, and many other kinds
of fire&mdash;for the tex say, "He played on a harp uv a <i>thous</i>and
strings, sperits uv jest men made perfeck."</p>

<p>But I'll tell you the kind of fire as is meant in the tex, my
brethring: its HELL-FIRE! An' that's the kind uv fire as
a great many uv you'll come to, ef you don't do better nor what
you have been doin'&mdash;for "He played on a harp uv a <i>thous</i>and
strings, sperits uv jest men made perfeck."</p>

<p>Now, the different sorts of fire in the world may be likened
onto the different persuasions of Christians in the world. In
the fust place, we have the Piscapalions, an' they are a high-sailin'
and highfalutin' set; and they may be likened unto a
turkey buzzard that flies up in the air, and he goes up, and up,
and up, till he looks no bigger than your finger-nail, and the
fust thing you know, he cums down, and down, and down, and
is a-fillin' himself on the carkiss of a dead hoss by the side of the
road&mdash;and "He played on a harp uv a <i>thous</i>and strings, sperits uv
jest men made perfeck."</p>

<p>And then thar's the Methodis, and they may be likened unto
the squirril runnin' up into a tree, for the Methodis beleeves in
gwine on from one degree of grace to another, and finally on to
perfection; and the squirril goes up and up, and up and up, and
he jumps from limb to limb, and branch to branch, and the fust
thing you know he falls, and down he cums kerflumix; and that's
like the Methodis, for they is allers fallin' from grace, ah!&mdash;and
"He played on a harp uv a <i>thous</i>and strings, sperits uv jest
men made perfeck."</p>

<p>And then, my brethring, thar's the Baptists, ah! and they
have been likened unto a 'possum on a 'simmon tree, and thunders
may roll and the earth may quake, but that 'possum clings thar
still, sh! and you may shake one foot loose, and the other's thar,
and you make shake all feet loose, and he laps his tail around
the limb, and clings, and he clings furever&mdash;for "He played on
a harp uv a <i>thous</i>and strings, sperits uv jest men made perfeck."</p>

<p>Reprinted from the "Four-masted Catboat," by permission of the author and The
Century Company. Copyright, 1899.</p>


<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180"></a></span></p>



<h3>THE DIFFICULTY OF RIMING<br />
ANONYMOUS</h3>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i6">We parted by the gate in June,<br /></span>
<span class="i8">That soft and balmy month,<br /></span>
<span class="i6">Beneath the sweetly beaming moon,<br /></span>
<span class="i8">And (wonth-hunth-sunth-bunth&mdash;I can't<br /></span>
<span class="i3">find a rime to month).<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i6">Years were to pass ere we should meet.<br /></span>
<span class="i8">A wide and yawning gulf<br /></span>
<span class="i6">Divides me from my love so sweet,<br /></span>
<span class="i6">While (ulf-sulf-dulf-mulf&mdash;stuck again;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">I can't get any rime to gulf. I'm in a gulf myself).<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i6">Oh, how I dreaded in my soul<br /></span>
<span class="i8">To part from my sweet nymph,<br /></span>
<span class="i6">While years should their long seasons roll<br /></span>
<span class="i8">Before (hymph-dymph-symph&mdash;I guess I'll<br /></span>
<span class="i3">have to let it go at that).<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i6">Beneath my fortune's stern decree<br /></span>
<span class="i8">My lonely spirits sunk,<br /></span>
<span class="i6">For I a weary soul should be,<br /></span>
<span class="i8">And a (hunk-dunk-runk-sk&mdash;that will<br /></span>
<span class="i3">never do in the world).<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i6">She buried her dear lovely face<br /></span>
<span class="i8">Within her azure scarf,<br /></span>
<span class="i6">She knew I'd take the wretchedness,<br /></span>
<span class="i8">As well as (parf-darf-harf-and-harf&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">that won't answer either).<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i6">Oh, I had loved her many years.<br /></span>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181"></a></span><span class="i8">I loved her for herself;<br /></span>
<span class="i6">I loved her for her tender tears,<br /></span>
<span class="i8">And also for her (welf-nelf-self-pelf&mdash;no,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">no; not for her pelf).<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i6">I took between my hands her head,<br /></span>
<span class="i8">How sweet her lips did pouch!<br /></span>
<span class="i6">I kissed her lovingly and said&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i8">(Bouch-mouch-louch-ouch&mdash;not a bit of it<br /></span>
<span class="i3">did I say <i>ouch!</i>).<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i6">I sorrowfully wrung her hand,<br /></span>
<span class="i8">My tears they did escape,<br /></span>
<span class="i6">My sorrow I could not command,<br /></span>
<span class="i8">And I was but a (sape-dape-fape-ape;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">well, perhaps I did feel like an ape).<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i6">I gave to her a fond adieu,<br /></span>
<span class="i8">Sweet pupil of love's school,<br /></span>
<span class="i6">I told her I would e'er be true,<br /></span>
<span class="i8">And always be a (dool-sool-mool-fool; since<br /></span>
<span class="i3">I come to think of it, I was a fool, for she fell in love<br /></span>
<span class="i3">with another fellow before I was gone a month).<br /></span>
</div></div>


<h3>SO WAS I<br />
BY JOSEPH BERT SMILEY</h3>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">My name is Tommy an' I hates<br /></span>
<span class="i3">That feller of my sister Kate's.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">He's bigger'n I am an' you see<br /></span>
<span class="i3">He's sorter lookin' down on me,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">An' I resents it with a vim;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">I think I'm just as good as him.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">He's older, an' he's mighty fly<br /></span>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182"></a></span><span class="i3">But he's a kid,&mdash;an' so am I.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">One time he came,&mdash;down by the gate,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">I guess it must been awful late,&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">An' Katie, she was there, an' they<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Was feelin' very nice and gay,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">An' he was talkin' all the while,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">About her sweet an' lovin' smile,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">An' everythin' was nice as pie,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">An' they was there,&mdash;an' so was I.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">They didn't see me, 'cause I slid<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Down underneath a bush, an' hid,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">An' he was sayin' that his love<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Was greater'n all the stars above<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Up in the glorious heavens placed;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">An' then his arm got round her waist,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">An' clouds were floatin' in the sky,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">An' they was there,&mdash;an' so was I.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">I didn't hear just all they said,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">But by an' by my sister's head<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Was droopin' on his shoulder, an'<br /></span>
<span class="i3">I seen him holdin' Katie's hand,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">An' then he hugged her closer, some,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">An' then I heered a kiss&mdash;<i>yum, yum!</i><br /></span>
<span class="i3">An' Katie blushed an' drew a sigh,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">An' sorter coughed,&mdash;an' so did I.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">An' then that feller looked around<br /></span>
<span class="i3">An' seed me there, down on the ground,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">An'&mdash;<i>was</i> he mad?&mdash;well, betcher boots<br /></span>
<span class="i3">I gets right outer there an' <i>scoots</i>.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">An' he just left my sister Kate<br /></span>
<span class="i3">A-standin' right there by the gate;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">An' I seen blood was in his eye,<br /></span>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183"></a></span><span class="i3">An' he runned fast,&mdash;an' so did I.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">I runned the very best I could<br /></span>
<span class="i3">But he cotched up,&mdash;I's 'fraid he would,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">An' then he said he'd teach me how<br /></span>
<span class="i3">To know my manners, he'd allow;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">An' than he shaked me <i>awful</i>. Gee!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">He jest&mdash;he frashed the ground with me.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">An' then he stopt it by and by,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">'Cause he was tired,&mdash;an' so was I.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">An' then he went back to the gate<br /></span>
<span class="i3">An' couldn't find my sister Kate,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">'Cause she went to bed, while he<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Was runnin' round an' thumpin' me.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">I got round in a shadder dim,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">An' made a face, an' guffed at him;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">An' then the moon larfed, in the sky,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">'Cause he was there,&mdash;an' so was I.<br /></span>
</div></div>


<h3>THE ENCHANTED SHIRT<br />
BY JOHN HAY</h3>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">The king was sick. His cheek was red,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">And his eye was clear and bright;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">He ate and drank with a kingly zest,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">And peacefully snored at night.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">But he said he was sick&mdash;and a king should know;<br /></span>
<span class="i5">And doctors came by the score;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">They did not cure him. He cut off their heads,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">And sent to the schools for more.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">At last two famous doctors came,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">And one was as poor as a rat;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">He had passed his life in studious toil<br /></span>
<span class="i5">And never found time to grow fat.<br /></span>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184"></a></span></div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">The other had never looked in a book;<br /></span>
<span class="i5">His patients gave him no trouble;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">If they recovered, they paid him well,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">If they died, their heirs paid double.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Together they looked at the royal tongue,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">As the king on his couch reclined;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">In succession they thumped his august chest,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">But no trace of disease could find.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">The old sage said, "You're as sound as a nut."<br /></span>
<span class="i5">"Hang him up!" roared the king, in a gale,&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">In a ten-knot gale of royal rage;<br /></span>
<span class="i5">The other leach grew a shade pale;<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">But he pensively rubbed his sagacious nose,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">And thus his prescription ran:<br /></span>
<span class="i3">"The king will be well if he sleeps one night<br /></span>
<span class="i5">In the shirt of a happy man."<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Wide o'er the realm the couriers rode,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">And fast their horses ran,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And many they saw, and to many they spake,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">But they found no happy man.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">They saw two men by the roadside sit,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">And both bemoaned their lot;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">For one had buried his wife, he said.<br /></span>
<span class="i5">And the other one had not.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">At last they came to a village gate;<br /></span>
<span class="i5">A beggar lay whistling there;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">He whistled and sang and laughed, and rolled<br /></span>
<span class="i5">On the grass in the soft June air.<br /></span>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185"></a></span></div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">The weary couriers paused and looked<br /></span>
<span class="i5">At the scamp so blithe and gay,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And one of them said, "Heaven save you, friend,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">You seem to be happy to-day?"<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">"Oh, yes, fair sirs," the rascal laughed,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">And his voice rang free and glad;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">"An idle man has so much to do<br /></span>
<span class="i5">That he never has time to be sad."<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">"This is our man." the courier said,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">"Our luck has led us aright.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">I will give you a hundred ducats, friend,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">For the loan of your shirt to-night."<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">The merry rascal lay back on the grass<br /></span>
<span class="i5">And laughed till his face was black;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">"I would do it," said he, and roared with the fun,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">"But I haven't a shirt to my back!"<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Each day to the king the reports came in<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Of the unsuccessful spies;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And the sad panorama of human woes,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Passed daily under his eyes.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">And he grew ashamed of his useless life,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">And his maladies hatched in gloom;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">He opened his windows and let the free air<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Of the heavens into his room.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">And out he went into the world and toiled<br /></span>
<span class="i5">In his own appointed way,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And the people blest him, the land was glad,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">And the king was well and gay.<br /></span>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186"></a></span>
</div></div>

<h3>DER OAK UND DER VINE<br />
BY CHARLES FOLLEN ADAMS</h3>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">I don'd vas preaching voman's righdts,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Or anyding like dot,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Und I likes to see all beoples<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Shust gontended mit dheir lot;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">But I vants to gontradict dot shap<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Dot made dis leedle shoke:<br /></span>
<span class="i3">"A voman vas der glinging vine,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Und man, der shturdy oak."<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Berhaps, somedimes, dot may be drue;<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Budt, den dimes oudt off nine,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">I find me oudt dot man himself<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Vas peen der glinging vine;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Und ven hees friendts dhey all vas gone<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Und he vas shust "tead proke,"<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Dot's vhen der voman shteps righdt in,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Und peen der shturdy oak.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Shust go oup to der paseball groundts<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Und see dhose "shturdy oaks"<br /></span>
<span class="i3">All planted roundt ubon der seats&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Shust hear dheir laughs und shokes!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Dhen see dhose vomens at der tubs,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Mit glothes oudt on der lines:<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Vhich vas der shturdy oaks, mine frendts,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Und vhich der glinging vines?<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Ven sickness in der householdt comes,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Und veeks und veeks he shtays,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Who vas id fighdts him mitout resdt,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Dhose veary nighdts und days?<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Who beace und gomfort alvays prings,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Und cools dot fefered prow?<br /></span>
<span class="i3">More like id vas der tender vine<br /></span>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187"></a></span><span class="i5">Dot oak he glings to, now.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">"Man vants budt leedle here pelow,"<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Der boet von time said;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Dhere's leedle dot man he <i>don'd</i> vant,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">I dink id means, inshted;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Und vhen der years keep rolling on,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Dheir cares und droubles pringing,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">He vants to pe der shturdy oak,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Und, also, do der glinging.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Maype, vhen oaks dhey gling some more,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Und don'd so shturdy peen,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Der glinging vines dhey haf some shance<br /></span>
<span class="i5">To helb run life's masheen.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">In belt und sickness, shoy und pain,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">In calm or shtormy veddher,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">'Tvas beddher dot dhose oaks und vines<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Should alvays gling togedder.<br /></span>
</div></div>

<p>From "Dialect Ballads," copyright, 1897, by Harper &amp; Brothers.</p>


<h3>THE SHIP OF FAITH<br />
ANONYMOUS</h3>

<p>A certain colored brother had been holding forth to his little
flock upon the ever-fruitful topic of <i>Faith</i>, and he closed his exhortation
about as follows:</p>

<p>"My bruddren, ef yous gwine to git saved, you got to git on
board de Ship ob Faith. I tell you, my bruddren, dere ain't no
odder way. Dere ain't no gitten up de back stairs, nor goin'
'cross lots; you can't do dat away, my bruddren, you got to git
on board de Ship ob Faith. Once 'pon a time dere was a lot ob
colored people, an' dey was all gwine to de promised land. Well,
dey knowed dere w'an't no odder way for 'em to do but to git
on board de Ship ob Faith. So dey all went down an' got on
board, de ole granfaders, an' de ole granmudders, an' de pickaninnies,
an' all de res' of 'em. Dey all got on board 'ceptin' one
mons'us big feller, he said he's gwine to swim, he was. 'W'y!' dey
said, 'you can't swim so fur like dat. It am a powerful long <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188"></a></span>way
to de promised land!' He said: 'I kin swim anywhur, I kin. I
git board no boat, no, 'deed!' Well, my bruddren, all dey could
say to dat poor disluded man dey couldn't git him on board de
Ship of Faith, so dey started off. De day was fair, de win'
right; de sun shinin' and ev'ryt'ing b'utiful, an' dis big feller he
pull off his close and plunge in de water. Well, he war a powerful
swimmer, dat man, 'deed he war; he war dat powerful he kep'
right 'long side de boat all de time; he kep' a hollerin' out to de
people on de boat, sayin': 'What you doin' dere, you folks, brilin'
away in de sun; you better come down heah in de water, nice an'
cool down here.' But dey said: 'Man alive, you better come up
here in dis boat while you got a chance.' But he said: 'No, indeedy!
I git aboard no boat; I'm havin' plenty fun in de water.'
Well, bimeby, my bruddren, what you tink dat pore man seen?
A <i>horrible, awful shark</i>, my bruddren; mouf wide opne, teef
more'n a foot long, ready to chaw dat pore man all up de minute
he catch him. Well, when he seen dat shark he begun to git
awful scared, an' he holler out to de folks on board de ship:
'Take me on board, take me on board, quick!' But dey said:
'No, indeed; you wouldn't come up here before, you swim now!'</p>

<p>"He look over his shoulder an' he seen dat shark a-comin' an'
he let hisself out. Fust it was de man an' den it was de shark,
an' den it was de man again, dat away, my bruddren, <i>plum to de
promised land</i>. Dat am de blessed troof I'm a-tellin' you dis
minute. But what do you t'ink was a-waitin' for him on de odder
shore when he got dere? A <i>horrible, awful lion</i>, my bruddren,
was a-stan'in' dere on de shore, a-lashin' his sides wid his tail,
an' a-roarin' away fit to devour dat poor nigger de minit he git
on de shore.</p>

<p>"Well, he <i>war</i> powerful scared den, he don't know what he
gwine to do. If he stay in de water de shark eat him up; if he
go on shore de lion eat him up; he dunno what to do. But he
put his trust in de Lord, an' went for de shore. Dat lion he give
a fearful roar an' bound for him; but, my bruddren, as sure as
you live an' breeve, dat horrible, awful lion he jump clean ober
dat pore feller's head into de water; an' <i>de shark eat de lion</i>.
But, my bruddren, don't you put your trust in no such circumstance;
dat pore man he done git saved, but I tell you <i>de Lord
ain't a-gwine to furnish a lion fo' every nigger</i>!"</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189"></a></span></p>



<h3>HE WANTED TO KNOW<br />
ANONYMOUS</h3>

<p>Early one moonlight morning, in the city of London, a man was
vainly trying to find his home, but being unable to locate it he
called upon the services of a passer-by.</p>

<p>"Hey! M-m-mister (hic), will you take me to twenty-two?"</p>

<p>"Number twenty&mdash;Why you are standing right in front of it!"</p>

<p>"Oh, no you d-d-don't,&mdash;that's two-two, two-two!"</p>

<p>"Why, no, it's twenty-two."</p>

<p>"Say, you can't fool me. 'Nuther fellow tried to d-d-do that.
He-he-he told me the other side of the street was (hic) on this
side,&mdash;an' 'tisn't,&mdash;s-sit's over there. Please t-t-take me (hic) to
twenty-two, will you?"</p>

<p>The man walked him around the block and back again.</p>

<p>"Now, then, get out your key. I must be going."</p>

<p>"Say, it was m-m-mighty (hic) jolly of you to bring me all this
l-l-long way ho-ho-home, old chap!"</p>

<p>"That's all right. Now get your key,&mdash;hurry up."</p>

<p>"I'm ever so much obliged to you for bringing me all this
long way ho-ho-home."</p>

<p>"That's all right. I must go now. Good-night."</p>

<p>The man had walked but a little distance when he heard his
friend trying to whistle to him.</p>

<p>"Hey! (<i>Tries to whistle</i>). C-co-come here, I want ter speak
to you. Now d-d-don't get mad (hic), old chap, it's important."</p>

<p>"Well, what do you want?"</p>

<p>"I just want to (hic) tell you how much obliged I'm to you
for bringing me all this long way home."</p>

<p>"You had better go to bed now, so good-night."</p>

<p>"Hold up, old chap, you're a-a-a&mdash;would you mind telling
me what your name is?"</p>

<p>Here the clock in St. Paul's struck two.</p>

<p>"My name&mdash;is St. Paul."</p>

<p>"Good enough, Miss Saint 'All. Much obliged to you for bring&mdash;me&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Never mind, good-night."</p>

<p>"Hey! Hi! (<i>Tries to whistle</i>). Mister Saint 'All&mdash;Miss Saint
P-all, co-co-come here, I want to ask (hic) you something."</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190"></a></span></p>

<p>"What!"</p>

<p>"Old f-f-friend, I d-d-d-d-didn't mean that, Misser Saint Faull,&mdash;I
just want to ask you a persh-pershonal question, Mis-Mis&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Well, what is it?"</p>

<p>"Misser Saint Paul, would you mind telling me whether you
ever got answers to those letters you wrote to the Ephesians?"</p>



<h3>AN OPPORTUNITY<br />
ANONYMOUS</h3>

<p>I dropt into the post-office this morning for my mail, and just
inside the door I found a little boy crying very bitterly. Naturally
I asked him the cause of his trouble, and lifting his tear-stained
face to mine he said:</p>

<p>"I had two quarters, and a feller come along just now and
took one away from me."</p>

<p>"What!" said I, "right here in the post-office?"</p>

<p>"Yes, sir."</p>

<p>"Well, why didn't you tell some one?"</p>

<p>"I did; I hollered, 'Help! help!'" (<i>Said very weakly.</i>)</p>

<p>"Well," I said, "is that as loud as you can holler?"</p>

<p>"Yes, sir."</p>

<p>So <i>I</i> took the other quarter.</p>



<h3>GAPE-SEED<br />
ANONYMOUS</h3>

<p>A farmer, walking the streets of one of our big cities, looked
through a window at a lot of men writing very rapidly on typewriters;
and as he stood at the door with his mouth open, one
of the men called out to him, "Do you wish to buy some gape-seed?"
Passing <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191"></a></span>on a short distance, he asked a man what the
business was of the men he had just seen in the office he had
passed. He was told that they wrote letters dictated by others,
and transcribed all sorts of documents. The farmer returned
to the office, and inquired if one of the men would write a letter
for him, and was answered in the affirmative. He asked the price,
and was told one dollar. After considerable talk, the bargain
was made; one of the conditions being that the scribe should
write just what the farmer told him to, or he should receive no
pay. The man said he was ready, and the farmer dictated as
follows:</p>

<p>"Dear wife," and then asked, "Have you got that down?"</p>

<p>"Yes; <i>go on</i>."</p>

<p>"I went for a ride the other day&mdash;have you got that down?"</p>

<p>"Yes; <i>go on, go on</i>."</p>

<p>"And I harnessed up the old mare into the wagon&mdash;have you
got that down?"</p>

<p>"Yes, yes, long ago; <i>go on</i>."</p>

<p>"Why, how fast you write!&mdash;And I got into the wagon, and
sat down, and drew up the reins, and took the whip in my right
hand&mdash;have you got that down?"</p>

<p>"Yes, long ago; <i>go on</i>."</p>

<p>"Dear me, how fast you write! I never saw your equal.&mdash;And
I said to the old mare, '<i>Go 'long</i>,' and I jerked the reins
pretty hard&mdash;have you got that down?"</p>

<p>"Yes; and I am impatiently waiting for more. I wish you
wouldn't bother me with so many foolish questions. Go on with
your letter."</p>

<p>"Well, the old mare wouldn't stir out of her tracks, and I
hollered, '<i>Go 'long, you old jade! go 'long</i>'&mdash;have you got that
down?"</p>

<p>"Yes, indeed, <i>you pestiferous fellow; go on</i>."</p>

<p>"And I licked her, and licked her, and licked her&mdash;&mdash;" (<i>continuing
to repeat these words as rapidly as possible</i>).</p>

<p>"Hold on there! I have written two pages of 'licked her,'
and I want the rest of the letter."</p>

<p>"Well, and she kicked, and she kicked, and she kicked&mdash;&mdash;" (<i>continuing
to repeat these words with great rapidity</i>).</p>

<p>"Do go on with your letter; I have several pages of 'she
kicked.'"</p>

<p>(<i>The farmer clucks as in urging horses to move, and continues
the clucking noise with rapid repetition for some time.</i>)</p>

<p>The scribe jumps up from the typewriter.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192"></a></span></p>
<p>"<i>Write it down! write it down!</i>"</p>

<p>"I can't!"</p>

<p>"Well, then, I won't pay you."</p>

<p>(<i>The scribe, gathering up his papers.</i>) "What shall I do with
all these sheets upon which I have written your nonsense?"</p>

<p>"You might use them in doing up your <i>gape-seed</i>! Good-day!"</p>



<h3>LARIAT BILL<br />
ANONYMOUS</h3>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">"Well, stranger, 'twas somewhere in 'sixty-nine<br /></span>
<span class="i5">I wore runnin' the 'Frisco fast express;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">An' from Murder Creek to Blasted Pine,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Were nigh onto eighteen mile, I guess.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">The road were a down-grade all the way,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">An' we pulled out of Murder a little late,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">So I opened the throttle wide that day,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">And a mile a minute was 'bout our gait.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">"My fireman's name was Lariat Bill,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">A quiet man with an easy way,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Who could rope a steer with a cowboy's skill,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Which he had learned in Texas, I've heard him say:<br /></span>
<span class="i3">The coil were strong as tempered steel,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">An' it went like a bolt from a crossbow flung.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">An' arter Bill changed from saddle to wheel,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Just over his head in the cab it hung.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">"Well, as I were saying, we fairly flew<br /></span>
<span class="i5">As we struck the curve at Buffalo Spring,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">An' I give her full steam an' put her through,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">An' the engine rocked like a living thing;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">When all of a sudden I got a scare&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i5">For thar on the track were a little child!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">An' right in the path of the engine there<br /></span>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193"></a></span><span class="i5">She held out her little hands and smiled!<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">"I jerked the lever and whistled for brakes,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">The wheels threw sparks like a shower of gold;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">But I knew the trouble a down-grade makes,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">An' I set my teeth an' my flesh grew cold.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Then Lariat Bill yanked his long lasso,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">An' out on the front of the engine crept&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">He balanced a moment before he threw,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Then out in the air his lariat swept!"<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">He paused. There were tears in his honest eyes;<br /></span>
<span class="i5">The stranger listened with bated breath.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">"I know the rest of the tale," he cries;<br /></span>
<span class="i5">"He snatched the child from the jaws of death!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">'Twas the deed of a hero, from heroes bred,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Whose praises the very angels sing!"<br /></span>
<span class="i3">The engineer shook his grizzled head,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">And growled: "He didn't do no sich thing.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">"He aimed at the stump of a big pine tree,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">An' the lariat caught with a double hitch,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">An' in less than a second the train an' we<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Were yanked off the track an' inter the ditch!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">'Twere an awful smash, an' it laid me out,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">I ain't forgot it, and never shall;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Were the passengers hurt? Lemme see&mdash;about&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Yes, it killed about forty&mdash;but saved the gal!"<br /></span>
</div></div>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194"></a></span></p>


<h3>THE CANDIDATE<br />
BY BILL NYE</h3>

<p>The heat and the venom of each political campaign bring back
to my mind with wonderful clearness the bitter and acrimonious
war, and the savage factional fight, which characterized my own
legislative candidacy in what was called the Prairie Dog District
of Wyoming, about ten years ago.</p>

<p>I hesitated about accepting the nomination because I knew that
vituperation would get up on its hind feet and annoy me greatly,
and, indeed, this turned out to be the case.</p>

<p>In due time I was nominated, and one evening my heart swelled
when I heard a campaign band coming up the street, trying to
see how little it could play and still draw its salary. The band
was followed by men with torches, and speakers in carriages.
A messenger was sent into the house to tell me that I was about
to be waited upon by my old friends and neighbors, who desired
to deliver to me their hearty endorsement, and a large willow-covered
two-gallon Godspeed as a mark of esteem.</p>

<p>The spokesman, as soon as I had stept out on my veranda,
mounted the improvised platform previously erected, and after
a short and debilitated solo and chorus by the band, said as
follows, as near as I can now recall his words:</p>

<p>"<i>Mr. Nye</i>&mdash;</p>

<p>"Sir:&mdash;We have read with pain the open and venomous attacks
of the foul and putrid press of our town, and come here to-night
to vindicate by our presence your utter innocence <i>as</i> a man,
<i>as</i> a fellow citizen, <i>as</i> a neighbor, <i>as</i> a father, mother, brother
or sister.</p>

<p>"No one could look down into your open face, and deep,
earnest lungs, and then doubt you <i>as</i> a man, <i>as</i> a fellow citizen,
<i>as</i> a neighbor, <i>as</i> a father, mother, brother, or sister. You came
to us a poor man, and staked your all on the growth of this town.
We like you because you are still poor. You can not be too
poor to suit us. It shows that you are not corrupt.</p>

<p>"Mr. Nye, on behalf of this vast assemblage (<i>tremulo</i>), I am
glad that you are POOR!!!"</p>

<p>Mr. Limberquid then said:</p>

<p>"Sir:&mdash;What do we care for the vilifications of the press&mdash;a
press hired, venial, corrupt, reeking in filth and oozy with the
slime of its own impaired circulation, snapping at the heels of its
superiors, and steeped in the reeking poison and pollution of its
own shop-worn and unmarketable opinions?</p>

<p>"What do we care that homely men grudge our candidate his
symmetry of form and graceful, upholstered carriage? What do
we care that calumny crawls out of its hole, calumniates him a
couple of times and then goes back?</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195"></a></span></p>
<p>"We like him for the poverty he has made. Our idea in running
him for the Legislature is to give him a chance to accumulate
poverty, and have some saved up for a rainy day."</p>

<p>Several people wept here, and wiped their eyes on their alabaster
hands. The band then played, "See the Conquering Hero
Comes," and yielding to the pressing demands of the populi, I
made a few irrelevant, but low, passionate remarks, as follows:</p>

<p>"Fellow Citizens and Members of the Band:&mdash;We are not here,
as I understand it, solely to tickle our palates with the twisted
doughnuts of our pampered and sin-curst civilization, but to
unite and give our pledges once more to the support of the best
men. In this teacup of foaming and impervious cider from the
Valley of the Jordan I drink to the success of the best men.
Fellow citizens and members of the band, we owe our fealty to
the old party. Let us cling to the old party as long as there
is any juice in it and vote for its candidates. Let us give our
suffrages to men of advanced thought who are loyal to their
party but poor. Gentlemen, I am what would be called a poor
but brainy man. When I am not otherwise engaged you will
always find me engaged in thought. I love the excitement of
following an idea and chasing it up a tree. It is a great pleasure
for me to pursue the red-hot trail of a thought or the intellectual
spoor of an idea. But I do not allow this habit to interfere with
politics. Politics and thought are radically different. Why should
man think himself weak on these political matters when there
are men who have made it their business and life study to do the
thinking for the masses?</p>

<p>"This is my platform. I believe that a candidate should be
poor; that he should be a thinker on other matters, but leave
political matters and nominations to professional political ganglia
and molders of primaries who have given their lives and the
inner coating of their stomachs to the advancement of political
methods by which the old, cumbersome and dangerous custom of
defending our institutions with drawn swords may be superseded
by the modern and more attractive method of doing so with
overdrawn salaries.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196"></a></span></p>
<p>"Fellow Citizens and Members of the Band:&mdash;In closing let me
say that you have seen me placed in the trying position of postmaster
for the past year. For that length of time I have stood
between you and the government at Washington. I have assisted
in upholding the strong arm of the government, and yet I have
not allowed it to crush you. No man here to-night can say that
I have ever, by word or deed, revealed outside the office the contents
of a postal card addrest to a member of my own party or
held back or obstructed the progress of new and startling seeds
sent by our representative from the Agricultural Department.
I am in favor of a full and free interchange of interstate red-eyed
and pale beans, and I favor the early advancement and
earnest recognition of the merits of the highly offensive partizan.
I thank you, neighbors and band (<i>husky and pianissimo</i>), for
this gratifying little demonstration. Words seem empty and
unavailing at this time. Will you not accept the hospitality of
my home? Neighbors, you are welcome to these halls. Come in
and look at the family album."</p>


<h3>ONE AFTERNOON<br />
ANONYMOUS</h3>

<p>The events narrated in the following story take place about the
middle of the twentieth century. At that date the institution
known as the department store had reached its full development.
There was not a single article of any kind that could not be
purchased at one of these mammoth emporiums. It is well to
bear this fact in mind, for the whole action of this story takes
place under the roof of Sniggle Scooper's Department Store.</p>


<p><span class="smcap">Scene the First.</span> When Charlie Hussel entered Sniggle
Scooper's refreshment department on that beautiful summer afternoon,
he had no more idea of getting married than most millionaires
have of paying full taxes on all their property. Charlie
sat down at the counter and ordered a plain soda. He had
been at the club the night before and his nerves were somewhat
unstrung. While waiting for his soda he noticed a young lady
by his side toying with an ice cream soda marked down from
seven cents to four and a half. She was as fair as a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197"></a></span> poet's dream
and the young man's heart beat tumultuously within him as he
gazed at her. He longed for an opportunity of speaking to her
and at last it came. She dropt her purse,&mdash;whether by accident
I leave you to conjecture. Picking up the pocketbook our
hero handed it to the young lady with a bow. She took the pocketbook,
but returned the bow.</p>

<p>"Thank you," she murmured; "you are very kind."</p>

<p>"No," said he, "I am not kind. I'm a selfish brute!"</p>

<p>"Then why did you trouble yourself to pick up my purse?"</p>

<p>"Because, to tell the truth, I wanted to hear your voice."</p>

<p>"And now that you have heard it?"</p>

<p>"I wish I could hear it always. Consent to be my wife. You
love me, do you not?"</p>

<p>"Yes! What is your name?"</p>

<p>"Charlie Hussel,&mdash;and yours, dear?"</p>

<p>"Mildred Uptodate. Now, Charlie, you must ask father's consent."</p>

<p>"All right, Mabel. There is a telephone on the next floor.
Come along and I'll ask him."</p>

<p>They ascended by the escalator.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Scene the Second.</span> Mr. Uptodate readily gave his consent,
for he knew of Charlie Hussel in a business way.</p>

<p>"Now, Mildred, let us set the time for the wedding. It is now
five minutes after one. Suppose we say four o'clock?"</p>

<p>"Oh, dear, no, I can't possibly get ready before to-morrow afternoon."</p>

<p>"Of course you can. Why, you can get everything you need
right here in this store."</p>

<p>"Well, Charlie, if you insist, I suppose I must yield. But it
seems a terribly short engagement."</p>

<p>"Yes, sweetheart, but then our married life will be so much
longer. Run along, now, darling, and get your wedding-gown,
while I get a suit of clothes and attend to the license. Meet me
in the chapel on the top floor at half past four sharp."</p>

<p>At the appointed hour the happy couple were made one by the
department store <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198"></a></span>clergyman. A few minutes later they were
seated in the café enjoying their wedding dinner. How happy
they were as they planned for the future!</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Scene the Third.</span> Dinner was over and the happy pair went
hand-in-hand toward the transportation department to arrange
for their wedding tour. As they passed a bargain counter, the
bride exclaimed rapturously:</p>

<p>"O Charlie, I see some lovely bargains over there. Do let me
have two dollars."</p>

<p>A moment later the proud husband was watching his wife
as with the ease born of long practise she fought her way through
the crowd and reached the counter. After a little while she
returned waving triumphantly a folded paper, exclaiming:</p>

<p>"Wasn't I lucky? I got the last one they had."</p>

<p>"What is it?"</p>

<p>"Why, don't you know? It's a divorce!"</p>

<p>The young man grew pale.</p>

<p>"I thought," he said, "you loved me."</p>

<p>"Why, of course I love you, but I simply couldn't resist such
a bargain as that."</p>

<p>She pointed to a sign. Charlie looked at it and read:</p>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i11">THIS DAY ONLY!<br /></span>
<span class="i3"><span class="smcap">Our Regular Divorces Marked Down</span><br /></span>
<span class="i9"><span class="smcap">From $2.75 to $1.69</span><br /></span>
</div></div>



<h3>NOT IN IT<br />
ANONYMOUS</h3>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199"></a></span></p><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">They built a church at his very door&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i11">"He wasn't in it."<br /></span>
<span class="i3">They brought him a scheme for relieving the poor&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i11">"He wasn't in it."<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Let them work for themselves, as he had done,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">They wouldn't ask help from any one<br /></span>
<span class="i3">If they hadn't wasted each golden minute&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i11">"He wasn't in it."<br /></span>
<span class="i3">So he passed the poor with haughty tread&mdash;<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">When men in the halls of virtue met<br /></span>
<span class="i3">He saw their goodness without regret;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Too high the mark for him to win it&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i11">"He wasn't in it."<br /></span>
<span class="i3">A carriage crept down the street one day&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i11">"He was in it."<br /></span>
<span class="i3">The funeral trappings made a display&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i11">"He was in it."<br /></span>
<span class="i3">St. Peter received him with book and bell;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">"My friend, you have purchased a ticket to&mdash;well,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Your elevator goes down in a minute."<br /></span>
<span class="i11">"He was in it!"<br /></span>
</div></div>


<h3>A TWILIGHT IDYL<br />
BY ROBERT J. BURDETTE</h3>

<p>One summer evening, Mr. Ellis Henderson, a popular young
man, went out walking with two of the sweetest girls in town.
Mr. Henderson wore a little straw hat with a navy blue band,
a cutaway coat, a pair of white trousers, a white vest, a buttonhole
bouquet, and fifteen cents. The evening was very hot, and as
they walked, they talked about the baseball match, the weather,
and sunstrokes. By and by one of the young ladies gave a delicate
little shriek.</p>

<p>"OO-oo! What a funny sign!"</p>

<p>"Ha&mdash;yes," said Mr. Henderson, in troubled tones, looking
gently but resolutely at the wrong side of the street.</p>

<p>"How funny it is spelled; see, Ethel."</p>

<p>"Why," said Ethel, "it is spelled correctly. Isn't it, Mr. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200"></a></span>Henderson?"</p>

<p>"Hy&mdash;why&mdash;aw&mdash;why, yes, to be sure," said Mr. Henderson,
staring at a window full of house-plants.</p>

<p>"Why, Mr. Henderson," said Elfrida, "how can you say so?
Just see, 'i&mdash;c&mdash;e, ice, c&mdash;r double e&mdash;m, creem'; that's not the
way to spell cream."</p>

<p>And Mr. Henderson, who was praying harder than he ever
prayed before that an earthquake might come along and swallow
up either himself or all the ice-cream parlors in the United States,
looked up at the chimney of the house and said:</p>

<p>"That? Oh, yes, yes; of course, why certainly. How very
much cooler it has grown within the past few minutes. That cool
wave from Manitoba is nearing us once more."</p>

<p>He took out his handkerchief and swabbed a face that would
scorch an iceberg brown in ten minutes.</p>

<p>"Is it true, Mr. Henderson," asked Ethel, "that soda fountains
sometimes explode?"</p>

<p>"Oh, frequently," said he, "and they scatter death and destruction
everywhere. In some of our Eastern cities they have been
abolished by law,&mdash;and they ought to do the same thing here!
Why, in New York, all the soda fountains have been removed far
outside the city limits and are now located side by side with powder
houses."</p>

<p>"I am not afraid of them," said Ethel, "and I don't believe they
are a bit dangerous."</p>

<p>"Nor I," echoed Elfrida, "I would not be afraid to walk up
to one and stand by it all day. Why are you so afraid of them,
Mr. Henderson?"</p>

<p>"Because once I had a fair, sweet young sister blown to pieces
by one of those terrible engines of destruction while she was
drinking at it, and I can not look at one without growing faint."</p>

<p>"How do they make soda water, Mr. Henderson?"</p>

<p>He was about to reply that it was composed chiefly of dirt and
poison, when Ethel read aloud four ice-cream signs, and said,
"How comfortable and happy all those people look in there."</p>

<p>Then young Mr. Henderson, who had been clawing at his hair,
and tearing off his necktie <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201"></a></span>and collar, and pawing the air, shouted
in tones of wild frenzy:</p>

<p>"Oh, yes, yes, yes! Come in; come in and gorge yourselves.
Everybody come in and eat up a whole week's salary in fifteen
minutes. Set 'em up! Strawberry, chocolate, vanilla, pineapple,
raspberry, lemon, peach, apricot, tutti frutti, nesselrode pudding,
water-ice, cake and sherbet. Set 'em up! The treat's on me. Oh,
yes, I can stand it. Ha, ha! I'm Astorbilt in disguise. Oh, yes;
it doesn't cost anything to take an evening walk! Put out your
frozen pudding! Ha, ha, ha!"</p>

<p>They carried him home to his boarding house, and put him to
bed, and sent for his physician. He is not yet out of danger,
but will recover. The exact trouble is a mystery to the doctor,
but he thinks it must be hydrosodia, as the sight of a piece of ice
throws the patient into the wildest and most furious paroxysms.</p>



<h3>LAVERY'S HENS<br />
ANONYMOUS</h3>

<p>Michael Lavery, a thrifty Irishman, lived in a small cottage,
on Devarsey Street, South Side, Chicago. It had no yard in
front, and the rear was ditto. It had a cellar, however, and it
occurred to Lavery that he might make something out of it by
using it as a hen-house; but one cold night, during the following
winter, the water-pipes burst, flooded the cellar, and drowned
the chickens. Friends of Lavery told him the city would make
good his loss if he made proper application. So Mr. Lavery went
down to the city hall, and entering the room of the clerk, said:</p>

<p>"Good marnin'. Me name is Michael Lavery, and I live in Devarsey
Street, on the South Side, and I kape chickens in me cellar,
and the water came in and drowned thim; what'll I do?"</p>

<p>"What's that?"</p>

<p>"Me name is Michael Lavery, and I live in Devarsey Street,
on the South Side, and I kape chickens in me cellar, and the water
came in and drowned thim; what'll I do?"</p>

<p>"What's that?"</p>

<p>"Me name is Michael Lavery, and I live in Devarsey Street,
on the South Side, and I kape chickens in me cellar, and the water
came in and drowned thim; what'll I do?"</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202"></a></span></p>

<p>"The water came in and drowned your chickens; what will
you do?"</p>

<p>"Yis, sir."</p>

<p>"Well, you step into the next room and see the mayor. You
will find him at his desk; tell him what you want."</p>

<p>"All right, sir, I will." (<i>Exit Lavery to next room.</i>)</p>

<p>"Good marnin'. Me name is Michael Lavery, and I live in Devarsey
Street, on the South Side, and I kape chickens in me cellar,
and the water came in and drowned thim; what'll I do?"</p>

<p>(<i>Gruffly.</i>) "What, sir?"</p>

<p>"Me name is Michael Lavery, and I live in Devarsey Street,
on the South Side, and I kape chickens in me cellar, and the
water came in and drowned thim; what'll I do?"</p>

<p>"What's that?"</p>

<p>(<i>Very loud.</i>) "Me name is Michael Lavery, and I live in Devarsey
Street, on the South Side, and I kape chickens in me cellar,
and the water came and drowned thim; what'll I do?"</p>

<p>"I don't understand one word you say, sir!"</p>

<p>(<i>Very softly and sarcastically, and working up into loud voice.</i>)
"Me name is Michael Lavery, and I live in Devarsey Street, on
the South Side, and I kape chickens in me cellar, and the water
came in and drowned thim; what'll I do?"</p>

<p>"The water came in and drowned your chickens; what will you
do?"</p>

<p>"Yis, sir."</p>

<p>"Well I can do nothing for you, so good-morning, sir!"</p>

<p>(<i>Clerk whispers to Lavery as he is passing out.</i>) "Well, Mr.
Lavery, what did he say to you?"</p>

<p>"<i>Kape ducks!</i>"
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203"></a></span></p>


<h3>LISP<br />
ANONYMOUS</h3>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Thome folks thay I listhp,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">But then I don't perthieve it.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Juth listhen while I call the cat:<br /></span>
<span class="i3">"Here Pusthy! Pusthy! Pusthy!"<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Now thee I don't listhp.<br /></span>
</div></div>



<h3>THEY MET BY CHANCE<br />
ANONYMOUS</h3>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">They met by chance,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">They had never met before.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">They met by chance,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">And she was stricken sore.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">They never met again,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Don't want to, I'll allow!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">They met but once:<br /></span>
<span class="i5"><i>'Twas a freight-train and a cow!</i><br /></span>
<a id="Page_203a"></a>
</div></div>

<h3>THE BRIDEGROOM'S TOAST<br />
ANONYMOUS</h3>

<p>(<i>Speaks while seated.</i>) "I know a story,&mdash;what? (<i>Laughs.</i>)
I know another story,&mdash;eh? Oh, don't ask me. I never made
a speech in my life. I am willing to do anything to make you
fully enjoy&mdash;(<i>This is broken by applause, which the reader
may imitate by rapping on a chair, or on a table.</i>) I will only
make a fool of myself&mdash;(<i>Attempting to get up. More applause.
Sits down again.</i>) I would rather not. (<i>After much
difficulty and persuasion he rises to his feet and begins.</i>) Ladies
and gentlemen, I have been suddenly called upon to propose <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204"></a></span>a
toast, which I think you will admit,&mdash;I am suddenly called upon,&mdash;very
suddenly,&mdash;to propose and&mdash;(<i>Sits down. More applause.
Rises again.</i>) Ladies and gentlemen, you are very kind (<i>clears
throat</i>) and I will do my best, and I only hope that unaccustomed
as I am to public houses,&mdash;speaking,&mdash;I sometimes find I have
some difficulty in the,&mdash;of course I don't mean to say,&mdash;I don't
mean to say what I mean when I mean what I say! At all
events, ladies and gentlemen, I am very, very much obliged for
the kind remarks in which you have drunk my health. (<i>Sits
down. Rises again.</i>) I am called upon to propose a toast
(<i>makes a motion as if someone has thrown something at him
from behind striking him on the head</i>) upon&mdash;to propose a toast,
but have forgotten it. Considering it is the most important toast
of the evening you will understand&mdash;(<i>Aside: 'What is the toast?'</i>)&mdash;the
toast of the ladies. Of course we all know (<i>runs his hand
up and down the back of the chair</i>) whatever may be said against
them,&mdash;whatever people may say about the ladies, there is no
doubt the ladies are really a very excellent&mdash;institution! I
don't agree with those people who&mdash;I think, I say, that far from
being a uniform success they are the reverse. I am bold enough
to say, I don't agree that they are very nearly as good as we are.
I know (<i>again he is hit in the back</i>) there are few drink the health
of the army and navy,&mdash;I mean ladies. Shakespeare says that
'when a woman' (<i>hit again</i>)&mdash;I had it just now. Shakespeare
says, 'When a woman,'&mdash;oh, yes, the immortal bard says, 'We
won't go home till morning!'" (<i>Sits down in great confusion.</i>)</p>


<h3>REHEARSING FOR PRIVATE THEATRICALS<br />
BY STANLEY HUNTLEY</h3>

<p>"Now, my dear," said Mr. Spoopendyke, opening the book and
assuming the correct dramatic scowl&mdash;"now my dear, we'll rehearse
our parts for Specklewottle's theatricals. I'm to be Hamlet and
you're to be the queen, and we want this thing to go off about
right. The hardest part we have to play together is where I accuse
you of poisoning my father, and we'd better try that until
we get it perfect. I'll commence:</p>

<p>"Now, mother, what's the matter?"</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205"></a></span></p>
<p>"Well, I was thinking whether I had better wear my black
silk or my maroon suit. Do queens wear&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Will you be kind enough to tell me what pack of cards you
got that idea of a queen from? Do you suppose the queen sent
for Hamlet to get his opinion about bargains in dry-goods?
When I say that you must say, 'Hamlet, thou hast thy father
much offended!'"</p>

<p>"Oh, I understand, I thought you asked me what I was thinking
about. I didn't know you had commenced to play. Try it
again."</p>

<p>"Well you be careful this time, this is a play, this is. Think
you know the difference between a play and a bankrupt sale?
Know the distinction between a play and a millinery-shop opening?
Now, I'll begin again and you try to do it decently."</p>

<p>"Now, mother, what's the matter!"</p>

<p>"There's nothing the matter now; go on, dear. I understand it
now."</p>

<p>"Say it, can't ye! Haven't ye studied this business? Don't ye
know your part?"</p>

<p>"What shall I say, dear?"</p>

<p>"Say! Sing a hymn! If you don't know your part, get off
a psalm! Didn't I tell you what to say? Look here. Have you
ever read this play? Have you conceived any kind of a notion
of what it's all about?"</p>

<p>"Why, yes, you come in and stab Mr. Specklewottle behind the
ears and I scream. Isn't that right, dear?"</p>

<p>"Hear her! Stab Specklewottle behind the ears! That is all
right; now you scream! Scream, why don't you? You know
so much about your measly part, why don't you play it?"</p>

<p>"We-e-e-e-e! I knew I could do it right as soon as you showed
me how. Will that do?"</p>

<p>"Oh, that was queenly! Just do that again! Four of those
dramatic efforts will make this play the greatest of modern entertainments!
Do it once more!"</p>

<p>"It hurts my throat. Can't we make it do with one scream,
dear?"</p>

<p>"Mrs. Spoopendyke, there's been some mistake made in this
thing. You should have been cast for Ophelia. That was the
part intended for you."</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206"></a></span></p>
<p>"I would just as soon play it. What does he do?"</p>

<p>"He was an idiot from his birth and afterward went crazy.
That was the part for you."</p>

<p>"Then I'd rather be queen. Now, dear, let's commence all over
and I'll do it right this time."</p>

<p>"You can't do it worse. I'll try it once more, just to see
what kind of foolishness you can work off."</p>

<p>"Now, mother, what's the matter?"</p>

<p>"We-e-e-e, Hamlet, oh, Hamlet! We-e-e-e-e!"</p>

<p>"Turn it off! Be quick and break off the end! What's the
matter?"</p>

<p>"We-e-e-e-e!"</p>

<p>"What's the matter with you, anyway?"</p>

<p>"We-e-e-e-e-e! My dear, you are just splendid as Hamlet.
You should have been an actor."</p>

<p>"Will ye ever shut up? Who ever told ye to yell like that?
Don't ye know anything at all scarcely? Think Hamlet's a
lunatic asylum? Got some kind of a notion that the queen's
a fog-horn? Where'd ye get your idea of this thing, anyway?"</p>

<p>"I did just as you told me, dear. You said I was to scream
when you asked me what the matter was. Didn't I do it right?"</p>

<p>"Oh, that was right! You struck the keynote of high art both
times! With that yell and your knowledge of the text all you
want now is a fire and a free list to be a theater with a restaurant
attachment! Such talent as that can't be wasted on any cheap
Shakespeare plays while I've got the money and influence to
get you a job in the legitimate circus!" And Mr. Spoopendyke
bolted from the house, thoroughly disgusted with private
theatricals.</p>

<p>By permission of <i>The Brooklyn Eagle</i>.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207"></a></span></p>


<h3>THE V-A-S-E<br />
BY JAMES JEFFREY ROCHE</h3>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Far from the crowd they stood apart,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">The maidens four and the Work of Art;<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">And none might tell from sight alone<br /></span>
<span class="i3">In which had culture ripest grown,&mdash;<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">The Gotham Millions fair to see,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">The Philadelphia Pedigree,<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">The Boston Mind of azure hue,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Or the Soulful Soul from Kalamazoo,&mdash;<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">For all loved Art in a seemly way,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">With an earnest soul and a capital A.<br /></span>
</div>
<hr class="tb" />
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0"><br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Long they worshiped, but no one broke<br /></span>
<span class="i3">The sacred stillness, until up spoke<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">The Western one from the nameless place,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Who blushing said, "What a lovely vace!"<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Over three faces a sad smile flew,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And they edged away from Kalamazoo.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">But Gotham's haughty soul was stirred<br /></span>
<span class="i3">To crush the stranger with one small word.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Deftly hiding reproof in praise,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">She cries, "'Tis, indeed, a lovely vaze!"<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">But brief her unworthy triumph when<br /></span>
<span class="i3">The lofty one from the home of Penn,<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">With the consciousness of two grandpapas,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Exclaims, "It is quite a lovely vahs!"<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">And glances round with an anxious thrill,<br /></span>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208"></a></span><span class="i3">Awaiting the word of Beacon Hill.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">But the Boston maid smiles courteouslee,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And gently murmurs, "Oh, pardon me!<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">"I did not catch your remark, because<br /></span>
<span class="i3">I was so entranced with that charming vaws!"<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">And then each nose was a sight to see<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Turned up in contempt at the other three.<br /></span>
</div></div>


<h3>PAPA AND THE BOY<br />
BY J. L. HARBOUR</h3>

<p>Charming as is the merry prattle of innocent childhood, it is
not particularly agreeable at about one o'clock in the morning.
There are young and talkative children who have no more regard
for your feelings or for the proprieties of life than to open their
eyes with a snap at one or two in the morning, and to seek to
engage you in enlivening dialog of this sort.</p>

<p>"Papa."</p>

<p>You think you will pay no heed to the imperative little voice,
hoping that silence on your part will keep the youngster quiet;
but again that boy of three pipes out sharply:</p>

<p>"Papa!"</p>

<p>"Well?" you say.</p>

<p>"You 'wake, papa?"</p>

<p>"Yes."</p>

<p>"So's me."</p>

<p>"Yes, I hear that you are," you say with cold sarcasm. "What
do you want?"</p>

<p>"Oh! nuffin."</p>

<p>"Well, lie still and go to sleep then."</p>

<p>"I isn't s'eepy, papa."</p>

<p>"Well, I am, young man."</p>

<p>"Is you? I isn't&mdash;not a bit. Say, papa, papa! If you was
wich what would you buy me?"</p>

<p>"I don't know&mdash;go to sleep."</p>

<p>"Wouldn't you buy me nuffin?"</p>

<p>"I guess so; now you&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"What, papa?"</p>

<p>"Well, a steam engine, may be; now you go<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209"></a></span> right to sleep."</p>

<p>"With a bell that would ring, papa?"</p>

<p>"Yes, yes; now you&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"And would the wheels go wound, papa?"</p>

<p>"Oh! yes (<i>yawning</i>). Shut your eyes now, and&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"And would it go choo, choo, choo, papa?"</p>

<p>"Yes, yes; now go to sleep."</p>

<p>"Say, papa."</p>

<p>No answer.</p>

<p>"Papa!"</p>

<p>"Well, what now?"</p>

<p>"Is you 'fraid of the dark?"</p>

<p>"No" (<i>drowsily</i>).</p>

<p>"I isn't either. Papa!"</p>

<p>"Well?"</p>

<p>"If I was wich I'd buy you somefin."</p>

<p>"Would you?"</p>

<p>"Yes; I'd buy you some ice-cweam and some chocolum drops
and a toof brush and panties wiv bwaid on like mine, and a
candy wooster, and&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"That will do. You must go to sleep now."</p>

<p>Silence for half a second, then&mdash;</p>

<p>"Papa! papa!"</p>

<p>"Well, what now?"</p>

<p>"I want a jink."</p>

<p>"No, you don't."</p>

<p>"I do, papa."</p>

<p>Experience has taught you that there will be no peace until
you have brought the "jink," and you scurry out to the bathroom
in the dark for it, knocking your shins against everything in the
room as you go.</p>

<p>"Now I don't want to hear another word from you to-night,"
you say, as he gulps down a mouthful of the water he didn't
want. Two minutes later he says:</p>

<p>"Papa!"</p>

<p>"See here, laddie, papa will have to punish you if&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"I can spell 'dog,' papa."</p>

<p>"Well, nobody wants to hear you spell at two o'clock in the
morning."</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210"></a></span></p>

<p>"B-o-g&mdash;dog; is that right?"</p>

<p>"No, it isn't. But nobody cares if&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Then it's d-o-g, isn't it?"</p>

<p>"Yes, yes; now you lie right down and go to sleep instantly."</p>

<p>"Then I'll be a good boy, won't I, papa?"</p>

<p>"Yes; you'll be the best boy on earth. Good-night, dearie."</p>

<p>"Papa!"</p>

<p>"Well, well! What now?"</p>

<p>"Is I your little boy?"</p>

<p>"Yes, yes; of course."</p>

<p>"Some mans haven't got any little boys; but you have, haven't
you?"</p>

<p>"Yes."</p>

<p>"Don't you wish you had two, free, nine, 'leben, twenty-six,
ninety-ten, free hundred little boys?"</p>

<p>The mere possibility of such a remote and contingent calamity
so paralyzes you that you lie speechless for ten minutes during
which you hear a yawn or two in the little bed by your side,
a little figure rolls over three or four times, a pair of heels fly
into the air once or twice, a warm, moist little hand reaches out
and touches your face to make sure that you are there, and the
boy is asleep with his heels where his head ought to be.</p>



<h3>THE OBSTRUCTIVE HAT IN THE PIT<br />
BY F. ANSTEY</h3>

<p><span class="smcap">Scene</span>: <i>The Pit of a London theatre during Pantomime Time.</i></p>

<p><i>An Overheated Matron</i> (<i>to her husband</i>)&mdash;"Well, they don't
give you much room in 'ere, I must say. Still, we done better than
I expected, after all that crushing. I thought my ribs was gone
once&mdash;but it was on'y the umbrella's. You pretty comfortable
where you are, eh, father?"</p>

<p><i>Father</i>&mdash;"Oh, I'm <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211"></a></span>right enough, I am."</p>

<p><i>Jimmy</i> (<i>their small boy with a piping voice</i>)&mdash;"If father is
it's more nor what I am. I can't see, mother, I can't!"</p>

<p><i>Mother</i>&mdash;"Lor' bles' the boy! there ain't nothen to see yet;
you'll see well enough when the curting goes up. (<i>Curtain rises
on opening scene.</i>) Look, Jimmy, ain't that nice, now? All them
himps, dancin' round and real fire comin' out of the pot&mdash;which
I 'ope it's quite safe&mdash;and there's a beautiful fairy just come
on drest so grand, too!"</p>

<p><i>Jimmy</i> (<i>whimpering</i>)&mdash;"I can't see no fairy&mdash;nor yet no himps&mdash;no
nothen!"</p>

<p><i>Mother</i> (<i>annoyed</i>)&mdash;"Was there ever such an aggravating boy?
Set quiet, do, and don't fidget, and look at the hactin'!"</p>

<p><i>Jimmy</i>&mdash;"I tell yer I can't see no hactin', mother. It ain't my
fault&mdash;it's this lady in front of me, with the 'at."</p>

<p><i>Mother</i>&mdash;"Father, the pore boy says he can't see where he is,
'cause of a lady's 'at in front."</p>

<p><i>Father</i>&mdash;"Well, I can't 'elp the 'at, can I? He must put up
with it, that's all!"</p>

<p><i>Mother</i>&mdash;"No&mdash;but I thought, if you wouldn't mind changing
places with him; you're taller than him."</p>

<p><i>Father</i>&mdash;It's always the way with you&mdash;never satisfied, you
ain't! Well, pass the boy across! I'm for a quiet life, I am
(<i>changing seats</i>). Will this do for you?" (<i>He settles down
immediately behind a very large, furry hat which he dodges for
some time.</i>)</p>

<p><i>Father</i> (<i>suddenly</i>)&mdash;"Blow the 'at."</p>

<p><i>Mother</i>&mdash;"You can't wonder at the boy not seeing! P'r'aps
the lady wouldn't mind taking it off, if you asked her?"</p>

<p><i>Father</i>&mdash;"Ah! (<i>touching the owner of the hat on the shoulder</i>).
Excuse me, mum, but might I take the liberty of asking you to
kindly remove your 'at?" (<i>The owner of the hat deigns no reply.</i>)</p>

<p><i>Father</i> (<i>more insistently</i>)&mdash;"Would you 'ave any objection to
oblige me by taking off your 'at, mum? (<i>Same result.</i>) I don't
know if you 'eard me, mum, but I've asked you twice, civil
enough, to take that 'at of yours off. I'm playin' 'ide-and-seek
be'ind it 'ere!" (<i>No answer.</i>)</p>

<p><i>Mother</i>&mdash;"People didn't ought to be allowed in the Pit with
sech 'ats! Callin' 'erself a lady, and settin' there in a great '<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212"></a></span>at
and feathers like a 'ighlander's, and never answering no more
nor a stuffed himage!"</p>

<p><i>Father</i> (<i>to the husband of the owner of the hat</i>)&mdash;"Will you
tell your good lady to take her 'at off, sir, please?"</p>

<p><i>The Owner of the Hat</i> (<i>to her husband</i>)&mdash;"Don't you do
nothing of the sort, Sam, or you'll 'ear of it!"</p>

<p><i>Mother</i>&mdash;"Some people are perlite, I must say. Parties might
be'ave as ladies when they come in the Pit! It's a pity her
'usband can't teach her better manners!"</p>

<p><i>Father</i>&mdash;"'Im teach her! 'E knows better. 'E's got a Tartar
there, 'e 'as!"</p>

<p><i>The Owner of the Hat</i>&mdash;"Sam, are you going to set by and hear
me insulted like this?"</p>

<p><i>Her Husband</i> (<i>turning round tremulously</i>)&mdash;"I&mdash;I'll trouble
you to drop making these personal allusions to my wife's 'at, sir.
It's puffickly impossible to listen to what's going on on the stage,
with all these remarks be'ind!"</p>

<p><i>Father</i>&mdash;"Not more nor it is to see what's going on on the stage
with that 'at in front! I paid 'arf-a-crown to see the Pantermime,
I did; not to 'ave a view of your wife's 'at!.... 'ere,
Maria, blowed if I can stand this 'ere game any longer. Jimmy
must change places again, and if he can't see, he must stand up
on the seat, that's all!" (<i>Jimmy goes back and mounts upon the
seat.</i>)</p>

<p><i>A Pit-ite Behind Jimmy</i> (<i>touching Jimmy's father with an
umbrella</i>)&mdash;"Will you tell your little boy to set down, please,
and not to block the view like this?"</p>

<p><i>Father</i>&mdash;"If you can indooce that lady to take off her 'at,
I will, but not before. Stay where you are, Jimmy."</p>

<p><i>The Pit-ite Behind</i>&mdash;"Well, I must stand myself then, that's
all. I mean to see somehow!" (<i>He rises.</i>)</p>

<p><i>People Behind</i> (<i>sternly</i>)&mdash;"Set down there, will yer?" (<i>He
resumes his seat expostulating.</i>)</p>

<p><i>Jimmy</i>&mdash;"Father, the man behind is a-pinching of my legs!"</p>

<p><i>Father</i>&mdash;"Will you stop pinching my little boy's legs. He ain't
doing you no 'arm, is he?"</p>

<p><i>The Pinching Pit-ite</i>&mdash;"Let him sit down, then!"</p>

<p><i>Father</i>&mdash;"Let the lady take her <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213"></a></span>'at off!"</p>

<p><i>Murmurs Behind</i>&mdash;"Order there! Set down! Put that boy
down! Take off that 'at! Silence in front there! Turn 'em
out! Shame!..."</p>

<p><i>The Husband of the Owner of the Hat</i> (<i>in a whisper to his
wife</i>)&mdash;"Take off the blessed 'at, and 'ave done with it, do!"</p>

<p><i>The Owner of the Hat</i>&mdash;"What, now? I'd sooner die in the
'at!" (<i>An attendant is called.</i>)</p>

<p><i>Attendant</i>&mdash;"Order, there, gentlemen, please, unless you want
to get turned out! No standing allowed on the seats; you're
disturbing the performance 'ere, you know!" (<i>Jimmy is made
to sit down, and weeps silently; the hubbub subsides, and the
Owner of the Hat triumphs.</i>)</p>

<p><i>Mother</i>&mdash;"Never mind, my boy, you shall have mother's seat in
a minute. I dessay, if all was known, the lady 'as reasons for
keeping her 'at on, pore thing!"</p>

<p><i>Father</i>&mdash;"Ah, I never thought o' that. So she may. Very
likely her 'at won't come off&mdash;not without her 'air!"</p>

<p><i>Mother</i>&mdash;"Ah, well, then we mus'n't be 'ard on her."</p>

<p><i>The Owner of the Hat</i> (<i>removing the obstruction</i>)&mdash;"I 'ope
you're satisfied now, I'm sure?"</p>

<p><i>Father</i> (<i>handsomely</i>)&mdash;"Better late nor never, mum, and we
take it kind of you. Tho why you shouldn't ha' done it at fust,
I dunno; for you look a deal 'ansomer without the 'at than what
you did in it&mdash;don't she Maria?"</p>

<p><i>The Owner of the Hat</i> (<i>mollified</i>)&mdash;"Sam, ask the gentleman
behind if his boy would like a ginger-nut." (<i>This olive-branch
is accepted; compliments pass; cordiality is restored, and the
pantomime then proceeds without any further disturbance in the
audience.</i>)</p>


<h3>HULLO<br />
BY S. W. FOSS</h3>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214"></a></span></p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">W'en you see a man in wo,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Walk right up an' say "Hullo!"<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Say "Hullo" an' "How d'ye do?<br /></span>
<span class="i3">How's the world a-usin' you?"<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Slap the fellow on the back;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Bring your hand down with a whack;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Walk right up, an' don't go slow;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Grin an' shake, an' say "Hullo!"<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Is he clothed In rags? Oh! sho;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Walk right up an' say "Hullo!"<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Rags is but a cotton roll<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Jest for wrappin' up a soul;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">An' a soul is worth a true<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Hale and hearty "How d'ye do?"<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Don't wait for the crowd to go<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Walk right up an' say "Hullo!"<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">When big vessels meet, they say<br /></span>
<span class="i3">They saloot an' sail away.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Jest the same are you an' me<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Lonesome ships upon a sea;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Each one sailin' his own log,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">For a port behind the fog.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Let your speakin' trumpet blow;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Lift your horn an' cry "Hullo!"<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Say "Hullo!" an' "How d'ye do?"<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Other folks are good as you.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">W'en you leave your house of clay<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Wanderin' in the far away,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">W'en you travel through the strange<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Country t'other side the range,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Then the souls you've cheered will know<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Who ye be, an' say "Hullo."<br /></span>
</div></div>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215"></a></span></p>


<h3>THE DUTCHMAN'S TELEPHONE<br />
ANONYMOUS</h3>

<p>"I guess I haf to gif up my delephone already," said an old
citizen, as he entered the office of the company with a very
long face.</p>

<p>"Why, what's the matter now?"</p>

<p>"Oh! eferytings. I got dot delephone in mine house so I
could shpeak mit der poys in der saloon down town, und mit
my relations in Springwells, but I haf to gif it up. I never
haf so much droubles."</p>

<p>"How?"</p>

<p>"Vhell, my poy Shon, in der saloon, he rings der pell and calls
me oop und says an old frent of mine vhants to see how she vorks.
Dot ish all right. I say, 'Hello!' und he says, 'Come closer.' I
goes closer und helloes again. Den he says, 'Shtand a little
off.' I shtands a little off und yells vunce more, und he says,
'Shpeak louder.' I yells louder. I goes dot vhay for ten minutes,
und den he says, 'Go to Texas, you old Dutchman!' You see?"</p>

<p>"Yes."</p>

<p>"Und den mein brudder in Springwells he rings der pell und
calls me oop und says, 'How you vhas dis eafnings?' I says I vhas
feeling like some colts, und he says, 'Who vhants to puy some
goats?' I says, 'Colts&mdash;colts&mdash;colts!' und he answers, 'Oh!
coats. I thought you said goats!' Vhen I goes to ask him ef he
feels petter I hear a voice crying out, 'Vhat Dutchman is dot on
dis line?' Den somepody answers, 'I doan' know, but I likes to
punch his headt!' You see?"</p>

<p>"Yes."</p>

<p>"Vhell, somedimes my vhife vhants to shpeak mit me vhen I
am down in der saloon. She rings mein pell und I says, 'Hello!'
Nopody shpeaks to me. She rings again, und I says, 'Hello,' like
dunder! Den der Central Office tells me to go aheadt, und den
tells me holdt on, und den tells mein vhife dot I am gone avhay.
I yells oudt, 'Dot ish not so,' und somepody says, 'How can I talk
if dot old Dutchmans doan' keep shtill?' You see?"</p>

<p>"Yes."</p>

<p>"Und vhen I gets in bedt at night, somepody rings der pell like
dear house vas on fire, and vhen I shumps oud und says, '<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216"></a></span>Hello,' I
hear somepody saying, 'Kaiser, doan' you vhant to puy a dog?'
I vhants no dog, und vhen I tells 'em so, I hear some peoples
laughing, 'Haw! haw! haw!' You see?"</p>

<p>"Yes."</p>

<p>"Und so you dake it oudt, und vhen somepody likes to shpeak
mit me dey shall come right avay to mein saloon. Oof my brudder
ish sick he shall get better, und if somepody vhants to puy
me a dog, he shall come vhere I can punch him mit a glub."</p>


<h3>DOCTOR MARIGOLD<br />
BY CHARLES DICKENS</h3>

<p>I am a Cheap Jack, and my own father's name was Willum
Marigold. It was in his lifetime supposed by some that his name
was William, but my own father always consistently said, No it
was Willum. On which point I content myself with looking at
the argument this way: If a man is not allowed to know his own
name in a free country, how much is he allowed to know in a
land of slavery?</p>

<p>I was born on the Queen's highway, but it was the King's at
that time. A doctor was fetched to my own mother by my own
father, when it took place on a common; and in consequence of
his being a very kind gentleman, and accepting no fee but a
tea-tray, I was named Doctor, out of gratitude and compliment
to him. There you have me. Doctor Marigold.</p>

<p>The doctor having accepted a tea-tray, you'll guess that my
father was a Cheap Jack before me. You are right. He was.
And my father was a lovely one in his time at the Cheap Jack
work. Now I'll tell you what. I mean to go down into my grave
declaring that, of all the callings ill-used in Great Britain, the
Cheap Jack calling is the worst used. Why ain't we a <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217"></a></span>profession?
Why ain't we endowed with privileges? Why are we forced
to take out a hawker's license, when no such thing is expected
of the political hawkers? Where's the difference betwixt us?
Except that we are Cheap Jacks and they are Dear Jacks, I don't
see any difference but what's in our favor.</p>

<p>For look here! Say it's election-time. I am on the footboard
of my cart in the market-place on a Saturday night. I put up
a general miscellaneous lot. I say: "Now here, my free and independent
voters, I'm going to give you such a chance as you never
had in all your born days, nor yet the days preceding. Now I'll
show you what I am a-going to do with you. Here's a pair of
razors that'll shave you closer than the Board of Guardians; here's
a flat-iron worth its weight in gold; here's a frying-pan artificially
flavored with essence of beefsteaks to that degree that
you've only got for the rest of your lives to fry bread and dripping
in it, and there you are complete with animal food; here's
a genuine chronometer watch in such a solid silver case that you
may knock at the door with it when you come home late from a
social meeting, and rouse your wife and family and save up your
knocker for the post-man; and here's half a dozen dinner-plates
that you may play the cymbals with to charm the baby when it's
fractious. Stop. I'll throw you in another article, and I'll give
you that, and its a rolling-pin, and if the baby can only get it
well into its mouth when its teeth are coming, and rub the gums
once with it, they'll come through double, in a fit of laughter
equal to be tickled. Stop again! I'll throw you in another
article, because I don't like the looks of you, for you haven't the
appearance of buyers unless I lose by you, and because I'd rather
lose than not take money to-night, and that article's a looking-glass
in which you may see how ugly you look when you don't bid.
What do you say now? Come! Do you say a pound? Not you,
for you haven't got it. Do you say ten shillings? Not you, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218"></a></span>for
you owe more to the tallyman. Well, then, I'll tell you what
I'll do with you. I'll heap 'em all on the footboard of the cart&mdash;there
they are! razors, flat-iron, frying-pan, chronometer watch,
dinner-plates, rolling-pin, and looking-glass&mdash;take 'em all away
for four shillings, and I'll give you sixpence for your trouble!"
This is me, the Cheap Jack.</p>

<p>But on Monday morning, in the same market-place, comes the
Dear Jack on the hustings&mdash;<i>his</i> cart&mdash;and what does <i>he</i> say?
"Now, you free and independent voters, I am going to give you
such a chance" (he begins just like me) "as you never had in all
your born days, and that's the chance of sending myself to Parliament.
Now I'll tell you what I am a-going to do for you. Here's
the interests of this magnificent town promoted above all the rest
of the civilized and uncivilized earth. Here's your railways carried,
and your neighbors' railways jockeyed. Here's all your sons
in the Post Office. Here's Britannia smiling on you. Here's the
eyes of Europe on you. Here's uniwersal prosperity for you,
repletion of animal food, golden corn-fields, gladsome homesteads,
and rounds of applause from your own hearts, all in one lot,
and that's myself. Will you take me as I stand? You won't!
Well, then, I'll tell you what I'll do with you. Come now! I'll
throw you in anything you ask for. There! Church-rates, abolition
of church-rates, more malt tax, no malt tax, uniwersal education
to the highest mark, or uniwersal ignorance to the lowest,
total abolition of flogging in the army, or a dozen for every
private once a month all round, Wrongs of Men or Right of
Women&mdash;only say which it shall be, take 'em or leave 'em, and
I'm of your opinion altogether, and the lot's your own on your
own terms. There! You won't take it? Well, then, I'll tell you
what I'll do with you. Come! You <i>are</i> such free and independent
woters, and I <i>am</i> so proud of you&mdash;you <i>are</i> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219"></a></span>such a noble
and enlightened constituency, and I <i>am</i> so ambitious of the honor
and dignity of being your member, which is by far the highest
level to which the wings of the human mind can soar&mdash;that I'll
tell you what I'll do with you. I'll throw you in all public-houses
in your magnificent town for nothing. Will that content you?
It won't? You won't take the lot yet? Well, then, before I put
the horse in and drive away, and make the offer to the next most
magnificent town that can be discovered, I'll tell you what I'll
do. Take the lot, and I'll drop two thousand pound in the streets
of your magnificent town for them to pick up that can. Not
enough? Now look here. This is the very farthest that I'm
a-going to. I'll make it two thousand five hundred. And still you
won't? Here, missis! Put the horse&mdash;No, stop half a moment,
I shouldn't like to turn my back upon you, neither, for a trifle,
I'll make it two thousand seven hundred and fifty pound. There!
Take the lot on your own terms, and I'll count out two thousand
seven hundred and fifty pound on the footboard of the cart, to
be dropt in the streets of your magnificent town for them to
pick up that can. What do you say? Come now! You won't
do better, and you may do worse. You take it? Hooray! Sold
again, and got the seat!"</p>


<h3>THE RULING PASSION<br />
BY WILLIAM H. SIVITER</h3>

<p>She had never mailed a letter before, and so she approached the
stamp clerk's window with the same air that she would enter a
dry-goods store.</p>

<p>"I would like to look at some stamps, please."</p>

<p>"What denomination do you want?"</p>

<p>"Denomination?"</p>

<p>"Yes. Is it for a letter or a newspaper?"</p>

<p>"Oh, I want to send a letter to my Uncle John; he's just moved
to&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Then you need a two-cent stamp," said the clerk offering her
one of that value.</p>

<p>"I hardly like that color!"</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220"></a></span></p>
<p>"That is a two-cent stamp, madam. Please stand aside, and let
the gentleman behind you come up."</p>

<p>"But haven't you got them in any other color? I never did
like that shade of red."</p>

<p>"There is only one color."</p>

<p>"That is strange. I'd think you'd keep them in different
shades, so that there'd be some choice. You are sure you have
none in a brighter red, or even in a different color&mdash;Nile green,
or seal brown, or jubilee blue, for instance?"</p>

<p>"You can put two one-cent stamps on your letter if you like."</p>

<p>"Let me see them, please. Ah, that will do. I like that shade
so much better. I'll take only one, if you please."</p>

<p>"If it's for a letter you'll need two. These are one-cent stamps
and letter postage is two cents per ounce."</p>

<p>"Oh, I don't want to put two stamps on my letter; I don't
think they will look well."</p>

<p>"It requires two cents to carry a letter, madam, and you must
either put a two-cent stamp on or two ones. It won't go without.
I must ask you to please hurry, for you are keeping a great many
people away from the window."</p>

<p>"That's singular. I don't like the looks of two together. You
are sure the other doesn't come in seal-brown, or&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"No, madam; no!"</p>

<p>"Then I'll have to see if I can suit myself elsewhere."</p>

<p>And she departed.</p>


<h3>THE DUTCHMAN'S SERENADE<br />
ANONYMOUS</h3>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Vake up, my schveet! Vake up, my lofe!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Der moon dot can't be seen abofe.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Vake oud your eyes, and dough it's late,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">I'll make you oud a serenate.<br /></span>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221"></a></span></div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Der shtreet dot's kinder dampy vet,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Und dhere vas no goot blace to set;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">My fiddle's getting oud of dune,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">So blease get vakey wery soon.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">O my lofe! my lofely lofe!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Am you avake up dere abofe,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Feeling sad and nice to hear<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Schneider's fiddle shcrabin' near?<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Vell, anyvay, obe loose your ear,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Und try to saw of you kin hear<br /></span>
<span class="i3">From dem bedclose vat you'm among,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Der little song I'm going to sung.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Oh, lady, vake! Get vake!<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Und hear der tale I'll tell;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Oh, you vot's schleebin' sound ub dhere,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">I like you pooty vell!<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Your plack eyes dhem don't shine<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Ven you'm ashleep&mdash;so vake!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">(Yes, hurry ub und voke up quick,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">For goodness cracious sake!)<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">My schveet inbatience, lofe!<br /></span>
<span class="i5">I hobe you vill oxcuse;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">I'm singing schveetly (dere, py Jinks!<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Dhere goes a shtring proke loose!)<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Oh, putiful, schveet maid!<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Oh, vill she ever voke?<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Der moon is mooning&mdash;(Jimminy! dhere<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Anoder shtring vent proke!)<br /></span>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222"></a></span></div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Oh, say, old schleeby head!<br /></span>
<span class="i5">(Now I vas gitting mad&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">I'll holler now und I don't care<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Uf I vake up her dad!)<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">I say, you schleeby, vake!<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Vake out! Vake loose! Vake ub!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Fire! Murder! Police! Vatch!<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Oh, cracious! do vake ub!<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Dot girl she schleebed&mdash;dot rain it rained<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Und I looked shtoopid like a geese,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Vhen mit my fiddle I sneaked off<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Dodging der rain und dot bolice!<br /></span>
</div></div>


<h3>WIDOW MALONE<br />
BY CHARLES LEVER</h3>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Did you hear of the Widow Malone,<br /></span>
<span class="i27">Ohone!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Who lived in the town of Athlone,<br /></span>
<span class="i27">Alone!<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Oh, she melted the hearts<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Of the swains in those parts:<br /></span>
<span class="i3">So lovely the Widow Malone,<br /></span>
<span class="i27">Ohone!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">So lovely the Widow Malone.<br /></span>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223"></a></span></div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Of lovers she had a full score,<br /></span>
<span class="i27">Or more,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And fortunes they all had galore;<br /></span>
<span class="i27">In store;<br /></span>
<span class="i5">From the minister down<br /></span>
<span class="i5">To the clerk of the Crown<br /></span>
<span class="i3">All were courting the Widow Malone,<br /></span>
<span class="i27">Ohone!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">All were courting the Widow Malone.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">But so modest was Mistress Malone,<br /></span>
<span class="i25">'Twas known<br /></span>
<span class="i3">That no one could see her alone,<br /></span>
<span class="i25">Ohone!<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Let them ogle and sigh,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">They could ne'er catch her eye,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">So bashful the Widow Malone,<br /></span>
<span class="i25">Ohone!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">So bashful the Widow Malone.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Till one Misther O'Brien, from Clare,<br /></span>
<span class="i25">(How quare!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">It's little for blushing they care<br /></span>
<span class="i25">Down there.)<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Put his arm round her waist,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Gave ten kisses at laste,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">"Oh," says he, "you're my Molly Malone,<br /></span>
<span class="i25">My own!"<br /></span>
<span class="i3">"Oh," says he, "you're my Molly Malone!"<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">And the widow they all thought so shy,<br /></span>
<span class="i25">My eye!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Ne'er thought of a simper or sigh,&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i25">For why?<br /></span>
<span class="i5">But, "Lucius," says she,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">"Since you've now made so free,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">You may marry your Mary Malone,<br /></span>
<span class="i25">Ohone!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">You may marry your Mary Malone."<br /></span>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224"></a></span></div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">There's a moral contained in my song,<br /></span>
<span class="i25">Not wrong;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And one comfort, it's not very long,<br /></span>
<span class="i25">But strong,&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i5">If for widows you die,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Learn to kiss, not to sigh;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">For they're all like sweet Mistress Malone,<br /></span>
<span class="i25">Ohone!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Oh, they're all like sweet Mistress Malone!<br /></span>
</div></div>


<h3>HIS LEG SHOT OFF<br />
ANONYMOUS</h3>

<p>You have all met him. He is the man with the funny story.
As a listener he would be popular. If he would only keep quiet
and listen to other people tell stories without attempting to emulate
their ability he would be liked where he is now cordially disliked.
But that doesn't suit his temperament. He will buttonhole
you with his forefinger, and with an idiotic smile on his face say.</p>

<p>"Ha! ha! ha! ha! If I didn't just hear the funniest thing!
Oh, but it was funny! Ha! ha! ha! You don't begin to know
how funny it was! You see it was this way: A long time ago
there was a war,&mdash;fighting,&mdash;fighting, you know,&mdash;between the
North and South. Ha! ha! ha! There was a war, as I was saying,
and they got fighting, and this man,&mdash;ha! ha! ha!&mdash;the funniest
thing!&mdash;this man, Jim Jones,&mdash;you see it was this way,&mdash;it
was in the war, you know,&mdash;between the North and South,&mdash;ha!
ha!&mdash;and this man Jim Jones,&mdash;ha! ha! ha!&mdash;it is too funny for
any thing,&mdash;it was too funny! Well, Jim Jones was fighting.
He went into the battle one day, and that is the funny part of
it. Along came a cannon-ball and took off his head! Ha! ha! ha!
(<i>Laugh here for two minutes; then the face gradually assumes
an air of gravity.</i>) No, it wasn't his head, it was his leg. It was
funny just the same. Down he went to the ground. It stands
to reason a man with one leg can't walk and go on fighting. So
he just laid down in his tracks. Couldn't do anything else. Just<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225"></a></span>
then along came a battery,&mdash;you know that is cannons,&mdash;they
have horses to drag them,&mdash;men can't pull those big, heavy cannons
into battle. Well, you know, this man Jim Jones that had his
leg shot off, he knew this man with the cannons,&mdash;ha! ha!&mdash;Oh,
but it was funny! And he says to him, 'If you don't carry me
to where a doctor is, my wife's a widow, that's all about it!' He
knew his wife was a widow if he didn't get to where the doctor
was. You know the doctors don't stay up where the soldiers are
fighting in a battle,&mdash;they're back, away back, the doctors are.
So this man with his leg shot off, he says, 'You've got to take me
where a doctor is, or my wife's a widow, that's all about it!' Well,
this neighbor of his didn't like to go back on an old friend,&mdash;ha!
ha!&mdash;with his leg shot off,&mdash;this man that had his leg shot
off early in the battle and couldn't go on fighting,&mdash;but he says
to him: 'How am I to get you back there?' and he 'lowed he'd
have to carry him. Well, with that he shouldered Jim Jones,&mdash;ha!
ha!&mdash;threw him over his shoulder just like that, and away
they went! (<i>Laugh heartily here.</i>) And that is where the joke
came in,&mdash;along came a cannon-ball and took of his head! Not
the man's head, but Jimmy Jones' head! But pshaw, the man
didn't know anything about it. Along he went with Jimmy over
his shoulder. Just then an officer came up. He says: 'Where
are you going with that thing?' Well, the man didn't like to give
a short answer. Soldiers are not allowed to give short answers
to officers. He simply saluted and says: 'Well, it's this way:
This man's an old neighbor of mine. He was coming into battle,&mdash;ha!
ha!&mdash;and he 'lowed that a cannon-ball came along and
took off his leg. He says if we don't take him to where a doctor
is his wife's a widow and that's all about it,&mdash;and so,&mdash;ha! ha!&mdash;and
so I'm just taking him back to where the doctor is, captain.'
The captain looked at him a moment, and he says: 'Why you
idiot, it isn't his leg, it's his head!' Then the man says,&mdash;not
Jimmy Jones,&mdash;he had his head off and couldn't say anything,&mdash;'Oh,
the confounded rascal, he told me it was his leg!'"</p>


<h3>THE STUTTERING UMPIRE<br />
BY THE KHAN</h3>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226"></a></span></p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Oh, we had our share of trouble,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">I'll tell you now the source,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">The umpire that we sent for,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Well, he didn't come, of course.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Have you noticed, at the line-up<br /></span>
<span class="i5">When everything's for fair,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">The referee, the umpire,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">That should be there, isn't there?<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">The crowd it grew impatient;<br /></span>
<span class="i5">We heard their angry mutters.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">We picked on Johnny Jimson,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Tho Johnny Jimson stutters;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">But, still, he knows the game all right&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Indeed, he knows it all&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">So in his place he hollered:<br /></span>
<span class="i5">"Pup-pup-pup-play bub-ball!"<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Jake Mingus was first batter,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Our county's favorite son;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">He hit an' missed. Johnny yelled:<br /></span>
<span class="i5">"Stuh-stuh-stuh-strike wu-one!"<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Another ball went o'er the plate,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">And Jakey's bat went whoo!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Then all the crowd heard Johnny shout:<br /></span>
<span class="i5">"Tut-tut-tut-tut-tut-two!"<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">The next one was a daisy,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">It made the audience howl;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Jakey tapped it, Johnny yelled:<br /></span>
<span class="i5">"Fow-ow-ow-ow-oul!"<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And so the game went gaily,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">A game a body likes,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Till Jack had called three balls on Jake<br /></span>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227"></a></span><span class="i5">And also called two strikes.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">The breathless crowd was anxious,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">For this will tell the tale;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">The pitcher tied himself in knots,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">The catcher did not quail.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Whizz! went the ball&mdash;the rabble waits<br /></span>
<span class="i5">The umpire's verdict, but<br /></span>
<span class="i3">All that Johnny Jimson said<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Was "Tut-tut-tut&mdash;&mdash;"<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Did he mean to say, "Tut-tut-take your base,"<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Or else, "Tut-tut-three strikes?"<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Just fix it up to suit yourself<br /></span>
<span class="i5">As anybody likes,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">It busted up our little game,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">It was too utterly utter.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Don't try to be an umpire if<br /></span>
<span class="i5">You stut-tut-tut-tutter.<br /></span>
</div></div>


<h3>THE MAN WHO WILL MAKE A SPEECH<br />
ANONYMOUS</h3>

<p>A man wearing passably good clothes and a look of mental
anxiety entered a fashionable drug-store, and said to the clerk:</p>

<p>"Are you pretty well posted on big words?"</p>

<p>"Yes," said the clerk, "I know quite a large number of big
words."</p>

<p>"Well, then," said the stranger, "here's the situation: Out
where I live I am a pretty big gun, and when anything is going
on they call on me for a speech. I made one on election day,
another the same evening, and another the next morning, and
now I'm laying the sleepers for a speech to eclipse them all."</p>

<p>"What sort of a speech?" asked the clerk.</p>

<p>"Political, of course. My other speeches were political, but
were very plain. This time I want to get in some regular old
twisters. For one thing I would declare this country in a state
of&mdash;what do you call it?"</p>

<p>"Peace!"</p>

<p>"No, sir; I mean confusion, excitement, and so on. There's<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228"></a></span>
a word to signify it, but I can't speak it."</p>

<p>"Abject terrorism?"</p>

<p>"No&mdash;no. Its archany, or something of the kind."</p>

<p>"I guess you mean anarchy, don't you?"</p>

<p>"I do&mdash;I do! Bless me if I haven't been trying for a whole
hour to get that word! That's the very thing. When called out
I want to lead off with: 'Fellow citizens, the peace has flown,
and arnica reigns supreme!' I guess that will knock them."</p>

<p>"You don't mean arnica&mdash;you mean anarchy."</p>

<p>"That's what I mean, of course, but every time I think anarchy
I get it arnica, and I don't know but I will have to give up the
speech."</p>

<p>"Why don't you write it down?"</p>

<p>The man took up a pen and wrote: "A-r-k-a-n-y." Then he
said: "Peace has fled and arkany reigns in the land."</p>

<p>"I told you it was anarchy."</p>

<p>"That's so&mdash;that's so. This suspense is telling on my memory
like a fit of illness. Now, then, a-n-a-r-k-y, anarky, and don't
you forget it. You needn't say anything about my calling in
here."</p>

<p>"Oh, that's all right. Over seven-eighths of the best speakers
in town come to me for big words."</p>

<p>"Many thanks; and now, 'Fellow citizens, peace has fled far,
far away, and arkany reigns&mdash;&mdash;' Hold on, is that the right
word?"</p>

<p>He halted at the door to examine the slip of paper, and after
repeating the right word over several times he went on:</p>

<p>"A state of anchovy is upon us, and where will it end?"</p>

<p>As he walked up the street he was overheard to say:</p>

<p>"Arnica! Arnica! where will it end?"</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229"></a></span></p>


<h3>CARLOTTA MIA<br />
BY T. A. DALY</h3>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Giuseppe, da Barber, ees great for "mash,"<br /></span>
<span class="i3">He gotta da bigga, da blacka mustache,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Good clo'es an' good styla an' playnta good cash.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">W'enever Giuseppe ees walk on da street,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Da people dey talka "How nobby! How neat!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">How softa da handa, haw smalla da feet."<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">He raisa hees hat, an' he shaka hees curls,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">An' smila weeth teetha so shiny like pearls;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Oh, many da heart of da silly young girls<br /></span>
<span class="i15">He gotta,<br /></span>
<span class="i15">Yes playnta he gotta&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i15">But notta&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i15">Carlotta!<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Giuseppe, da Barber, he maka da eye,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">An' lika da steam-engine puffa an' sigh<br /></span>
<span class="i3">For catcha Carlotta w'en she ees go by.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Carlotta she walka weeth her nose in da air,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">An' look through Giuseppe weeth far-away stare,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">As eef she no see dere ees som'body dere.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Giuseppe, da Barber, he gotta da cash,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">He gotta da clo'es an' da bigga mustache,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">He gotta da silly young girls for da "mash."<br /></span>
<span class="i15">But notta&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i15">You bat my life, notta&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i15">Carlotta;<br /></span>
<span class="i15">I gotta!<br /></span>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230"></a></span>
</div></div>

<h3>THE VASSAR GIRL<br />
BY WALLACE IRWIN</h3>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">"Oh, Martha's back from Vassar,"<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Said farmer James McCassar:<br /></span>
<span class="i3">"O Martha, come into the house and mix a batch of bread."<br /></span>
<span class="i5">But Martha's accents fluttered<br /></span>
<span class="i5">As she murmured, as she stuttered,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">"I have studied the satanic<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Ways of bacilli organic,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And it throws me in a panic, pa, to mix a batch of bread."<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3"><i>Chorus</i><br /></span>
<span class="i3">At Vassar-oh, at Vassar-oh,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">That's what we learn at Vassar!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">We love our Alma Mater so<br /></span>
<span class="i5">We do not like to sass 'er.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">We have a superstition<br /></span>
<span class="i5">There's nothing like the damsel with the dear old Vassar V.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">"Oh, Martha's back from Vassar,"<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Said farmer James McCassar:<br /></span>
<span class="i3">"O Martha, go out to the barn and milk the brindle cow."<br /></span>
<span class="i5">But Martha cried: "Oh, bother!"<br /></span>
<span class="i5">As she faced her poor old father,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">"With golf I love to tussle<br /></span>
<span class="i5">And with basket-ball to hustle&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">But I haven't got the muscle to subdue the brindle cow."<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3"><i>Chorus</i><br /></span>
<span class="i3">At Vassar-oh, at Vassar-oh,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">That's what we learn at Vassar!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">We love our Alma Mater so<br /></span>
<span class="i5">We do not like to sass 'er.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">We have a superstition<br /></span>
<span class="i5">There's nothing like the damsel with the dear old Vassar V.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231"></a></span><span class="i3">"Oh, Martha's home from Vassar!"<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Cried the angry James McCassar:<br /></span>
<span class="i3">"O Martha, take yer study-books and don't come home no more!"<br /></span>
<span class="i5">So the maiden in contrition<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Got a typist-girl's position,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Wed a millionaire named Harris<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Who, lest poverty embarrass,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Made his wife a millionairess. And she's ne'er been heard of more.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3"><i>Chorus</i><br /></span>
<span class="i3">At Vassar-oh, at Vassar-oh,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">That's what we learn at Vassar!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">We love our Alma Mater so<br /></span>
<span class="i5">We do not like to sass 'er.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Learning's road is rough and stony;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">But for golden matrimony<br /></span>
<span class="i5">There's nothing like the maiden with the dear old Vassar V.<br /></span>
</div></div>

<p>From "Shame of the Colleges," Outing Publishing Co., by permission.
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232"></a></span></p>

<h3>A SHORT SERMON<br />
ANONYMOUS</h3>

<p>(<i>Delivered in usual singsong style of the conventional curate.</i>)
I am going to preach to you this morning, my friends, upon
the young man who was sick of the palsy. Now, this young man
was sick of the palsy. The palsy, as you are all aware, is a very
terrible disease, a wasting scourge. And this young man was
sick of the palsy. And the palsy, as you know, is strongly
hereditary. It had been in his family. His father had been sick
of the palsy, and his mother had been sick of the palsy, and they
had <i>all</i> of them, in fact, been sick of the palsy. And this young
man had been sick of the palsy. Yes, my dear friends, he had had
it for years and years, and&mdash;<i>he was sick of it</i>.</p>


<h3>A LANCASHIRE DIALECTIC SKETCH<br />
(Tummy and Meary)<br />
ANONYMOUS</h3>

<p>Tummy and Meary wor barn to be wed, tha knaws. And th'
neet afoor they were to be wed, Tummy he goes to Meary, and he
says, "Meary, lass," he says, "I'se noonan barn to wed tha."
"Oo isn't?" hoo says. "Nooa," says Tummy, "I isn't. I'se
chaanged my mind." "Why, tha greeat thiek-heead," hoo says,
"tha's allus a-chaangin' thy mind." "Ah, weel," say Tummy,
"I <i>ha'</i> chaanged my mind, and that's enough for <i>thee</i>." Weel,
tha knaws Meary didn't want for to loose Tummy, for she didn't
knaw where she'd pick up another as good. Soa she tried all
sooarts of waays for keepin' him on. First hood tried carneyin'
an' cooaxin' of him, and when she found as cooaxin' weren't o'
noa use hoo tried bully-raggin' him, and when she found as bully-raggin'
weren't o' noa use, she tried <i>stratagem</i>&mdash;and that's a
woman's last resource!</p>

<p>"Tummy," hoo says, "tho tha's a' love for me, I still ha' a
gradely liking for thee, lad. And, tha sees, if tha gies me up,
folks'll lay a' blame upo' thee. Noo, I'll tell tha what tha mun
do. Tha mun gooa to th' church wi' me i' th' mornin', and when
the parson says to thee, 'Wilt tha ha' Meary for to be thy wedded
wife?' tha mun say, 'Yes, I will.' And when th' parson says to
me, 'Meary, lass, will tha ha' Tummy for to be thy <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233"></a></span>wedded husband?'
I'll say, 'Noa, I weean't.' And then tha'll get off scot-free,
tha seeas, and th' folk'll lay a' th' blame upo' me." Weel, Tummy,
he were a coward at heart, and he didn't want Meary for to gooa
aboot sayin' nasty things aboot him, and so he went&mdash;<i>poor lad!</i>
And when they'd getten to' th' church i' th' mornin', parson he
says to Tummy, "Tummy," he says, "wilt thou have Meary for
to be thy wedded wife?" And Tummy, he speaks oot bold-like,
"Aw! Ah will!" And soona then th' parson he turns to Meary,
and he says, "Meary, lass, wilt thou have Tummy for to be thy
wedded husband?" And Meary shoo up and shoo says, "Aw!
Ah will!" Tummy says, "Nay, nay; that winnot dew. Tha was
to say as tha wouldn't." "Aye, but," says Meary, "there's others
can chaange their minds, Tummy, as weel as thee!" Sooa hoo
gat him!</p>


<h3>HIS BLACKSTONIAN CIRCUMLOCUTION<br />
ANONYMOUS</h3>

<p>"I received, this afternoon," said the bright-eyed, common-sense
girl, the while a slight blush of maidenly coyness tinted her peach-hued
cheeks, "a written proposal of marriage from Horace J.
Pokelong, the rising young attorney, and&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Huh! that petrified dub!" jealously ejaculated the young dry-goods
dealer, who had been hanging back because of his timidity
and excessive adoration.</p>

<p>"He says," proceeded the maiden, gently ignoring the interruption,
and reading aloud from the interesting document, "'I have
carefully and comprehensively analyzed my feelings toward you,
and the result is substantially as follows, to wit: I respect, admire,
adore and love you, and hereby give, grant and convey to
you my heart and all my interest, right and title in and to the
same, together with all my possessions and emoluments, either
won, inherited or in any other manner acquired, gained, anticipated
or expected, with full and complete power to use, expend,
utilize, give away, bestow or otherwise make use of the same,
anything heretofore stated, exprest, implied or understood, in or
by my previous condition, standing, walk, attitude or <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234"></a></span>actions, to
the contrary notwithstanding; and I furthermore&mdash;&mdash;'"</p>

<p>"I&mdash;I&mdash;&mdash;!" fairly shouted the listener, springing to his feet,
and extending his arms. "Miss Brisk&mdash;Maud&mdash;I love you! Will
you marry me?"</p>

<p>"Yes, I will!" promptly answered the lass, as she contentedly
snuggled up in his encircling embrace. "And I'll reply to the
ponderous appeal of that pedantic procrastinator with the one
expressive slangism, 'Twenty-three!' I am yours, Clarence!"</p>


<h3>KATRINA LIKES ME POODY VELL<br />
ANONYMOUS</h3>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Somedimes ven I'm a-feeling bad,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Cause dings dey don'd go righd,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">I gid so kinder awful sick,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Und lose my abbedide.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Und ven I go me to der house,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Und by dot daple sit,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Dot widdles makes me feel gwide bale,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Und I don'd kin ead a bit.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">My head dot shbind arount unt rount,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Und my eyes dem look so vild,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Dot of my mudder she was dere,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">She voodn't know her shild.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Dot is der dime Katrina comes,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Und nice vords she does dell,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Mit her heart a-busding oud mit loaf,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">For she likes me poody vell.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">She gifes me efery kind of dings<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Dot she dinks will done me goot;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">She cooks me shblendid sassage mead,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Und oder kinds of foot;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">She ties vet rags arount my head<br /></span>
<span class="i5">When dot begins to shvell,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Und soaks my feet mit Brandred's bills,<br /></span>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235"></a></span><span class="i5">For she likes me poody vell.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">She sings me nice und poody songs,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Mit a woice dot's shweed und glear,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Und says, "Dot of I vas to die<br /></span>
<span class="i5">She voodn't leef a year."<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Of dot aind so, or if id is,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">I don'd vas going to dell;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">But dis much I am villing to shwore&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i5">She likes me poody vell.<br /></span>
</div></div>


<h3>AT THE RESTAURANT<br />
ANONYMOUS</h3>

<p><i>Waiter</i>&mdash;"Well, ladies, what will it be?"</p>

<p><i>Mrs. Etamine</i>&mdash;"I don't know what you girls are going to take,
but I can't eat a thing&mdash;unless it's ice-cream."</p>

<p><i>Miss De Beige</i>&mdash;"I'm sure I don't want anything except cream.
I never <i>can</i> eat in this hot weather."</p>

<p><i>Miss Satine</i>&mdash;"I'd like some ice-cream, if they've got any <i>real</i>
pistache."</p>

<p><i>Miss Foulard</i>&mdash;"Oh, I wouldn't trust them to give me pistache
<i>here</i>! I don't believe they know what pistache is. I'm going to
take chocolate."</p>

<p><i>Mrs. E.</i>&mdash;"I'd take chocolate, too, only it's so heavy all by itself."</p>

<p><i>Miss De B.</i>&mdash;"Why don't you take it with strawberry?"</p>

<p><i>Mrs. E.</i>&mdash;"Oh, I don't think strawberry and chocolate go well
together! The contrast is too striking, don't you think?"</p>

<p><i>Miss De B.</i>&mdash;"Well, perhaps it <i>is</i> a little&mdash;loud."</p>

<p><i>Miss F.</i>&mdash;"Lemon and chocolate are awfully nice."</p>

<p><i>Miss S.</i>&mdash;"But there's something about pistache, don't you
know, so delicate."</p>

<p><i>Miss F.</i>&mdash;"I'm sure lemon is delicate. You can't taste any
flavor at all, the way they make it at most places."</p>

<p><i>Miss S.</i>&mdash;"But pistache is so <i>refined</i>, don't you know."</p>

<p><i>Mrs. E.</i>&mdash;"Dear me, here's this man standing by waiting&mdash;it's
perfectly horrid to have him looming over us like a ghost or
something. Do let's give our orders and get him away!"</p>

<p><i>Miss De B.</i>&mdash;"Well, what are you going to order?"</p>

<p><i>Mrs. E.</i>&mdash;"Why, I told you&mdash;chocolate and lemon."</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236"></a></span></p>

<p><i>Miss F.</i>&mdash;"No; that was what I ordered, wasn't it?"</p>

<p><i>Mrs. E.</i>&mdash;"Why, so it was! Chocolate and strawberry I meant.
Some people think that's too heavy&mdash;too cloying, you know&mdash;but
I think it's about as good as anything."</p>

<p><i>Miss De B.</i>&mdash;"Well, I think I'll take that, too. I don't know,
tho. Lemon is awfully good. I know a lady up in the Catskills&mdash;she
had the loveliest little boy, just six years old, with curly hair
that hung ever so far down his back, and he used to come to
me every morning and ask for candy in the prettiest way&mdash;just
like a little dog, and he learned it all himself&mdash;his mother told me
nobody taught him&mdash;tho I've always believed that that child never
<i>could</i> have originated the idea all by himself&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p><i>Mrs. E.</i>&mdash;"Excuse me, Clara, but the man is waiting."</p>

<p><i>Miss De B.</i>&mdash;"As I was <i>saying</i>, she was poisoned by eating lemon
ice-cream; but I believe they found out afterward that some one
put the rat-poison in the freezer by mistake&mdash;I beg your pardon,
Mrs. Etamine; I didn't know you were speaking&mdash;oh, yes&mdash;strawberry
ice-cream, waiter, and a fork, if you please&mdash;don't bring me
a spoon&mdash;I don't want it."</p>

<p><i>Miss S.</i>&mdash;"Well, if I can't have pistache&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p><i>Miss F.</i>&mdash;"You can't&mdash;I'm sure they haven't got it here. I'll
take&mdash;let me see&mdash;some chocolate, I guess. Is your chocolate
good, waiter?"</p>

<p><i>Miss S.</i>&mdash;"Oh, it's sure to be good&mdash;they never give you bad
chocolate. Well, I <i>did</i> want pistache; but I think I'll take lemon.
Some lemon ice-cream, waiter&mdash;lemon flavor&mdash;and don't bring it
in half melted."</p>

<p><i>Mrs. E.</i> (<i>impressively</i>)&mdash;"Some chocolate and strawberry ice-cream,
waiter, mixed. And a spoon. Do you understand me,
waiter? A spoon. <i>Not</i> a fork."</p>

<p><i>Miss F.</i>&mdash;"Chocolate ice-cream&mdash;don't forget!"</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237"></a></span></p>

<p><i>Miss S.</i>&mdash;"Lemon ice-cream!"</p>

<p><i>Miss De B.</i>&mdash;"Strawberry&mdash;and a fork!"</p>

<p><i>Mrs. E.</i>&mdash;"Chocolate and strawberry&mdash;spoon, of course, waiter.
I suppose you know <i>that</i>."</p>

<p><i>Waiter</i>&mdash;"Ice-cream? Yes, ma'am. We ain't got nothin' only
verniller, ma'am. Yaas'm&mdash;all out of everythin' only verniller.
What'll it be, ladies?"</p>

<p>By permission of <i>Puck</i>. New York</p>


<h3>A-FEARED OF A GAL<br />
ANONYMOUS</h3>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Oh, darn it all! a-feared of her,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">And such a mite of a gal;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Why, two of her size rolled into one<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Won't ditto Sister Sal!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Her voice is sweet as the whippoorwill's,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">And the sunshine's in her hair;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">But I'd rather face a redskin's knife,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Or the grip of a grizzly bear.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Yet Sal says: "Why, she's such a dear,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">She's just the one for you."<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Oh, darn it all! a-feared of a gal,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">And me just six feet two!<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Tho she ain't any size, while I'm<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Considerable tall,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">I'm nowhere when she speaks to me,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">She makes me feel so small.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">My face grows red, my tongue gets hitched,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">The plagued thing won't go;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">It riles me, 'cause it makes her think<br /></span>
<span class="i5">I'm most tarnation slow.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And tho folks say she's sweet on me,<br /></span>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238"></a></span><span class="i5">I guess it can't be true.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Oh, darn it all! a-feared of a gal,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">And me just six feet two!<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">My sakes! just s'pose if what the folks<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Is saying should be so!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Go, Cousin Jane, and speak to her,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Find out and let me know;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Tell her the gals should court the men,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">For isn't this leap-year?<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">That's why I'm kind of bashful like,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">A-waiting for her here.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And should she hear I'm scared of her,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">You'll swear it can't be true.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Oh, darn it all, a-feared of a gal,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">And me just six feet two!<br /></span>
</div></div>


<h3>LEAVING OUT THE JOKE<br />
ANONYMOUS</h3>

<p>Some people are bright enough to enjoy a good joke, but do
not have retentive memories, so as to be able to repeat it to others.
Failures of this kind are sometimes very ludicrous. We give
some good specimens.</p>

<p>The most famous of this class was the college professor, who,
on parting with a student that had called on him, noticed that
he had a new coat, and remarked that it was too short.</p>

<p>The student, with an air of resignation, replied: "It will be
long enough before I get another."</p>

<p>The professor enjoyed the joke heartily, and going to a meeting
of the college faculty just afterward, he entered the room in
great glee and said:</p>

<p>"Young Sharp got off such a joke just now. He called on me
a little while ago, and as he was leaving, I noticed his new coat,
and told him it was too short, and he said: "It will be a long time
before I get another."</p>

<p>No one laughed, and the professor sobering down, remarked:
"It doesn't seem so funny as when he said it."</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239"></a></span></p>

<p>A red-haired woman who was ambitious of literary distinction
found but poor sale for her book. A gentleman, in speaking of
her disappointment, said: "Her hair is red (read) if her book is
not." An auditor, in attempting to relate the joke elsewhere, said:
"She has red hair if her book hasn't."</p>

<p>The most unfortunate attempt at reproducing another's wit
was made by an Englishman who didn't understand the pun, but
judged from the applause with which it was greeted that it must
be excellent. During a dinner at which he was a guest a waiter
let a boiled tongue slip off the plate on which he was bearing it,
and it fell on the table.</p>

<p>The host at once apologized for the mishap as a <i>lapsus linguæ</i>
(slip of the tongue). The joke was the best thing at the
dinner, and our friend concluded to bring it up at his own table.</p>

<p>He accordingly invited his company and instructed his servant
to let fall a roast of beef as he was bringing it to the table.</p>

<p>When the "accident" occurred, he exclaimed: "That's a <i>lapsus
linguæ</i>."</p>

<p>Nobody laughed, and he said again, "I say that's a <i>lapsus linguæ</i>,"
and still no one laughed.</p>

<p>A screw was loose somewhere; so he told about the tongue falling,
and they did laugh.</p>

<p>"Why is this," said a waiter, holding up a common kitchen
utensil, "more remarkable than Napoleon Bonaparte? Because
Napoleon was a great man, but this is a grater." When the funny
man reproduced it in his circle, he asked the question right, but
answered it, "Because Napoleon was a great man, but this is a
nutmeg-grater."</p>


<h3>THE CYCLOPEEDY<br />
BY EUGENE FIELD</h3>

<p>Havin' lived next door to the Hobart place f'r goin' on thirty
years, I calc'late that I know jest about ez much about the case
ez anybody else now on airth, exceptin' perhaps it's ol' Jedge
Baker, and he's so plaguey old 'nd so powerful feeble that <i>he</i>
don't know nothin'.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240"></a></span></p>

<p>It seems that in the spring uv '47&mdash;the year that Cy Watson's
oldest boy wuz drownded in West River&mdash;there come along a book
agent sellin' volyumes 'nd tracks f'r the diffusion uv knowledge,
'nd havin' got the recommend of the minister 'nd uv the select-men,
he done an all-fired big business in our part uv the county.
His name wuz Lemuel Higgins, 'nd he wuz ez likely a talker ez
I ever heerd, barrin' Lawyer Conkey, 'nd everybody allowed that
when Conkey wuz round he talked so fast that the town pump
ud have to be greased every twenty minutes.</p>

<p>One of the first uv our folks that this Lemuel Higgins struck
wuz Leander Hobart. Leander had jest marr'd one uv the Peasley
girls, 'nd had moved into the old homestead on the Plainville road,&mdash;old
Deacon Hobart havin' give up the place to him, the other
boys havin' moved out West (like a lot o' darned fools that they
wuz!). Leander wuz feelin' his oats jest about this time, 'nd
nuthin' wuz too good f'r him.</p>

<p>"Hattie," sez he, "I guess I'll have to lay in a few books f'r
readin' in the winter time, 'nd I've half a notion to subscribe f'r
a cyclopeedy. Mr. Higgins here says they're invalerable in a
family, and that we orter have 'em, bein' as how we're likely to
have the fam'ly bime by."</p>

<p>"Lor's sakes, Leander, how you talk!" sez Hattie, blushin' all
over, ez brides allers does to heern tell uv sich things.</p>

<p>Waal, to make a long story short, Leander bargained with Mr.
Higgins for a set uv them cyclopeedies, 'nd he signed his name
to a long printed paper that showed how he agreed to take a
cyclopeedy oncet in so often, which wuz to be ez often ez a new
one uv the volyumes wuz printed. A cyclopeedy isn't printed all
at oncet, because that would make it cost too much; consekently
the man that gets it up has it strung along fur apart, so as to
hit folks once every year or two, and gin'rally about harvest
time. So Leander kind uv liked the idee, and he signed the
printed paper 'nd made his affidavit to it afore Jedge Warner.</p>

<p>The fust volyume of the cyclopeedy stood on a shelf in the old
seckertary in the settin'-room about four months before they had
any use f'r it. One night 'Squire Tuner's son come over to visit
Leander 'nd Hattie, and they got to talkin' about apples, 'nd
the sort uv apples that wuz the best. Leander allowed that the
Rhode<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241"></a></span> Island greenin' wuz the best, but Hattie and the Turner
boy stuck up f'r the Roxbury russet, until at last a happy idee
struck Leander, and sez he: "We'll leave it to the cyclopeedy,
b'gosh! Whichever one the cyclopeedy sez is the best will settle
it."</p>

<p>"But you can't find out nothin' 'bout Roxbury russets nor
Rhode Island greenin's in <i>our</i> cyclopeedy," sez Hattie.</p>

<p>"Why not, I'd like to know?" sez Leander, kind uv indignant
like.</p>

<p>"'Cause ours hain't got down to the R yet," sez Hattie. "All
ours tells about is things beginnin' with A."</p>

<p>"Well, ain't we talkin' about Apples!" sez Leander. "You
aggervate me terrible, Hattie, by insistin' on knowin' what you
don't know nothin' 'bout."</p>

<p>Leander went to the seckertary 'nd took down the cyclopeedy
'nd hunted all through it f'r Apples, but all he could find wuz
"Apple&mdash;See Pomology."</p>

<p>"How in the thunder kin I see Pomology," sez Leander, "when
there ain't no Pomology to see? Gol durn a cyclopeedy, anyhow!"</p>

<p>And he put the volyume back onto the shelf 'nd never sot eyes
into it agin.</p>

<p>That's the way the thing run f'r years 'nd years. Leander
would've gin up the plaguey bargain, but he couldn't; he had
signed a printed paper 'nd had swore to it before a justice of the
peace. Higgins would have had the law on him if he had throwed
up the trade.</p>

<p>The most aggervatin' feature uv it all wuz that a new one uv
them cussid cyclopeedies wuz allus sure to show up at the wrong
time,&mdash;when Leander wuz hard up or had jest been afflicted some
way or other. His barn burnt down two nights afore the volyume
containin' the letter B arrived, and Leander needed all his chink
to pay f'r lumber, but Higgins sot back on that affidavit and defied
the life out uv him.</p>

<p>"Never mind, Leander," sez his wife, soothin' like, "it's a good
book to have in the house, anyhow, now that we've got a baby."</p>

<p>"That's so," sez Leander, "babies does begin with B, don't it?"</p>

<p>You see their fust baby had been born; they named him Peasley,&mdash;Peasley
Hobart,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242"></a></span>&mdash;after Hattie's folks. So, seein' as how
he wuz payin' f'r a book that told about babies, Leander didn't
begredge that five dollars so very much after all.</p>

<p>"Leander," sez Hattie, "that B cyclopeedy ain't no account.
There ain't nothin' in it about babies except 'See Maternity'!"</p>

<p>"Waal, I'll be gosh durned!" sez Leander. That wuz all he
said, and he couldn't do nothin' at all, f'r that book agent, Lemuel
Higgins, had the dead-wood on him,&mdash;the mean, sneakin'
critter!</p>

<p>So the years passed on, one of the cyclopeedies showin' up
now 'nd then,&mdash;sometimes every two years 'nd sometimes every
four, but allus at a time when Leander found it pesky hard to
give up a fiver. It warn't no use cussin' Higgins; Higgins jest
laffed when Leander allowed that the cyclopeedy wuz no good 'nd
that he wuz bein' robbed. Meantime Leander's family wuz increasin'
and growin'. Little Sarey had the hoopin'-cough dreadful
one winter, but the cyclopeedy didn't help out at all, 'cause
all it said wuz: "Hoopin' Cough&mdash;See Whoopin' Cough"&mdash;and
uv course, there warn't no Whoopin' Cough to see, bein' as how
the W hadn't come yet.</p>

<p>Oncet when Hiram wanted to dreen the home pasture, he went
to the cyclopeedy to find out about it, but all he diskivered wuz:
"Drain&mdash;See Tile." This wuz in 1859, and the cyclopeedy had
only got down to G.</p>

<p>The cow wuz sick with lung fever one spell, and Leander laid
her dyin' to that cussid cyclopeedy, 'cause when he went to readin'
'bout cows it told him to "See Zoology."</p>

<p>But what's the use uv harrowin' up one's feelin's talkin' 'nd
thinkin' about these things? Leander got so after a while that
the cyclopeedy didn't worry him at all: he grew to look at it ez
one uv the crosses that human critters has to bear without complainin'
through this vale uv tears. The only thing that bothered
him wuz the fear that mebbe he wouldn't live to see the last
volyume,&mdash;to tell the truth, this kind uv got to be his hobby, and
I've heern him talk 'bout it many a time settin' round the stove
at the tavern 'nd squirtin' tobacco juice at the sawdust box. His
wife, Hattie, passed away with the yaller janders the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243"></a></span>winter W
come, and all that seemed to reconcile Leander to survivin' her
wuz the prospect uv seein' the last volyume uv that cyclopeedy.
Lemuel Higgins, the book agent, had gone to his everlastin' punishment;
but his son, Hiram, had succeeded to his father's business
'nd continued to visit the folks his old man had roped in.
By this time Leander's children had growed up; all on 'em wuz
marr'd, and there wuz numeris grandchildren to amuse the ol'
gentleman. But Leander wuzn't to be satisfied with the common
things uv airth; he didn't seem to take no pleasure in his grandchildren
like most men do; his mind wuz allers sot on somethin'
else,&mdash;for hours 'nd hours, yes, all day long, he'd set out on the
front stoop lookin' wistfully up the road for that book agent to
come along with a cyclopeedy. He didn't want to die till he'd
got all the cyclopeedies his contract called for; he wanted to have
everything straightened out before he passed away.</p>

<p>When&mdash;oh, how well I recollect it&mdash;when Y come along he wuz
so overcome that he fell over in a fit uv paralysis, 'nd the old
gentleman never got over it. For the next three years he drooped
'nd pined and seemed like he couldn't hold out much longer. Finally
he had to take to his bed,&mdash;he was so old 'nd feeble,&mdash;but he
made 'em move the bed up ag'inst the window so he could watch
for that last volyume of the cyclopeedy.</p>

<p>The end come one balmy day in the spring uv '87. His life wuz
a-ebbin' powerful fast; the minister wuz there, 'nd me, 'nd Dock
Wilson, 'nd Jedge Baker, 'nd most uv the fam'ly. Lovin' hands
smoothed the wrinkled forehead 'nd breshed back the long, scant,
white hair, but the eyes of the dyin' man wuz sot upon that piece
uv road over which the cyclopeedy man allus come.</p>

<p>All to oncet a bright 'nd joyful look come into them eyes, 'nd
ol' Leander riz up in bed 'nd sez: "It's come!"</p>

<p>"What is it, father?" asked his daughter Sarey, sobbin' like.</p>

<p>"Hush," sez the minister, solemnly; "he sees the shinin' gates
uv the Noo Jerusalem."</p>

<p>"No, no," cried the aged man; "it is the cyclopeedy&mdash;the letter
Z&mdash;it's comin'!"</p>

<p>And, sure enough! the door opened, and in walked Higgins.
He tottered rather than walked, f'r he had growed old 'nd feeble
in his wicked perfession.</p>

<p>"Here's the Z cyclopeedy, Mr. Hobart," says Higgins.</p>

<p>Leander clutched it; he hugged it to his pantin' bosom; then
stealin' one pale hand under the pillar he drew out a faded banknote
'nd gave it to Higgins.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244"></a></span></p>
<p>"I thank Thee for this boon," sez Leander, rollin' his eyes up
devoutly; then he gave a deep sigh.</p>

<p>"Hold on," cried Higgins, excitedly, "you've made a mistake&mdash;it
isn't the last&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>But Leander didn't hear him&mdash;his soul hed fled from its mortal
tenement 'nd hed soared rejoicin' to realms uv everlastin' bliss.</p>

<p>"He is no more," sez Dock Wilson, metaphorically.</p>

<p>"Then who are his heirs?" asked that mean critter Higgins.</p>

<p>"We be," sez the fam'ly.</p>

<p>"Do you conjointly and severally acknowledge and assume the
obligation of deceased to me?" he asked 'em.</p>

<p>"What obligation?" asked Peasley Hobart, stern like.</p>

<p>"Deceased died owin' me f'r a cyclopeedy!" sez Higgins.</p>

<p>"That's a lie!" sez Peasley. "We seen him pay you for the Z!"</p>

<p>"But there's another one to come," sez Higgins.</p>

<p>"Another?" they all asked.</p>

<p>"Yes, the index," sez he. So there wuz.</p>

<p>Reprinted by permission of the author.</p>


<h3>ECHO<br />
BY JOHN G. SAXE</h3>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">I asked of Echo, t'other day<br /></span>
<span class="i5">(Whose words are often few and funny),<br /></span>
<span class="i3">What to a novice she could say<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Of courtship, love, and matrimony.<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Quoth Echo plainly,&mdash;"Matter-o'-money!"<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Whom should I marry? Should it be<br /></span>
<span class="i5">A dashing damsel, gay and pert,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">A pattern of inconstancy;<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Or selfish, mercenary flirt?<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Quoth Echo, sharply,&mdash;"Nary flirt!"<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">What if, aweary of the strife<br /></span>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245"></a></span><span class="i5">That long has lured the dear deceiver,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">She promise to amend her life,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">And sin no more; can I believe her?<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Quoth Echo, very promptly,&mdash;"Leave her!"<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">But if some maiden with a heart<br /></span>
<span class="i5">On me should venture to bestow it,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Pray, should I act the wiser part<br /></span>
<span class="i5">To take the treasure or forego it?<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Quoth Echo, with decision,&mdash;"Go it!"<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">But what if, seemingly afraid<br /></span>
<span class="i5">To bind her fate in Hymen's fetter,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">She vow she means to die a maid,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">In answer to my loving letter?<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Quoth Echo, rather coolly,&mdash;"Let her!"<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">What if, in spite of her disdain<br /></span>
<span class="i5">I find my heart entwined about<br /></span>
<span class="i3">With Cupid's dear delicious chain<br /></span>
<span class="i5">So closely that I can't get out?<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Quoth Echo, laughingly,&mdash;"Get out!"<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">But if some maid with beauty blest,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">As pure and fair as Heaven can make her,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Will share my labor and my rest<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Till envious Death shall overtake her?<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Quoth Echo (sotto voce),&mdash;"Take her!"<br /></span>
</div></div>

<p>Reprinted by permission of Houghton, Mifflin &amp; Company.
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246"></a></span></p>

<h3>OUR RAILROADS<br />
ANONYMOUS</h3>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">He stood in the station, she at his side&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">She is a fair, young, blushing bride.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">On their honeymoon they're starting now;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">It always follows the marriage vow.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">He looks at the flaring railroad maps,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">At the train of cars and his baggage traps,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And whispered: "Pettie, how shall we go,&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">By the Kankakee or the Kokomo?<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">"These railroad maps confuse the eye,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">There's the C. B. Q. and the R. N. Y.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And this one says your life's at stake<br /></span>
<span class="i3">On any road but the Sky Blue Lake.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">The N. E. R. L. P. Q. J.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Have sleepers on the entire way;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">But I've heard these trains are much more slow<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Than the Kankakee or the Kokomo."<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">She murmured: "Sweetie, I've heard pa say<br /></span>
<span class="i3">What a fine old road is the P. G. K.;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">But mamma seemed to disagree,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And prefers the X. S. H. O. P.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">This chart says, dearie, the views are fine<br /></span>
<span class="i3">On the Texas-Cowboy-Mustang line;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">But still, perhaps, we'd better go<br /></span>
<span class="i3">On the Kankakee or the Kokomo."<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">A conductor chanced to pass them by<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And the bridegroom caught his gentle eye;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">He said: "O man, with the cap of blue,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Inform me quick, inform me true,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Which road is best for a blushing, pure,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Young, timid bride on her wedding tour?<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And tell us quickly what you know<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Of the Kankakee or the Kokomo?"<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">The conductor's eyes gave a savage gleam;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">These words rolled out in a limpid stream:<br /></span>
<span class="i3">"There's the A. B. J. D. V. R. Z.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Connects with the Flip-Flap-Biff-Bang-B,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">You can change on the Leg-off-Sueville-Grand,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And go through on the Pan-cake-ace-Full-Hand.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">That road you named is blocked by snow,<br /></span>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247"></a></span><span class="i3">The Kankakee and the Kokomo.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">"The Pennsylvania, Pittsburg Through,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Connects with the Oshkosh Kalamazoo,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">With a smoking car all the afternoon;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Just the thing for a honeymoon;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And the Central-Scalp-Tooth-Bungville-switch<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Goes through a vine-land country rich.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Of the road you named I nothing know,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">The Kankakee and the Kokomo."<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">The bride said: "Honey, 'tis best, by far,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Like the dollar, we return to pa<br /></span>
<span class="i3">(That's a pun I heard while on a train<br /></span>
<span class="i3">On the U. R. N. G. Jersey main)."<br /></span>
<span class="i3">The conductor smiled; his eye-teeth showed;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">He had spoiled the trade of a rival road.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">He knew in his heart there was no snow<br /></span>
<span class="i3">On the Kankakee or the Kokomo.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">And the bride and groom returned to pa,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Who heard it all and then said: "Pshaw!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">If you found you couldn't go that way,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Why didn't you go on the Cross-eyed Bay?"<br /></span>
<span class="i3">The bridegroom gave a howl of pain;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">The railroad names had turned his brain.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">He raves, insane, forevermore;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">In a madhouse, chained unto the floor,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">He gibbers: "Tootsie, shall we go<br /></span>
<span class="i3">By the Kankakee or the Kokomo?"<br /></span>
</div></div>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248"></a></span></p>

<h3>WAKIN' THE YOUNG 'UNS<br />
(The old man from the foot of the stairs&mdash;5 a. m.)<br />
BY JOHN C. BOSS</h3>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Bee-ull! Bee-ull! O Bee-ull! my gracious,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Air you still sleepin'?<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Th' hour-hand's creepin'<br /></span>
<span class="i7">Nearder five.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">(Wal, durned ef this 'ere ain't vexatious!)<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Don't ye hyar them cattle callin'?<br /></span>
<span class="i5">An' th' ole red steer a-bawlin'?<br /></span>
<span class="i7">Come, look alive!<br /></span>
<span class="i9">Git up! Git up!<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Mar'ann! Mar'ann! (Jist hyar her snorin'!),<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Mar'ann! it's behoovin'<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Thet you be a-moovin'!<br /></span>
<span class="i7">Brisk, I say!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Hyar the kitchen stove a-roarin'?<br /></span>
<span class="i5">The kittle's a-spilin'<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Ter git hisse'f bilin'.<br /></span>
<span class="i7">It's comin' day.<br /></span>
<span class="i9">Git up! Git up!<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Jule! O Jule! Now whut is ailin'?<br /></span>
<span class="i5">You want ter rest?<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Wal' I'll be blest!<br /></span>
<span class="i7">S'pose them cows<br /></span>
<span class="i3">'Ll give down milk 'ithout you pailin'?<br /></span>
<span class="i5">You mus' be goin crazy;<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Er' more like, gittin' lazy.<br /></span>
<span class="i7">Come, now, rouse.<br /></span>
<span class="i9">Git up! Git up!<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Jake, you lazy varmint! Jake! Hey Jake!<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Whut you layin' theer fur?<br /></span>
<span class="i5">You know the stock's ter keer fur;<br /></span>
<span class="i7">So, hop out!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">(Thet boy is wusser'n a rock ter wake!)<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Don't stop to shiver,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">But jist unkiver,<br /></span>
<span class="i7">An' pop out!<br /></span>
<span class="i9">Git up! Git up!<br /></span>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249"></a></span></div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Young 'uns! Bee-ull! Jake! Mar'ann! Jule!<br /></span>
<span class="i5">(Wal' durn my orn'ry skin!<br /></span>
<span class="i5">They've gone ter sleep agin,<br /></span>
<span class="i7">Fur all my tellin'!)<br /></span>
<span class="i3">See hyar, I hain't no time ter fool!<br /></span>
<span class="i5">It's the las' warnin'<br /></span>
<span class="i5">I'll give this mornin'.<br /></span>
<span class="i7">I'm done yellin'!<br /></span>
<span class="i9">Git up! Git up!<br /></span>
</div></div>

<p><i>Solus</i></p>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Wal, whut's th' odds&mdash;an hour, more or less?<br /></span>
<span class="i5">B'lieve it makes 'em stronger<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Ter sleep a leetle longer<br /></span>
<span class="i7">Thar in bed.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">The time is comin' fas' enough, I guess,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">When I'll wish, an' wish 'ith weepin'<br /></span>
<span class="i5">They was back up yender sleepin',<br /></span>
<span class="i7">Overhead,<br /></span>
<span class="i9">Ter git up.<br /></span>
</div></div>


<h3>PAT'S REASON<br />
ANONYMOUS</h3>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">One day I observed in a crowded horse-car,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">A lady was standing. She had ridden quite far,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And seemed much disposed to indulge in a frown,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">As nobody offered to let her sit down.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And many there sat who, to judge by their dress,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Might a gentleman's natural instincts possess,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">But who, judged by their acts, make us firmly believe<br /></span>
<span class="i3">That appearances often will sadly deceive.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">There were some most intently devouring the news,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And some thro' the windows enjoying the views;<br /></span>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250"></a></span><span class="i3">And others indulged in a make-believe nap,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">While the lady still stood holding on by the strap.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">At last a young Irishman, fresh from the "sod,"<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Arose with a smile and most comical nod,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Which said quite as plain as in words could be stated<br /></span>
<span class="i3">That the lady should sit in the place he'd vacated.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">"Excuse me," said Pat, "that I caused you to wait<br /></span>
<span class="i3">So long before offerin' to give you a sate,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">But in troth I was only just waitin' to see<br /></span>
<span class="i3">If there wasn't more gintlemin here beside me."<br /></span>
</div></div>


<h3>QUIT YOUR FOOLIN'<br />
ANONYMOUS</h3>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Girls is queer! I used to think<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Emmy didn't care for me,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">For, whenever I would try<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Any lovin' arts, to see<br /></span>
<span class="i3">How she'd take 'em&mdash;sweet or sour&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Always saucy-like says she:<br /></span>
<span class="i7">"Quit your foolin'!"<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Once a-goin' home from church,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Jest to find if it would work,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Round her waist I slipt my arm&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i5">My! you'd ought 'o seen her jerk,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Spunky? well, she acted so&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i5">And she snapt me up as perk&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i7">"Quit your foolin'!"<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Every time 'twas just the same,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Till one night I says, says I&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Chokin' some I must admit,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Tremblin' some I don't deny&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">"Emmy, seein' as I don't suit,<br /></span>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251"></a></span><span class="i5">Guess I'd better say good-by<br /></span>
<span class="i7">An' quit foolin'."<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Girls is queer! She only laughed&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Cheeks all dimplin'; "John," says she,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">"Foolin' men that never gits<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Real in earnest, ain't for me."<br /></span>
<span class="i3">"Wan't that cute? I took the hint,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">An' a chair, an' staid, an' we<br /></span>
<span class="i7">Quit our foolin'.<br /></span>
</div></div>


<h3>SHE WOULD BE A MASON<br />
BY JAMES L. LAUGHTON</h3>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">The funniest thing I ever heard,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">The funniest thing that ever occurred,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Is the story of Mrs. Mehitable Byrde,<br /></span>
<span class="i7">Who wanted to be a Mason.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Her husband, Tom Byrde, a Mason true&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">As good a Mason as any of you;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">He is tyler of Lodge Cerulean Blue,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And tyles and delivers the summons due&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And she wanted to be a Mason, too,<br /></span>
<span class="i7">This ridiculous Mrs. Byrde.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">She followed round, this inquisitive wife,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And nagged him and teased him half out of his life;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">So to terminate this unhallowed strife,<br /></span>
<span class="i7">He consented at last to admit her.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And first, to disguise her from bonnet and shoon,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">This ridiculous lady agreed to put on<br /></span>
<span class="i3">His breech&mdash;ah! forgive me&mdash;I meant pantaloons;<br /></span>
<span class="i7">And miraculously did they fit her.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252"></a></span><span class="i3">The lodge was at work on the Master's degree,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">The light was ablaze on the letter C;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">High soared the pillars J and B.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">The officers sat like Solomon, wise;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">The brimstone burned amid horrible cries;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">The goat roamed wildly through the room;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">The candidate begged to let him go home;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And the devil himself stood up at the east,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">As broad as an alderman at a feast,<br /></span>
<span class="i7">When in came Mrs. Byrde.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">O horrible sounds! O horrible sight!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Can it be that Masons take delight<br /></span>
<span class="i3">In spending thus the hours of night?<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Ah! could their wives and daughters know<br /></span>
<span class="i3">The unutterable things they say and do,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Their feminine hearts would burst with wo!<br /></span>
<span class="i7">But this is not all my story.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Those Masons joined in a hideous ring,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">The candidate howling like everything,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And thus in tones of death they sing<br /></span>
<span class="i7">(The candidate's name was Morey):<br /></span>
<span class="i3">"Double, double, toil and trouble,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Fire burn and cauldron bubble;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Blood to drink and bones to crack,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Skulls to smash and lives to take,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Hearts to crush and souls to burn;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Give old Morey another turn!"<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">The brimstone gleamed in lurid flame,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Just like a place we will not name;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Good angels, that inquiring came<br /></span>
<span class="i3">From blissful courts, looked on with shame<br /></span>
<span class="i7">And tearful melancholy.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Again they dance, but twice as bad,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">They jump and sing like demons mad;<br /></span>
<span class="i7">The tune is far from jolly:<br /></span>
<span class="i3">"Double, double, toil and trouble,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Fire burn and cauldron bubble;<br /></span>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253"></a></span><span class="i3">Blood to drink and bones to crack,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Skulls to smash and lives to take,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Hearts to crush and souls to burn;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Give old Morey another turn!"<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Trembling with horror stood Mrs. Byrde,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Unable to speak a single word.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">She staggered and fell in the nearest chair,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">On the left of the junior warden there,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And scarcely noticed, so loud the groans,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">That the chair was made of human bones.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Of human bones! On grinning skulls<br /></span>
<span class="i3">That ghastly throne of horror rolls;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Those skulls, the skulls that Morgan bore;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Those bones, the bones that Morgan wore.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">His scalp across the top was flung,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">His teeth around the arms were strung.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Never in all romance was known<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Such uses made of human bone.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">There came a pause&mdash;a pair of paws<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Reached through the floor, up sliding-doors,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And grabbed the unhappy candidate!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">How can I, without tears, relate<br /></span>
<span class="i3">The lost and ruined Morey's fate?<br /></span>
<span class="i3">She saw him sink in a fiery hole,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">She heard him scream, "My soul! My soul!"<br /></span>
<span class="i3">While roars of fiendish laughter roll,<br /></span>
<span class="i7">And drown the yells for mercy:<br /></span>
<span class="i3">"Double, double, toil and trouble,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Fire burn and cauldron bubble;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Blood to drink and bones to crack,<br /></span>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254"></a></span><span class="i3">Skulls to smash and lives to take,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Hearts to crush and souls to burn;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Give old Morey another turn!"<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">The ridiculous woman could stand no more,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">She fainted and fell on the checkered floor,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">'Midst all the diabolical roar.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">What then, you ask me, did befall<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Mehitable Byrde? Why, nothing at all&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">She dreamed she had been in a Mason's hall.<br /></span>
</div></div>


<h3>HENRY THE FIFTH'S WOOING<br />
BY SHAKESPEARE</h3>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3"><i>K. Henry.</i> Fair Katharine, and most fair,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Will you vouchsafe to teach a soldier terms<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Such as will enter at a lady's ear<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And plead his love-suit to her gentle heart?<br /></span>
</div></div>

<p><i>Katharine.</i> Your majesty shall mock at me; I can not speak
your England.</p>

<p><i>K. Hen.</i> O fair Katharine, if you will love me soundly with
your French heart, I will be glad to hear you confess it brokenly
with your English tongue. Do you like me, Kate?</p>

<p><i>Kath.</i> Pardonnez-moi, I can not tell vat is "like me."</p>

<p><i>K. Hen.</i> An angel is like you, Kate, and you are like an angel.</p>

<p><i>Kath.</i> Que dit-il? que je suis semblable à les anges?</p>

<p><i>Alice.</i> Oui, vraiment, sauf votre grace, ainsi dit-il.</p>

<p><i>K. Hen.</i> I said so, dear Katharine; and I must not blush to
affirm it.</p>

<p><i>Kath.</i> O les langues des hommes sont pleines des tromperies.</p>

<p><i>K. Hen.</i> What says she, fair one? that the tongues of men are
full of deceits?</p>

<p><i>Alice.</i> Oui, dat de tongues of de mans is be full of deceits: dat
is de princess.</p>

<p><i>K. Hen.</i> The princess is the better Englishwoman. I' faith,
Kate, my wooing is fit for thy understanding; I am glad thou
canst speak no better English; for, if thou couldst, thou wouldst
find me such a plain king that thou wouldst think I had sold my
farm to buy my crown. I know no ways to mince it in love, but<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255"></a></span>
directly to say, "I love you": then if you urge me further than
to say, "Do you in faith?" I wear out my suit. Give me your
answer; i' faith, do: and so clap hands and a bargain: how say
you, lady?</p>

<p><i>Kath.</i> Sauf votre honneur, me understand vell.</p>

<p><i>K. Hen.</i> Marry, if you would put me to verses or to dance for
your sake, Kate, why you undid me: for the one I have neither
words nor measures, and for the other, I have no strength in measure,
yet a reasonable measure in strength. If I could win a lady
at leap-frog, or by vaulting into my saddle with my armor on my
back, under the correction of bragging be it spoken, I should
quickly leap into a wife. Or if I buffet for my love, or bound my
horse for her favors, I could lay on like a butcher and sit like a
jackanapes, never off. But, Kate, I can not look greenly nor
gasp out my eloquence, nor I have no cunning in protestation:
only downright oaths, which I never use till urged, nor never
break for urging. If thou canst love a fellow of this temper,
Kate, whose face is not worth sun-burning, that never looks in
his glass for love of anything he sees there, let thine eye be thy
cook. I speak to thee plain soldier: if thou canst love me for
this, take me: if not, to say to thee that I shall die, is true; but
for thy love, no; yet I love thee, too. And while thou livest, dear
Kate, take a fellow of plain and uncoined constancy; for he perforce
must do thee right, because he hath not the gift to woo in
other places: for these fellows of infinite tongue, that can rhyme
themselves into ladies' favors, they do always reason themselves
out again. What! a speaker is but a prater; a rhyme is but a
ballad. A good leg will fall; a straight back will stoop; a black
beard will turn white; a curled pate will grow bald; a fair face
will wither; a full eye will wax hollow: but a good heart, Kate,
is the sun and the moon; or rather the sun and not the moon,
for it shines bright and never changes, but keeps his course truly.
If thou would have such a one, take me; and take me, take a
soldier; take a soldier, take a king. And what sayest thou then
to my love? speak, my fair, and fairly, I pray thee.</p>

<p><i>Kath.</i> Is it possible dat I should love de enemy of France?</p>

<p><i>K. Hen.</i> No; it is not possible you should love the enemy of
France, Kate: but, in loving me, you should love the friend of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256"></a></span>
France; for I love France so well that I will not part with a village
of it; I will have it all mine; and, Kate, when France is
mine and I am yours, then yours is France and you are mine.</p>

<p><i>Kath.</i> I can not tell vat is dat.</p>

<p><i>K. Hen.</i> No, Kate? I will tell thee in French; which I am
sure will hang upon my tongue like a new-married wife about her
husband's neck, hardly to be shook off. Quand j'ay la possession
de France, et quand vous avez la possession de moi,&mdash;let me see,
what then? Saint Denis be my speed!&mdash;donc votre est France
et vous êtes mienne. It is as easy for me, Kate, to conquer the
kingdom as to speak so much more French; I shall never move
thee in French, unless it be to laugh at me.</p>

<p><i>Kath.</i> Sauf votre honneur, le François que vous parlez, est
meilleur que l'Anglois lequel je parle.</p>

<p><i>K. Hen.</i> No, faith, is't not, Kate; but thy speaking of my
tongue, and I thine, most truly-falsely, must needs be granted to
be much at one. But, Kate, dost thou understand thus much English,
canst thou love me?</p>

<p><i>Kath.</i> I can not tell.</p>

<p><i>K. Hen.</i> Can any of your neighbors tell Kate. I'll ask them.
Come, I know thou lovest me; and at night, when you come into
your closet, you'll question this gentlewoman about me; and I
know, Kate, you will to her dispraise those parts in me that you
love With your heart; but, good Kate, mock me mercifully; the
rather, gentle princess, because I love thee cruelly. How answer
you, la plus belle Katharine du monde, mon très chère et divine
déesse?</p>

<p><i>Kath.</i> Your majestee ave faussee French enough to deceive
de most sage demoiselle dat is en France.</p>

<p><i>K. Hen.</i> Now, fie upon my false French! By mine honor, in
true English, I love thee, Kate; by which honor I dare not swear
thou lovest me; yet my blood begins to flatter me that thou dost,
notwithstanding the poor and untempering effect of my visage.
I was created with a stubborn outside, with an aspect of iron,
that, when I come to woo ladies, I fright them. But, in faith
Kate, the elder I wax, the better I shall appear; my comfort is,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257"></a></span>
that old age, that ill layer up of beauty, can do no more spoil upon
my face: thou hast me, if thou hast me, at the worst; and thou
shalt wear me, if thou wear me, better and better: and therefore,
tell me, most fair Katharine, will you have me? Put off your
maiden blushes; avouch the thoughts of your heart with the looks
of an empress; take me by the hand, and say, "Harry of England,
I am thine"; which word thou shalt no sooner bless mine ear
withal, but I will tell thee aloud, "England is thine, Ireland is
thine, France is thine, and Henry Plantagenet is thine"; who,
tho I speak it before his face, if he be not fellow with the best
king, thou shalt find the best king of good fellows. Come, your
answer in broken music; for thy voice is music and thy English
broken; therefore, queen of all, Katharine, break thy mind to me
in broken English; wilt thou have me?</p>

<p><i>Kath.</i> Dat is as it sall please de Roi mon père.</p>

<p><i>K. Hen.</i> Nay, it will please him well, Kate; it shall please him,
Kate.</p>

<p><i>Kath.</i> Den it sall also content me.</p>

<p><i>K. Hen.</i> Upon that I kiss your hand, and I call you my queen.</p>

<p><i>Kath.</i> Laissez, mon seigneur, laissez, laissez.</p>

<p><i>K. Hen.</i> Then I will kiss your lips, Kate.</p>

<p><i>Kath.</i> Il n'est pas la coutume de France.</p>

<p><i>K. Hen.</i> Madam my interpreter, what says she?</p>

<p><i>Alice.</i> Dat it is not be de fashion pour les ladies of France&mdash;I
can not tell vat is <i>baiser</i> en Anglish.</p>

<p><i>K. Hen.</i> To kiss.</p>

<p><i>Alice.</i> Your majesty entendre bettre que moi.</p>

<p><i>K. Hen.</i> It is not the fashion for the maids in France to kiss
before they are married, would you say?</p>

<p><i>Alice.</i> Oui, vraiment.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258"></a></span></p>
<p><i>K. Hen.</i> O Kate, nice customs curtsy to great kings. Dear
Kate, you and I can not be confined within the weak list of a
country's fashion: we are the makers of manners, Kate; and the
liberty that follows our places stops the mouth of all find-faults;
as I will do yours, for upholding the nice fashion of your country
in denying me a kiss; therefore, patiently and yielding. (<i>Kisses
her.</i>) You have witchcraft in your lips, Kate; there is more eloquence
in a sugar touch of them than in the tongues of the French
council; and they should sooner persuade Harry of England than
a general petition of monarchs.</p>


<h3>SCENE FROM "THE RIVALS"<br />
BY RICHARD BRINSLEY SHERIDAN</h3>

<p><i>Mrs. M.</i> There, Sir Anthony, there stands the deliberate simpleton
who wants to disgrace her family and lavish herself on a
fellow not worth a shilling.</p>

<p><i>Lyd.</i> Madam, I thought you once&mdash;&mdash;</p>

<p><i>Mrs. M.</i> You thought, miss! I don't know any business you
have to think at all. Thought does not become a young woman.
But the point we would request of you is, that you will promise
to forget this fellow&mdash;to illiterate him, I say, from your memory.</p>

<p><i>Lyd.</i> Ah, madam! our memories are independent of our wills.
It is not so easy to forget.</p>

<p><i>Mrs. M.</i> But I say it is, miss! There is nothing on earth so
easy as to forget, if a person chooses to set about it. I'm sure I
have as much forgot your poor, dear uncle as if he had never existed,
and I thought it my duty to do so; and let me tell you,
Lydia, these violent memories don't become a young woman.</p>

<p><i>Sir A.</i> Surely, the young woman does not pretend to remember
what she is ordered to forget! Ah, this comes of her reading.</p>

<p><i>Lyd.</i> What crime, madam, have I committed, to be treated
thus?</p>

<p><i>Mrs. M.</i> Now don't attempt to extirpate yourself from the matter;
you know I have proof controvertible of it. But tell me, will
you promise me to do as you are bid? Will you take a husband
of your friends' choosing?</p>

<p><i>Lyd.</i> Madam, I must tell you plainly that, had I no preference
for any one else, the choice you have made would be my
aversion.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259"></a></span></p>

<p><i>Mrs. M.</i> What business have you, miss, with preference and
aversion? They don't become a young woman; and you ought
to know that, as both always wear off, 'tis safest, in matrimony,
to begin with a little aversion. I am sure I hated your poor dear
uncle before marriage as if he'd been a blackamoor, and yet,
miss, you are sensible what a wife I made; and, when it pleased
heaven to release me from him, 'tis unknown what tears I shed!</p>

<p><i>Sir A.</i> He-e-m!</p>

<p><i>Mrs. M.</i> But, suppose we were going to give you another
choice, will you promise us to give up this Beverley?</p>

<p><i>Lyd.</i> Could I belie my thoughts so far as to give that promise,
my actions would certainly as far belie my words.</p>

<p><i>Mrs. M.</i> Take yourself to your room! You are fit company
for nothing but your own ill humors.</p>

<p><i>Lyd.</i> Willingly, ma'am; I can not change for the worse. [<i>Exit.</i></p>

<p><i>Mrs. M.</i> There's a little intricate hussy for you!</p>

<p><i>Sir. A.</i> It is not to be wondered at, ma'am; all that is the natural
consequence of teaching girls to read. In my way hither,
Mrs. Malaprop, I observed your niece's maid coming forth from
a circulating library; she had a book in each hand&mdash;they were
half-bound volumes, with marble covers. From that moment, I
guessed how full of duty I should see her mistress!</p>

<p><i>Mrs. M.</i> Those are vile places, indeed!</p>

<p><i>Sir A.</i> Madam, a circulating library in a town is as an evergreen
tree of diabolical knowledge! It blossoms through the year!
And, depend upon it, Mrs. Malaprop, that they who are so fond
of handling the leaves, will long for the fruit at last.</p>

<p><i>Mrs. M.</i> Fie, fie, Sir Anthony; you surely speak laconically.
(<i>Sir Anthony places a chair for her and another for himself,
bows to her respectfully and waits till she is seated.</i>)</p>

<p><i>Sir A.</i> Why, Mrs. Malaprop, in moderation, now, what would
you have a woman know?</p>

<p><i>Mrs. M.</i> Observe me, Sir Anthony&mdash;I would by no means wish
a daughter of mine to be a progeny of learning. I don't think
so much learning becomes a young woman. For instance&mdash;I
would never let her meddle with Greek, or Hebrew, or algebra,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260"></a></span> or
simony, or Fluxions, or paradoxes, or such inflammatory branches
of learning; nor will it be necessary for her to handle any of
your mathematical, astronomical, diabolical instruments; but, Sir
Anthony, I would send her, at nine years old, to a boarding-school,
in order to learn a little ingenuity and artifice. Then, sir,
she should have a supercilious knowledge in accounts; and, as
she grew up, I would have her instructed in geometry, that she
might know something of the contagious countries; above all, she
should be a perfect mistress of orthodoxy&mdash;that is, she should
not mispronounce and misspell words as our young women of the
present day constantly do. This, Sir Anthony, is what I would
have a woman know; and I don't think there is a superstitious
article in it.</p>

<p><i>Sir A.</i> Well, well, Mrs. Malaprop, I will dispute the point no
further with you, tho I must confess that you are a truly moderate
and polite arguer, for almost every third word you say is on
my side of the question. But to the more important point in debate&mdash;you
say you have no objection to my proposal?</p>

<p><i>Mrs. M.</i> None, I assure you. I am under no positive engagement
with Mr. Acres; and as Lydia is so obstinate against him,
perhaps your son may have better success.</p>

<p><i>Sir A.</i> Well, madam, I will write for the boy directly. He
knows not a syllable of this yet, tho I have for some time had the
proposal in my head. He is at present with his regiment.</p>

<p><i>Mrs. M.</i> We have never seen your son, Sir Anthony; but I
hope no objection on his side.</p>

<p><i>Sir A.</i> Objection! Let him object, if he dare! No, no, Mrs.
Malaprop; Jack knows that the least demur puts me in a frenzy
directly. My process was always very simple. In his younger
days 'twas&mdash;"Jack, do this." If he demurred, I knocked him
down; and if he grumbled at that, I always sent him out of the
room.</p>

<p><i>Mrs. M.</i> Ay, and the properest way, o' my conscience! Nothing
is so conciliating to young people as severity. (<i>Both rise.</i>)
Well, Sir Anthony, I shall give Mr. Acres his discharge, and prepare
Lydia to receive your son's invocations; and I hope you
will represent her to the captain as an object not altogether
illegible.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261"></a></span></p>
<p><i>Sir A.</i> Madam, I will handle the subject prudently. I must
leave you. Good morning, Mrs. Malaprop. (<i>Both bow profoundly;
Sir Anthony steps back as if to go out, then returns to say</i>:)
And let me beg you, Mrs. Malaprop, to enforce this matter
roundly to the girl&mdash;take my advice, keep a tight hand. Good-morning,
Mrs. Malaprop. If she rejects this proposal, clap her
under lock and key. Good-morning, Mrs. Malaprop. And if you
were just to let the servants forget to bring her dinner for three
or four days, you can't conceive how she'd come about. Good-morning,
Mrs. Malaprop.</p>


<h3>SCENES FROM "RIP VAN WINKLE"<br />
AS RECITED BY THE LATE A. P. BURBANK</h3>

<p><span class="smcap">Characters</span>: <i>Rip Van Winkle; Derrick Von Beekman, the villain
of the play, who endeavors to get Rip drunk in order to have
him sign away his property to Von Beekman; Nick Vedder, the
village innkeeper.</i></p>

<p><span class="smcap">Scene I</span>: <i>The village inn. Von Beekman, alone. Enter Rip,
laughing like a child himself, and shaking off the children.</i></p>

<p><i>Rip</i> (<i>to the children outside</i>). Hey! You let my dog Schneider
alone dere; you hear dat, Sock der Jacob, der bist eine fordonner
spitspoo&mdash;yah&mdash;&mdash;Why, hullo, Derrick! how you was?
Did you hear dem liddle fellers just now? Dey most plague me
crazy. Ha, ha, ha! I like to laugh my outsides in every time I
tink about it. Just now, as we was comin' through the willage&mdash;Schneider
und me&mdash;Schneider's my dog; I don't know whether
you know him? Well, dem liddle fellers, dey took Schneider und&mdash;ha,
ha, ha!&mdash;dey&mdash;ha, ha!&mdash;<i>dey tied a tin-kettle mit Schneider's
tail!</i> Ha, ha, ha! My, how he did run den, mit the kettle banging
about! My, how scared he was! Well, I didn't hi him comin'.
He run betwixt me und my legs und spilt me und all dem children
in the mud,&mdash;yah, dat's a fact. Ha, ha, ha!</p>

<p><i>Derrick.</i> Ah, yes, that's all right, Rip, very funny, very funny;
but what do you say to a glass of liquor, Rip?</p>

<p><i>Rip.</i> What do I generally say to a glass? I generally say it's
a fine thing&mdash;when dere's plenty in it&mdash;und I say more to what
is <i>in</i> it than to the glass.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262"></a></span></p>
<p><i>Derrick.</i> Certainly, certainly. Say, hello there! Nick Vedder,
bring out a bottle of your best.</p>

<p><i>Rip.</i> Dat's right&mdash;fill 'em up. You wouldn't believe it, Derrick,
dat's the first one I've had to-day. I guess, maybe, the
reason is, I couldn't got it before. Ah, Derrick, my score is too
big! Well, here is your good health und your family's, und may
dey all live long und prosper! Ah, you may well go "Ah" und
smack your chops over dat. You don't give me such schnapps
when I come. Where you got dat?</p>

<p><i>Nick.</i> That's high Dutch, Rip,&mdash;high Dutch, and ten years in
bottle.</p>

<p><i>Rip.</i> Well, come on, fill 'em up again. Git out mit dat vater,
Nick Vedder; I don't want no vater in my liquor. Good liquor
und vater, Derrick, is just like man und wife&mdash;<i>dey don't agree
well togedder!</i> Dat's me und <i>my</i> wife, anyway. Well, come on
again. Here is your good health und your family's, und may dey
all live long und prosper!</p>

<p><i>Nick.</i> That's right, Rip; drink away, and "drown your sorrows
in the flowing bowl."</p>

<p><i>Rip.</i> Drown my sorrows? Yah, but <i>she</i> won't drown. My
wife is my sorrow und you cannick drown her. She tried it once,
but she couldn't do it. Didn't you know dat Gretchen like to get
drown? No? Dat's the funniest thing of the whole of it. It's
the same day I got married; she was comin' across dat Hudson
River dere in the ferry-boat to get married mit me.</p>

<p><i>Derrick.</i> Yes.</p>

<p><i>Rip.</i> Well, the boat she was comin' in got upsetted.</p>

<p><i>Derrick.</i> Ah!</p>

<p><i>Rip.</i> Well, but she wasn't in it.</p>

<p><i>Nick.</i> Oh!</p>

<p><i>Rip.</i> No, dat's what I say; if she had been in the boat what
got upsetted, maybe she might have got drowned. She got left
behind somehow or odder. Women is always behind dat way&mdash;always.</p>

<p><i>Derrick.</i> But surely, Rip, you would have risked your life to
save her.</p>

<p><i>Rip</i> (<i>incredulously</i>). You mean I would yump in und pull
Gretchen out? Oh, would I? Oh, you mean den&mdash;yes, I believe
I would den. But it would be a good deal more my duty now
as it was den. When a feller gets married a good many years
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263"></a></span>mit his wife, he gets very much attached to her. But if Mrs. Van
Winkle was a-drownin' in the water now, und should say to me,
"Rip, come und save your wife!" I would say, "Mrs. Van Winkle,
I will yust go home und tink about it!" Oh, no, Derrick, if ever
Gretchen tumbles in the water now, she's got to swim; I told you
dat&mdash;ha, ha, ha, ha! Hullo! dat's her a-comin' now; I guess it's
better I go oud!</p>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">[<i>Exit Rip.</i><br /></span>
</div></div>


<p><span class="smcap">Scene II</span>: <i>Rip's home. Shortly after his conversation with
Von Beekman, Rip's wife found him carousing and dancing upon
the village green with the pretty girls. She drove him away in
no very gentle fashion. Returning home after nightfall in a decidedly
muddled condition, he puts his head through the open window
at the rear, not observing his irate wife, who stands in ambush
behind the clothes-press, with her ever-ready broomstick, to
give him a warm reception; but seeing only his little daughter
Meenie, of whom he is very fond, Rip says</i>:</p>

<p><i>Rip.</i> Meenie! Meenie, my darlin'!</p>

<p><i>Meenie.</i> Hush-sh-h. (<i>Shakes finger to indicate the presence of
her mother.</i>)</p>

<p><i>Rip.</i> Eh! what's the matter? I don't see nothing, my darlin'.
Meenie, is the old wildcat home? Oh, say, is dot you, Gretchen?
My darlin', my angel, don't do dat,&mdash;let go my head, won't you?
Well, den, hold on to it so long what you like. For what you do
dat, eh? You must want a bald-headed husband, I reckon.</p>

<p><i>Gretchen.</i> Who was that you called a wildcat?</p>

<p><i>Rip.</i> Who was dat I call a wildcat? Well, now, let me see,
who was dat I called a wildcat? Dat must have been the time I
came in the window dere, wasn't it? Yes, I know, it was the same
time. Well, now, let me see. (<i>Suddenly.</i>) It was de dog
Schneider dat I call it.</p>

<p><i>Gretchen.</i> The dog Schneider? That's a likely story.</p>

<p><i>Rip.</i> Of course it is likely,&mdash;he's my dog. I'll call him a wildcat
much as I please. (<i>Gretchen begins to weep.</i>) Oh, well; dere,
now, don't you cry, don't you cry, Gretchen; you hear what I
said? Listen now. If you don't cry, I nefer drink anoder drop
of liquor in my life.</p>

<p><i>Gretchen.</i> O Rip, you have said so so many, many times, and
you never kept your word yet.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264"></a></span></p>

<p><i>Rip.</i> Well, I say it dis time, und I mean it.</p>

<p><i>Gretchen.</i> O Rip! if I could only trust you.</p>

<p><i>Rip.</i> You mustn't <i>suspect</i> me. Can't you see repentance in my
eye?</p>

<p><i>Gretchen.</i> Rip, if you will only keep your word, I shall be the
happiest woman in the world.</p>

<p><i>Rip.</i> You can believe it. I nefer drink anoder drop so long
what I live, if you don't cry.</p>

<p><i>Gretchen.</i> O Rip, how happy we shall be! And you'll get
back all the village, Rip, just as you used to have it; and you'll
fix up our little house so nicely; and you and I, and our darling
little Meenie here&mdash;how happy we shall be!</p>

<p><i>Rip.</i> Dere, dere, now! you can be just so happy what you like.
Go in de odder room, go along mit you; I come in dere pooty
quick. (<i>Exit Gretchen and Meenie.</i>) My! I swore off from drinking
so many, many times, und I never kept my word yet. (<i>Taking
out bottle.</i>) I don't believe dere is more as one good drink in dat
bottle, anyway. It's a pity to waste it! You goin' to drink dat?
Well, now, if you do, it is de last one, remember dat, old feller.
Well, here is your good health, und&mdash;&mdash;</p>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">(<i>Enter Gretchen, suddenly, who snatches the bottle from him.</i>)<br /></span>
</div></div>

<p><i>Gretchen.</i> Oh, you paltry thief!</p>

<p><i>Rip.</i> What you doin'? You'll spill the liquor.</p>

<p><i>Gretchen.</i> Yes, I <i>will</i> spill it. <i>That's the last drop you drink
under my roof!</i></p>

<p><i>Rip.</i> Eh! What?</p>

<p><i>Gretchen.</i> Out, I say! you drink no more here.</p>

<p><i>Rip.</i> Why, Gretchen, are you goin' to turn me oud like a dog?
Well, maybe you are right. I have got no home. I will go. But
mind, Gretchen, after what you say to me to-night, I can nefer
darken your door again&mdash;nefer; I will go.</p>

<p><i>Meenie.</i> Not into the storm, father. Hark, how it thunders!</p>

<p><i>Rip.</i> Yah, my child; but not as bad to me as the storm in my
home. I will go. God bless you, my child! Don't you nefer forget
your father.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265"></a></span></p>
<p><i>Gretchen</i> (<i>relenting</i>). No, Rip,&mdash;I&mdash;&mdash;</p>

<p><i>Rip.</i> No; you have driven me from your house. You have
opened the door for me to go. You may nefer open it for me
to come back. I wipe the disgrace from your door. Good-by,
Gretchen, good-by!</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266"></a><br /><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267"></a></span></p><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i2">[<i>Rip exits into the storm.</i><br /></span>
</div></div>



<hr class="chap" />
<h2><a name="PART_III" id="PART_III"></a>PART III<br />
SERIOUS HITS</h2>


<h3>IF WE HAD THE TIME<br />
BY RICHARD BURTON</h3>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">If I had the time to find a place<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And sit me down full face to face<br /></span>
<span class="i7">With my better self, that can not show<br /></span>
<span class="i7">In my daily life that rushes so:<br /></span>
<span class="i3">It might be then I would see my soul<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Was stumbling toward the shining goal,<br /></span>
<span class="i7">I might be nerved by the thought sublime,&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i17">If I had the time!<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">If I had the time to let my heart<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Speak out and take in my life apart,<br /></span>
<span class="i7">To look about and to stretch a hand<br /></span>
<span class="i7">To a comrade quartered in no-luck land;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Ah, God! If I might but just sit still<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And hear the note of the whippoorwill,<br /></span>
<span class="i7">I think that my wish with God's would rhyme,&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i17">If I had the time!<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">If I had the time to learn from you<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268"></a></span>
<span class="i3">How much comfort my word could do;<br /></span>
<span class="i7">And I told you then of my sudden will<br /></span>
<span class="i7">To kiss your feet when I did you ill;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">If the tears aback of the coldness feigned<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Could flow, and the wrong be quite explained,&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i7">Brothers, the souls of us all would chime,<br /></span>
<span class="i17">If we had the time!<br /></span>
</div></div>

<p>By permission of the author and of the publishers, Lothrop, Lee &amp; Shepard
Company, Boston.</p>

<h3>THE FOOL'S PRAYER<br />
BY EDWARD ROWLAND SILL</h3>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">The royal feast was done; the king<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Sought some new sport to banish care,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And to his jester cried: "Sir Fool,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Kneel now, and make for us a prayer!"<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">The jester doffed his cap and bells,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">And stood the mocking court before:<br /></span>
<span class="i3">They could not see the bitter smile<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Behind the patient grin he wore.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">He bowed his head, and bent his knee<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Upon the monarch's silken stool;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">His pleading voice arose, "O Lord,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Be merciful to me, a fool!<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">"No pity, Lord, could change the heart<br /></span>
<span class="i5">From red with wrong to white as wool;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">The rod must heal the sin; but, Lord,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Be merciful to me, a fool!<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">"'Tis not by guilt the onward sweep<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Of truth and right, O Lord, we stay;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">'Tis by our follies that so long<br /></span>
<span class="i5">We hold the earth from heaven away.<br /></span>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269"></a></span></div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">"These clumsy feet still in the mire,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Go crushing blossoms without end;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">These hard, well-meaning hands we thrust<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Among the heartstrings of a friend.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">"The ill-timed truth we might have kept,&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Who knows how sharp it pierced and stung?<br /></span>
<span class="i3">The word we had not sense to say,&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Who knows how grandly it had rung?<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">"Our faults no tenderness should ask,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">The chastening stripe must cleanse them all;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">But for our blunders,&mdash;oh, in shame<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Before the eyes of heaven we fall.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">"Earth bears no balsam for mistakes;<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Men crown the knave, and scourge the tool<br /></span>
<span class="i3">That did his will; but Thou, O Lord,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Be merciful to me, a fool!"<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">The room was hushed; in silence rose<br /></span>
<span class="i5">The king, and sought his garden cool,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And walked apart, and murmured low:<br /></span>
<span class="i5">"Be merciful to me, a fool!"<br /></span>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270"></a></span>
</div></div>


<h3>THE EVE OF WATERLOO<br />
BY LORD BYRON</h3>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i5">There was a sound of revelry by night,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">And Belgium's capital had gathered then<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Her beauty and her chivalry, and bright<br /></span>
<span class="i5">The lamps shone o'er fair women and brave men;<br /></span>
<span class="i5">A thousand hearts beat happily; and when<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Music arose with its voluptuous swell,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Soft eyes looked love to eyes which spake again,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">And all went merry as a marriage-bell;&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">But hush! hark! a deep sound strikes like a rising knell!<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i5">Did ye not hear it?&mdash;No; 'twas but the wind,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Or a car rattling o'er the stony street;<br /></span>
<span class="i5">On with the dance! let joy be unconfined;<br /></span>
<span class="i5">No sleep till morn, when youth and pleasure meet<br /></span>
<span class="i5">To chase the glowing hours with flying feet&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i5">But hark!&mdash;that heavy sound breaks in once more,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">As if the clouds its echo would repeat;<br /></span>
<span class="i5">And nearer, clearer, deadlier than before!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Arm! arm! it is&mdash;it is the cannon's opening roar!<br /></span>
</div>
<hr class="tb" />
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0"><br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i5">Ah! then and there was hurrying to and fro,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">And gathering tears, and tremblings of distress,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">And cheeks all pale, which but an hour ago<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Blushed at the praise of their own loveliness;<br /></span>
<span class="i5">And there were sudden partings, such as press<br /></span>
<span class="i5">The life from out young hearts, and choking sighs<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Which ne'er might be repeated: who could guess<br /></span>
<span class="i5">If ever more should meet those mutual eyes,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Since upon night so sweet such awful morn could rise?<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i5">And there was mounting in hot haste: the steed,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">The mustering squadron, and the clattering car,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Went pouring forward with impetuous speed,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">And swiftly forming in the ranks of war;<br /></span>
<span class="i5">And the deep thunder peal on peal afar,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">And near, the beat of the alarming drum<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Roused up the soldier ere the morning star;<br /></span>
<span class="i5">While thronged the citizens with terror dumb,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Or whispering, with white lips, "The foe! They come! they come!"<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i5">And Ardennes waves above them her green leaves,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Dewy with Nature's tear-drops, as they pass,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Grieving, if aught inanimate e'er grieves,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Over the unreturning brave,&mdash;alas!<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Ere evening to be trodden like the grass,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Which now beneath them, but above shall grow<br /></span>
<span class="i5">In its next verdure, when this fiery mass<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Of living valor, rolling on the foe<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And burning with high hope, shall molder cold and low.<br /></span>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271"></a></span></div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i5">Last noon beheld them full of lusty life,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Last eve in Beauty's circle proudly gay,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">The midnight brought the signal-sound of strife,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">The morn, the marshaling in arms,&mdash;the day,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Battle's magnificently stern array!<br /></span>
<span class="i5">The thunder-clouds close o'er it, which when rent,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">The earth is covered thick with other clay,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Which her own clay shall cover, heaped and pent,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Rider and horse, friend, foe, in one red burial blent.<br /></span>
</div></div>

<h3>THE WRECK OF THE JULIE PLANTE<br />
BY WILLIAM HENRY DRUMMOND</h3>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">On wan dark night on Lac St. Pierre,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">De win' she blow, blow, blow,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">An' de crew of de wood scow Julie Plante<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Got scar't an' run below&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">For de win' she blow lak hurricane;<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Bimeby she blow some more,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">An' de scow bus' up on Lac St. Pierre<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Wan arpent from de shore.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">De captinne walk on de fronte deck,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">An' walk de hin' deck, too&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">He call de crew from up de hole;<br /></span>
<span class="i5">He call de cook also.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">De cook she's name was Rosie,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">She come from Montreal,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Was chambre maid on lumber barge,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">On de Grande Lachine Canal.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">De win' she blow from nor'&mdash;eas'&mdash;wes',<br /></span>
<span class="i5">De sout' win' she blow, too,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">W'en Rosie cry, "Mon cher captinne,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Mon cher, w'at shall I do?"<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Den de captinne t'row de big ankerre,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">But still the scow she dreef,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">De crew he can't pass on de shore,<br /></span>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272"></a></span><span class="i5">Becos' he los' hees skeef.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">De night was dark lak wan black cat,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">De wave run high an' fas',<br /></span>
<span class="i3">W'en de captinne tak de Rosie girl<br /></span>
<span class="i5">An' tie her to de mas'.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Den he also tak de life preserve<br /></span>
<span class="i5">An' jump off on de lak'<br /></span>
<span class="i3">An' say, "Good-by, ma Rosie, dear,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">I go drown for your sak."<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Nex' morning very early<br /></span>
<span class="i5">'Bout ha'f-pas' two&mdash;t'ree&mdash;four&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">De captinne&mdash;scow&mdash;an' de poor Rosie<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Was corpses on de shore.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">For de win' she blow lak hurricane;<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Bimeby she blow some more,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">An' de scow bus' up on Lac St. Pierre<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Wan arpent from de shore.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Now, all good wood scow sailor man<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Tak' warning by dat storm<br /></span>
<span class="i3">An' go an' marry some nice French girl<br /></span>
<span class="i5">An' leev on wan beeg farm.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">De win' can blow lak' hurricane<br /></span>
<span class="i5">An s'pose she blow some more,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">You can't get drown on Lac St. Pierre<br /></span>
<span class="i5">So long you stay on shore.<br /></span>
</div></div>

<p>From "The Habitant," by permission of the publishers, G. P. Putnam's Sons,
New York and London.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273"></a></span></p>

<h3>FATHER'S WAY<br />
BY EUGENE FIELD</h3>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">My father was no pessimist; he loved the things of earth,&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Its cheerfulness and sunshine, its music and its mirth.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">He never sighed or moped around whenever things went wrong,&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">I warrant me he'd mocked at fate with some defiant song;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">But, being he warn't much on tune, when times looked sort o' blue,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">He'd whistle softly to himself this only tune he knew,&mdash;<br /></span>
</div></div>


<div class="figcenter" style="width: 345px;">
<img src="images/i_287a.png" width="345" height="58" alt="" />
</div>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Now mother, when she heard that tune which father whistled so,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Would say, "There's something wrong to-day with Ephraim, I know;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">He never tries to make believe he's happy that 'ere way<br /></span>
<span class="i3">But that I'm certain as can be there's somethin' wrong to pay."<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And so betimes, quite natural-like, to us observant youth<br /></span>
<span class="i3">There seemed suggestion in that tune of deep, pathetic truth.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">When Brother William joined the war, a lot of us went down<br /></span>
<span class="i3">To see the gallant soldier boys right gayly out of town.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">A-comin' home, poor mother cried as if her heart would break,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And all us children, too,&mdash;for <i>hers</i>, and <i>not</i> for <i>William's</i> sake!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">But father, trudgin' on ahead, his hands behind him so,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Kept whistlin' to himself, so sort of solemn-like and low.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">And when my oldest sister, Sue, was married and went West,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Seemed like it took the tuck right out of mother and the rest.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">She was the sunlight in our home,&mdash;why, father used to say<br /></span>
<span class="i3">It wouldn't seem like home at all if Sue should go away;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">But when she went, a-leavin' us all sorrer and all tears,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Poor father whistled lonesome-like&mdash;and went to feed the steers.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">When crops were bad, and other ills befell our homely lot,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">He'd set of nights and try to act as if he minded not;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And when came death and bore away the one he worshiped so,<br /></span>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274"></a></span><span class="i3">How vainly did his lips belie the heart benumbed with wo!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">You see the telltale whistle told a mood he'd not admit,&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">He'd always stopt his whistlin' when he thought we noticed it.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">I'd like to see that stooping form and hoary head again,&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">To see the honest, hearty smile that cheered his fellow men.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Oh, could I kiss the kindly lips that spake no creature wrong,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And share the rapture of the heart that overflowed with song!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Oh, could I hear the little tune he whistled long ago,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">When he did battle with the griefs he would not have <i>us</i> know!<br /></span>
</div></div>

<h3>I AM CONTENT<br />
TRANSLATED BY CARMEN SYLVA</h3>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3"><i>A spindle of hazelwood had I;</i><br /></span>
<span class="i3"><i>Into the mill-stream it fell one day&mdash;</i><br /></span>
<span class="i3"><i>The water has brought it me back no more.</i><br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">As he lay a-dying, the soldier spake:<br /></span>
<span class="i15">"I am content!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Let my mother be told in the village there,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">And my bride in the hut be told,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">That they must pray with folded hands,<br /></span>
<span class="i7">With folded hands for me."<br /></span>
<span class="i3">The soldier is dead&mdash;and with folded hands,<br /></span>
<span class="i7">His bride and his mother pray.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">On the field of battle they dug his grave,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And red with his life-blood the earth was dyed,<br /></span>
<span class="i7">The earth they laid him in.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">The sun looked down on him there and spake:<br /></span>
<span class="i15">"I am content."<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">And flowers bloomed thickly upon his grave,<br /></span>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275"></a></span><span class="i7">And were glad they blossomed there.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And when the wind in the tree-tops roared,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">The soldier asked from the deep, dark grave:<br /></span>
<span class="i7">"Did the banner flutter then?"<br /></span>
<span class="i3">"Not so, my hero," the wind replied,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">"The fight is done, but the banner won,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Thy comrades of old have borne it hence,<br /></span>
<span class="i7">Have borne it in triumph hence."<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Then the soldier spake from the deep, dark grave:<br /></span>
<span class="i15">"I am content."<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">And again he hears the shepherds pass,<br /></span>
<span class="i7">And the flocks go wand'ring by,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And the soldier asked: "Is the sound I hear,<br /></span>
<span class="i7">The sound of the battle's roar?"<br /></span>
<span class="i5">And they replied: "My hero, nay!<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Thou art dead and the fight is o'er,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Our country joyful and free."<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Then the soldier spake from the deep, dark grave:<br /></span>
<span class="i15">"I am content."<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Then he heareth the lovers, laughing, pass,<br /></span>
<span class="i7">And the soldier asks once more:<br /></span>
<span class="i3">"Are these not the voices of them that love,<br /></span>
<span class="i7">That love&mdash;and remember me?"<br /></span>
<span class="i3">"Not so, my hero," the lovers say,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">"We are those that remember not;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">For the spring has come and the earth has smiled,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">And the dead must be forgot."<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Then the soldier spake from the deep, dark grave:<br /></span>
<span class="i15">"I am content."<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3"><i>A spindle of hazelwood had I;</i><br /></span>
<span class="i3"><i>Into the mill-stream it fell one day&mdash;</i><br /></span>
<span class="i3"><i>The water has brought it me back no more.</i><br /></span>
</div></div>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276"></a></span></p>

<h3>THE EAGLE'S SONG<br />
BY RICHARD MANSFIELD</h3>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">The lioness whelped, and the sturdy cub<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Was seized by an eagle and carried up<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And homed for a while in an eagle's nest,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And slept for a while on an eagle's breast,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And the eagle taught it the eagle's song:<br /></span>
<span class="i3">"To be staunch and valiant and free and strong!"<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">The lion whelp sprang from the eerie nest,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">From the lofty crag where the queen birds rest;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">He fought the king on the spreading plain,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And drove him back o'er the foaming main.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">He held the land as a thrifty chief,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And reared his cattle and reaped his sheaf,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Nor sought the help of a foreign hand,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Yet welcomed all to his own free land!<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Two were the sons that the country bore<br /></span>
<span class="i3">To the Northern lakes and the Southern shore,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And Chivalry dwelt with the Southern son,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And Industry lived with the Northern one.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Tears for the time when they broke and fought!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Tears was the price of the union wrought!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And the land was red in a sea of blood,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Where brother for brother had swelled the flood!<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">And now that the two are one again,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Behold on their shield the word "Refrain!"<br /></span>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277"></a></span><span class="i3">And the lion cubs twain sing the eagle's song,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">"To be staunch and valiant and free and strong!"<br /></span>
<span class="i3">For the eagle's beak and the lion's paw,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And the lion's fangs and the eagle's claw,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And the eagle's swoop and the lion's might,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And the lion's leap and the eagle's sight,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Shall guard the flag with the word "Refrain!"<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Now that the two are one again!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Here's to a cheer for the Yankee ships!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And "Well done, Sam," from the mother's lips!<br /></span>
</div></div>


<h3>BREAK, BREAK, BREAK<br />
BY ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON</h3>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Break, break, break,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">On thy cold gray stones, O sea!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And I would that my tongue could utter<br /></span>
<span class="i5">The thoughts that arise in me.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">O well for the fisherman's boy,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">That he shouts with his sister at play!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">O well for the sailor lad,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">That he sings in his boat on the bay!<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">And the stately ships go on<br /></span>
<span class="i5">To their haven under the hill;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">But O for the touch of a vanish'd hand,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">And the sound of a voice that is still!<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Break, break, break,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">At the foot of thy crags, O sea!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">But the tender grace of a day that is dead<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Will never come back to me.<br /></span>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278"></a></span>
</div></div>


<h3>VIRGINIUS<br />
BY MACAULAY</h3>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Straightway Virginius led the maid a little space aside,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">To where the reeking shambles stood, piled up with horn and hide.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Hard by, a butcher on a block had laid his whittle down,&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">"Virginius caught the whittle up, and hid it in his gown.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And then his eyes grew very dim, and his throat began to swell,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And in a hoarse, changed voice he spake, "Farewell, sweet child, farewell!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">The house that was the happiest within the Roman walls,&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">The house that envied not the wealth of Capua's marble halls,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Now, for the brightness of thy smile, must have eternal gloom,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And for the music of thy voice, the silence of the tomb.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">"The time is come. The tyrant points his eager hand this way;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">See how his eyes gloat on thy grief, like a kite's upon the prey;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">With all his wit he little deems that spurned, betrayed, bereft,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Thy father hath, in his despair, one fearful refuge left:<br /></span>
<span class="i3">He little deems that, in my hand, I clutch what still can save<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Thy gentle youth from taunts and blows, the portion of the slave;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Yea, and from nameless evil, that passeth taunt and blow,&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Foul outrage, which thou knowest not,&mdash;which thou shalt never know.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Then clasp me round the neck once more, and give me one more kiss;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And now, mine own dear little girl, there is no way but this!"<br /></span>
<span class="i3">With that he lifted high the steel, and smote her in the side,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And in her blood she sank to earth, and with one sob she died.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Then, for a little moment, all the people held their breath;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And through the crowded forum was stillness as of death;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And in another moment broke forth from one and all<br /></span>
<span class="i3">A cry as if the Volscians were coming o'er the wall;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Till, with white lips and bloodshot eyes, Virginius tottered nigh,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And stood before the judgment seat, and held the knife on high:<br /></span>
<span class="i3">"O dwellers in the nether gloom, avengers of the slain,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">By this dear blood I cry to you, do right between us twain;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And e'en as Appius Claudius has dealt by me and mine,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Deal you by Appius Claudius and all the Claudian line!"<br /></span>
<span class="i3">So spake the slayer of his child; then where the body lay,<br /></span>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279"></a></span><span class="i3">Pausing, he cast one haggard glance, and turned and went his way.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Then up sprang Appius Claudius: "Stop him, alive or dead!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Ten pounds of copper to the man who brings his head!"<br /></span>
<span class="i3">He looked upon his clients, but none would work his will;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">He looked upon his lictors, but they trembled and stood still.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And as Virginius through the press his way in silence cleft,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Ever the mighty multitude fell back to right and left;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And he hath passed in safety unto his woful home,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And there ta'en horse, to tell the camp what deeds are done in Rome.<br /></span>
</div></div>

<h3>THE WOMEN OF MUMBLES HEAD<br />
BY CLEMENT SCOTT</h3>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Bring, novelist, your note-book! bring, dramatist, your pen!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And I'll tell you a simple story of what women do for men.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">It's only a tale of a life-boat, of the dying and the dead,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Of the terrible storm and shipwreck that happened off Mumbles Head!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Maybe you have traveled in Wales, sir, and know it north and south;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Maybe you are friends with the "natives" that dwell at Oyster-mouth;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">It happens, no doubt, that from Bristol you've crossed in a casual way,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And have sailed your yacht in the summer in the blue of Swansea Bay.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Well! it isn't like that in the winter, when the lighthouse stands alone,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">In the teeth of Atlantic breakers that foam on its face of stone;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">It wasn't like that when the hurricane blew, and the storm-bell tolled, or when<br /></span>
<span class="i3">There was news of a wreck, and the lifeboat launched, and a desperate cry for men.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">When in the world did the coxswain shirk? a brave old salt was he!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Proud to the bone of as four strong lads as ever had tasted the<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280"></a></span>
<span class="i6">sea,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Welshmen all to the lungs and loins, who, about that coast, 'twas said,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Had saved some hundred lives apiece&mdash;at a shilling or so a head!<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">So the father launched the life-boat, in the teeth of the tempest's roar,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And he stood like a man at the rudder, with an eye on his boys at the oar.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Out to the wreck went the father! out to the wreck went the sons!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Leaving the weeping women, and booming of signal guns;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Leaving the mother who loved them, and the girls that the sailors love;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Going to death for duty, and trusting to God above!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Do you murmur a prayer, my brothers, when cozy and safe in bed,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">For men like these, who are ready to die for a wreck off Mumbles Head?<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">It didn't go well with the life-boat! 'twas a terrible storm that blew!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And it snapped the rope in a second that was flung to the drowning crew;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And then the anchor parted&mdash;'twas a tussle to keep afloat!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">But the father stuck to the rudder, and the boys to the brave old boat.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Then at last on the poor doomed life-boat a wave broke mountains high!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">"God help us now!" said the father. "It's over, my lads! Good-by!"<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Half of the crew swam shoreward, half to the sheltered caves,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">But the father and sons were fighting death in the foam of the angry waves.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Up at the lighthouse window two women beheld the storm,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And saw in the boiling breakers a figure,&mdash;a fighting form;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">It might be a gray-haired father, then the women held their breath;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">It might be a fair-haired brother, who was having a round with death;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">It might be a lover, a husband, whose kisses were on the lips<br /></span>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281"></a></span><span class="i3">Of the women whose love is the life of men going down to the sea in ships.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">They had seen the launch of the life-boat, they had seen the worst, and more,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Then, kissing each other, these women went down from the lighthouse, straight to shore.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">There by the rocks on the breakers these sisters, hand in hand,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Beheld once more that desperate man who struggled to reach the land.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">'Twas only aid he wanted to help him across the wave,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">But what are a couple of women with only a man to save?<br /></span>
<span class="i3">What are a couple of women? well, more than three craven men<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Who stood by the shore with chattering teeth, refusing to stir&mdash;and then<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Off went the women's shawls, sir; in a second they're torn and rent,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Then knotting them into a rope of love, straight into the sea they went!<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">"Come back!" cried the lighthouse-keeper. "For God's sake, girls, come back!"<br /></span>
<span class="i3">As they caught the waves on their foreheads, resisting the fierce attack.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">"Come back!" moaned the gray-haired mother, as she stood by the angry sea,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">"If the waves take you, my darlings, there's nobody left to me!"<br /></span>
<span class="i3">"Come back!" said the three strong soldiers, who still stood faint and pale,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">"You will drown if you face the breakers! you will fall if you brave the gale!"<br /></span>
<span class="i3">"<i>Come back?</i>" said the girls, "we will not! go tell it to all the town.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">We'll lose our lives, God willing, before that man shall drown!"<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">"Give one more knot to the shawls, Bess! give one strong clutch of your hand!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Just follow me, brave, to the shingle, and we'll bring him safe<br /></span>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282"></a></span><span class="i6">to land!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Wait for the next wave, darling! only a minute more,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And I'll have him safe in my arms, dear, and we'll drag him to the shore."<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Up to the arms in the water, fighting it breast to breast,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">They caught and saved a brother alive. God bless them! you know the rest&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Well, many a heart beat stronger, and many a tear was shed,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And many a glass was tossed right off to "The Women of Mumbles Head!"<br /></span>
</div></div>

<h3>WILLIAM TELL AND HIS BOY<br />
BY WILLIAM BAINE</h3>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">"Place there the boy," the tyrant said;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">"Fix me the apple on his head.<br /></span>
<span class="i11">Ha! rebel, now!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">There's a fair mark for your shaft;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">To yonder shining apple waft<br /></span>
<span class="i3">An arrow." And the tyrant laughed.<br /></span>
<span class="i11">With quivering brow.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Bold Tell looked there; his cheek turned pale;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">His proud lips throbbed as if would fail<br /></span>
<span class="i9">Their quivering breath.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">"Ha! doth he blanch?" fierce Gesler cried,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">"I've conquered, slave, thy soul of pride."<br /></span>
<span class="i3">No voice to that stern taunt replied,<br /></span>
<span class="i11">All mute as death.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">"And what the meed?" at length Tell asked.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">"Bold fool, when slaves like thee are tasked,<br /></span>
<span class="i11">It is my will.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">But that thine eye may keener be,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And nerved to such nice archery,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">If thou cleav'st yon, thou goest free.<br /></span>
<span class="i11">What! pause you still?<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Give him a bow and arrow there<br /></span>
<span class="i3">One shaft&mdash;but one." Gleams of despair<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Rush for a moment o'er the Switzer's face:<br /></span>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283"></a></span><span class="i3">Then passed away each stormy trace,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And high resolve came in their place,<br /></span>
<span class="i11">Unmoved, yet flushed,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">"I take thy terms," he muttered low,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Grasped eagerly the proffered bow&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i11">The quiver searched,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Sought out an arrow keen and long,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Fit for a sinewy arm, and strong,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And placed it on the sounding thong<br /></span>
<span class="i11">The tough yew arched.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">He drew the bow, whilst all around<br /></span>
<span class="i3">That thronging crowd there was no sound,<br /></span>
<span class="i11">No step, no word, no breath.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">All gazed with an unerring eye,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">To see the fearful arrow fly;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">The light wind dies into a sigh,<br /></span>
<span class="i11">And scarcely stirred.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Afar the boy stood, firm and mute;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">He saw the strong bow curved to shoot,<br /></span>
<span class="i11">But never moved.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">He knew the daring coolness of that hand<br /></span>
<span class="i3">He knew it was a father scanned<br /></span>
<span class="i11">The boy he loved.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">The Switzer gazed&mdash;the arrow hung<br /></span>
<span class="i3">"My only boy!" sobbed on his tongue;<br /></span>
<span class="i11">He could not shoot.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">"Ha!" cried the tyrant, "doth he quail?<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Mark how his haughty brow grows pale!"<br /></span>
<span class="i3">But a deep voice rung on the gale&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i11">"Shoot in God's name!"<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Again the drooping shaft he took,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And turned to Heaven one burning look,<br /></span>
<span class="i11">Of all doubts reft.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">"Be firm, my boy!" was all he said.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">The apple's left the stripling's head.<br /></span>
<span class="i11">Ha! Ha! 'tis cleft!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And so it was, and Tell was free.<br /></span>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284"></a></span><span class="i3">Quick the brave boy was at his knee<br /></span>
<span class="i11">With rosy cheek.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">His loving arms his boy embrace;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">But again that tyrant cried in haste,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">"An arrow in thy belt is placed;<br /></span>
<span class="i11">What means it? Speak";<br /></span>
<span class="i3">The Switzer raised his clenched hand high,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Whilst lightning flashed across his eye<br /></span>
<span class="i11">Incessantly.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">"To smite thee, tyrant, to the heart,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Had Heaven willed it that my dart<br /></span>
<span class="i11">Had touched my boy."<br /></span>
<span class="i3">"Rebellion! Treason! chain the slave!"<br /></span>
<span class="i3">A hundred swords around him wave,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Whilst hate to Gesler's features gave<br /></span>
<span class="i11">Infuriate joy.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">But that one arrow found its goal<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Hid with revenge in Gesler's soul;<br /></span>
<span class="i11">And Lucerne's lake<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Heard his dastard soul outmoan<br /></span>
<span class="i3">When Freedom's call abroad was blown,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And Switzerland, a giant grown,<br /></span>
<span class="i11">Her fetters brake.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">From hill to hill the mandate flew,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">From lake to lake the tempest grew,<br /></span>
<span class="i11">With wakening swell,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Till proud oppression crouched for shame,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And Austria's haughtiness grew tame<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And Freedom's watchword was the name of<br /></span>
<span class="i11">William Tell.<br /></span>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285"></a></span>
</div></div>


<h3>LASCA<br />
BY F. DESPREZ</h3>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">I want free life and I want fresh air;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And I sigh for the canter after the cattle,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">The crack of the whips like shots in battle,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">The mellay of horns, and hoofs, and heads<br /></span>
<span class="i3">That wars, and wrangles, and scatters, and spreads;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">The green beneath and the blue above,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And dash and danger and life and love.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And Lasca! Lasca used to ride<br /></span>
<span class="i3">On a mouse-gray mustang, close to my side,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">With blue <i>serape</i> and bright-belled spur;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">I laughed with joy as I looked at her!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Little knew she of books or creeds;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">An <i>Ave Maria</i> sufficed her needs;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Little she cared, save to be by my side,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">To ride with me, and ever to ride,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">From San Saba's shore to Lavaca's tide.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">She was as bold as the billows that beat,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">She was as wild as the breezes that blow;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">From her little head to her little feet<br /></span>
<span class="i3">She was swayed, in her suppleness, to and fro<br /></span>
<span class="i3">By each gust of passion; a sapling pine,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">That grows on the edge of a Kansas bluff,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And wars with the wind when the weather is rough,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Is like this Lasca, this love of mine.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">She would hunger that I might eat,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Would take the bitter and leave me the sweet;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">But once, when I made her jealous for fun,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">At something I'd whispered, or looked, or done,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">One Sunday, in San Antonio,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">To a glorious girl on the Alamo,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">She drew from her garter a dear little dagger,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And&mdash;sting of a wasp!&mdash;it made me stagger!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">An inch to the left or an inch to the right,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And I shouldn't be maundering here to-night;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">But she sobbed, and, sobbing, so swiftly bound<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Her torn <i>reboso</i> about the wound<br /></span>
<span class="i3">That I quite forgave her. Scratches don't count<br /></span>
<span class="i7">In Texas, down by the Rio Grande.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286"></a></span><span class="i3">Her eye was brown,&mdash;a deep, deep brown;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Her hair was darker than her eye;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And something in her smile and frown,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Curled crimson lip, and instep high,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Showed that there ran in each blue vein,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Mixed with the milder Aztec strain,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">The vigorous vintage of old Spain.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">The air was heavy, the night was hot,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">I sat by her side, and forgot&mdash;forgot;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Forgot the herd that were taking their rest;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Forgot that the air was close opprest,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">That the Texas norther comes sudden and soon,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">In the dead of night or the blaze of noon;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">That once let the herd at its breath take fright,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">That nothing on earth can stop the flight;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And wo to the rider, and wo to the steed,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Who falls in front of their mad stampede!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Was that thunder? No, by the Lord!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">I spring to my saddle without a word.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">One foot on mine, and she clung behind.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Away! on a hot chase down the wind!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">But never was fox-hunt half so hard,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And never was steed so little spared.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">For we rode for our lives. You shall hear how we fared<br /></span>
<span class="i7">In Texas, down by the Rio Grande.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">The mustang flew, and we urged him on;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">There was one chance left, and you have but one&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Halt, jump to the ground, and shoot your horse;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Crouch under his carcass, and take your chance;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And if the steers, in their frantic course,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Don't batter you both to pieces at once,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">You may thank your star; if not, good-by<br /></span>
<span class="i3">To the quickening kiss and the long-drawn sigh,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And the open air and the open sky,<br /></span>
<span class="i7">In Texas, down by the Rio Grande.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">The cattle gained on just as I felt<br /></span>
<span class="i3">For my old six-shooter, behind in my belt,<br /></span>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287"></a></span><span class="i3">Down came the mustang, and down came we,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Clinging together, and&mdash;what was the rest?<br /></span>
<span class="i3">A body that spread itself on my breast,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Two arms that shielded my dizzy head,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Two lips that hard on my lips were prest;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Then came thunder in my ears<br /></span>
<span class="i3">As over us surged the sea of steers,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Blows that beat blood into my eyes,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And when I could rise<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Lasca was dead!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">I gouged out a grave a few feet deep,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And there in earth's arms I laid her to sleep;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And there she is lying, and no one knows,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And the summer shines and the winter snows;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">For many a day the flowers have spread<br /></span>
<span class="i3">A pall of petals over her head;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And the little gray hawk that hangs aloft in the air;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And the sly coyote trots here and there,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And the black snake glides, and glitters, and slides<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Into the rift in a cotton-wood tree;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And the buzzard sails on,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And comes and is gone,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Stately and still like a ship at sea;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And I wonder why I do not care<br /></span>
<span class="i3">For the things that are like the things that were.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Does half my heart lie buried there<br /></span>
<span class="i7">In Texas, down by the Rio Grande?<br /></span>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288"></a></span>
</div></div>


<h3>THE VOLUNTEER ORGANIST<br />
BY S. W. FOSS</h3>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">The gret big church wuz crowded full uv broadcloth an' uv silk,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">An' satins rich as cream thet grows on our ol' brindle's milk;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Shined boots, biled shirts, stiff dickeys an' stovepipe hats were there,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">An' doods 'ith trouserloons so tight they couldn't kneel down in prayer.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">The elder in his poolpit high, said, as he slowly riz:<br /></span>
<span class="i3">"Our organist is kep' to hum, laid up 'ith roomatiz,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">An' as we hev no substitoot, as Brother Moore aint here,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Will some 'un in the congregation be so kind's to volunteer?"<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">An' then a red-nosed, drunken tramp, of low-toned, rowdy style,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Give an interductory hiccup, an' then staggered up the aisle.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Then through thet holy atmosphere there crep' a sense er sin,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">An' through thet air of sanctity the odor uv old gin.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Then Deacon Purington he yelled, his teeth all set on edge:<br /></span>
<span class="i3">"This man profanes the house of God! W'y this is sacrilege!"<br /></span>
<span class="i3">The tramp didn't hear a word he said, but slouched 'ith stumblin' feet,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">An' sprawled an' staggered up the steps, an' gained the organ seat.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">He then went pawin' through the keys, an' soon there rose a strain<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Thet seemed to jest bulge out the heart an' 'lectrify the brain;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">An' then he slapped down on the thing 'ith hands an' head an' knees,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">He slam-dashed his hull body down kerflop upon the keys.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">The organ roared, the music flood went sweepin' high an' dry;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">It swelled into the rafters an' bulged out into the sky,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">The ol' church shook an' staggered an' seemed to reel an' sway,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">An' the elder shouted "Glory!" an' I yelled out "Hooray!"<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">An then he tried a tender strain thet melted in our ears,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Thet brought up blessed memories and drenched 'em down 'ith tears;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">An' we dreamed uv ol' time kitchens 'ith Tabby on the mat,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Uv home an' luv an' baby-days an' mother an' all that!<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">An' then he struck a streak uv hope&mdash;a song from souls forgiven&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Thet burst from prison-bars uv sin an' stormed the gates uv heaven;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">The morning stars they sung together&mdash;no soul wuz left alone&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">We felt the universe wuz safe an' God wuz on His throne!<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">An' then a wail uv deep despair an' darkness come again,<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289"></a></span>
<span class="i3">An' long, black crape hung on the doors uv all the homes uv men;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">No luv, no light, no joy, no hope, no songs of glad delight,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">An' then&mdash;the tramp, he staggered down an' reeled into the night!<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">But we knew he'd tol' his story, tho he never spoke a word,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">An' it was the saddest story thet our ears had ever heard;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">He hed tol' his own life history an' no eye was dry the day,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">W'en the elder rose an' simply said: "My brethren, let us pray."<br /></span>
</div></div>

<p>By permission of <i>The Blade</i>, Toledo, Ohio.</p>

<h3>LIFE COMPARED TO A GAME OF CARDS<br />
ANONYMOUS</h3>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i13">Life is like a game of cards<br /></span>
<span class="i15">Which each one has to learn.<br /></span>
<span class="i13">Each shuffles, cuts and deals a pack,<br /></span>
<span class="i15">And each a trump does turn.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i13">Some turn a high card at the top,<br /></span>
<span class="i15">While others turn a low.<br /></span>
<span class="i13">Some hold a hand quite flushed with trumps,<br /></span>
<span class="i15">While others none can show.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i13">When hearts are trumps we play for love<br /></span>
<span class="i15">And pleasure decks the hour.<br /></span>
<span class="i13">No thought of danger ever comes<br /></span>
<span class="i15">In roses' lovely bower.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i13">When diamonds chance to turn the pack<br /></span>
<span class="i15">'Tis then men play for gold,<br /></span>
<span class="i13">And heavy sums are won and lost<br /></span>
<span class="i15">By gamblers young and old.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i13">When clubs are trumps beware of war<br /></span>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290"></a></span><span class="i15">On ocean and on land,<br /></span>
<span class="i13">For fearful things have come to pass<br /></span>
<span class="i15">When clubs were in the hand.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">But last of all is when the spade is turned by the hand of time,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And finishes up the game in every land and clime;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">No matter how much a man may make or how much a man may save,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">You'll find the spade turns up at last to dig each player's grave.<br /></span>
</div></div>


<h3>OLD DADDY TURNER<br />
ANONYMOUS</h3>

<p>This was the picture in front of "Old Daddy Turner's" cabin
in the Kaintuck quarter the other afternoon: Two colored men
sitting on a wash-bench, silent and sorrowful; an old dog, sleeping
in the sun at their feet, and a colored woman calling to a boy
who was on the fence: "Now, Jeems Henry, you git right down
from dat! Doan you know day Daddy Turner am jist on de
p'int of dyin' and gwine up to hebben?"</p>

<p>Here was the picture inside: The poor old, white-headed man
lying on his dying bed, flesh wasted away and strength departed.
Near him sat his faithful old wife, rocking to and fro and moaning
and grieving. Farther away was a colored man and woman,
solemn-faced and sad-hearted, shaking their heads as they cast
glances toward the bed. For a long time the old man lay quiet
and speechless, but at length he signed to be propped up. A
sun as warm as springtime poured into the room. He took notice
of it, and a change came to his face as his eyes rested upon his
grieving wife.</p>

<p>"Ize bin gwine back in my mind!" he whispered, as he reached
out his thin hand for her to clasp. "Fur ober fo'ty y'ars we's
trabbled 'long the same path. We sung de same songs&mdash;we prayed
de same prayers&mdash;we had hold of han's when we 'listed in de
Gospel ranks an' sot our faces to'rds de golden gates of hebben.
Ole woman, Ize gwine to part wid you! Yes, Ize gwine ter
leave yer all alone!"</p>

<p>"O Daddy! Daddy!" she wailed as she leaned over him.</p>

<p>"Doan't take on so, chile! It's de Lawd's doin's, not mine.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291"></a></span> To-morrow
de sun may be as bright an' warm, but de ole man won't
be heah. All de arternoon Ize had glimpses of a shady path
leadin' down to de shor' of a big broad ribber. Ize seen people
gwine down dar to cross ober, an' in a leetle time I'll be wid 'em."</p>

<p>She put her wrinkled face on the pillow beside his and sobbed,
and he placed his hand on her head and said:</p>

<p>"It's de Lawd, chile&mdash;de bressed Lawd! Chile, Ize tried to
be good to yer. You has been good to me. We am nuffin but
ole cull'd folk, po' in eberyting, but tryin' to do right by eberybody.
"When dey tole me I'd got to die, I wasn't sartin if de
Lawd wanted a po' ole black man like me up dar. Yes, chile, He
will! Dis mawnin' I heard de harps playin', de rustle of wings,
an' a cloud sorter lifted up an' I got a cl'ar view right frew
de pearly gates. I saw ole slaves an' nayburs dar, an' dey was
jist as white as anybody, an' a hundred han's beckoned me to
come right up dar 'mong 'em."</p>

<p>"O Daddy! I'll be all alone&mdash;all alone!" she wailed.</p>

<p>"Hush, chile! Ize gwine to be lookin' down on ye! Ize gwine
to put my han' on yer head an' kiss ye when yer heart am big
wid sorrow; an' when night shuts down an' you pray to de Lawd,
I'll be kneelin' long side of ye. Ye won't see me, but I'll be wid ye.
You's old an' gray. It won't be long before ye'll git de summons.
In a little time de cloud will lif' fur ye, an' I'll be right dar by
de pearly gates to take ye in my arms."</p>

<p>"But I can't let you go&mdash;I will hold you down heah wid me!"</p>

<p>"Chile! Ize sorry for ye, but Ize drawin' nigh dat shady path!
Hark! I kin h'ah de footsteps of de mighty parade of speerits
marchin' down to de 'broad ribber! Dey will dig a grave an' lay
my ole bones dar, an' in a week all de world but you will forgit
me. But doan' grieve, chile. De Lawd isn't gwine to shet de
gates on me 'cause I'm ole an' po' an' black. I kin see dem
shinin' way up dar&mdash;see our boy at the gate&mdash;h'ah de sweetest
music dat angels kin play!&mdash;Light de lamp, chile, 'cause de
night has come!"</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292"></a></span></p>

<p>"Oh! he's gwine&mdash;he's gwine!" she wailed, as her tears fell
upon his face.</p>

<p>"Chile! hold my han'! Ober heah am de path! I kin see men
an' women an' chil'en marchin' 'long! Furder down am de sunlight.
It shines on de great ribber! Ober de ribber am&mdash;de&mdash;gates&mdash;of&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>Of heaven! On earth, old and poor and low&mdash;beyond the gates,
an angel with the rest.</p>


<h3>THE TRAMP<br />
ANONYMOUS</h3>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Now, is that any way for to treat a poor man?<br /></span>
<span class="i5">I just asked for a penny or two;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Don't get your back up, and call me a "bum,"<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Because I have nothing to do.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Once I was strong and handsome,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Had plenty of money and clothes:<br /></span>
<span class="i3">That was afore I tippled,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">And whisky had painted my nose.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Down in the Lehigh Valley<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Me and my people grew.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Gentlemen, I was a farmer,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">And a very good farmer, too.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Me and my wife, and Nellie,&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Nellie was just sixteen;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And she was the prettiest creature<br /></span>
<span class="i5">That ever that valley had seen.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Beaux? Why, she had a dozen;<br /></span>
<span class="i5">They come from near and fur:<br /></span>
<span class="i3">But they was mostly farmers,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">And that didn't quite suit her.<br /></span>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293"></a></span></div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">But one of 'em was a New Yorker,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Stylish and handsome and tall.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Hang him! If I had him I'd&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Well, just let me catch him, that's all.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Well, he was the fellow for Nellie,&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i5">She didn't know no ill.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Her mother tried to prevent it;<br /></span>
<span class="i5">But you know a young girl's will.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Well, it's the same old story,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Common enough, you'll say:<br /></span>
<span class="i3">He was a smooth-tongued villain,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">And he got her to run away.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">About a month or so after,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">We heard from the poor young thing:<br /></span>
<span class="i3">He had gone away, and left her<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Without any wedding-ring.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Back to our home we brought her,&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Back to her mother's side,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Filled with a raging fever;<br /></span>
<span class="i5">And she fell at our feet, and died.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Frantic with grief and sorrow,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Her mother began to sink:<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Dead! in less than a fortnight.<br /></span>
<span class="i5">That's when I took to drink.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">And all I want is a penny or two,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Just to help me on my way;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And I'll tramp till I find that hell-hound,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">If it takes till the judgment-day.<br /></span>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294"></a></span>
</div></div>


<h3>THE DANDY FIFTH<br />
BY F. H. GASSAWAY</h3>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">'Twas the time of the workingmen's great strike, when all the land stood still<br /></span>
<span class="i3">At the sudden roar from the hungry mouths that labor could not fill;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">When the thunder of the railroad ceased, and startled towns could spy<br /></span>
<span class="i3">A hundred blazing factories painting each midnight sky;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Through Philadelphia's surging streets marched the brown ranks of toil,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">The grimy legions of the shops, the tillers of the soil.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">White-faced militiamen looked on, while women shrank with dread;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">'Twas muscle against money then, 'twas riches against bread.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Once, as the mighty mob tramped on, a carriage stopt the way,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Upon the silken seat of which a young patrician lay;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And as, with haughty glance, he swept along the jeering crowd,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">A white-haired blacksmith in the ranks took off his cap and bowed.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">That night the Labor League was met, and soon the chairman said,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">"There hides a Judas in our midst, one man who bows the head,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Who bends the coward's servile knee when capital rolls by."<br /></span>
<span class="i3">"Down with him!" "Kill the traitor cur!" rang out the savage cry.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Up rose the blacksmith, then, and held erect his head of gray:<br /></span>
<span class="i3">"I am no traitor, tho I bowed to a rich man's son to-day;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And, tho you kill me as I stand, as like you mean to do,&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">I want to tell you a story short, and I ask you'll hear me through.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">I was one of those who enlisted first, the old flag to defend;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">With Pope and Halleck, with 'Mac' and Grant, I followed to the end.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">'Twas somewhere down on the Rapidan, when the Union cause looked drear,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">That a regiment of rich young bloods came down to us from here.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Their uniforms were by tailors cut; they brought hampers of good wine;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And every squad had a servant, too, to keep their boots in shine;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">They'd naught to say to us dusty 'vets,' and, through the whole brigade<br /></span>
<span class="i3">We called them the kid-gloved Dandy Fifth, when we passed them on parade.<br /></span>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295"></a></span><span class="i3">Well, they were sent to hold a fort that Rebs tried hard to take,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">'Twas the key of all our line, which naught while it held out could break.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">But a fearful fight we lost just then, the reserve came up too late,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And on that fort, and the Dandy Fifth, hung the whole division's fate.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Three times we tried to take them aid, and each time back we fell,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Tho once we could hear the fort's far guns boom like a funeral knell;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Till at length Joe Hooker's corps came up, and then straight through we broke;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">How we cheered as we saw those dandy coats still back of the drifting smoke!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">With bands all front and our colors spread we swarmed up the parapet,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">But the sight that silenced our welcome shout I shall never in life forget.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Four days before had their water gone,&mdash;they had dreaded that the most,&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">The next, their last scant ration went, and each man looked a ghost<br /></span>
<span class="i3">As he stood gaunt-eyed, behind his gun, like a crippled stag at bay,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And watched starvation, not defeat, draw nearer every day.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Of all the Fifth, not fourscore men could in their places stand,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And their white lips told a fearful tale, as we grasped each bloodless hand.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">The rest in the stupor of famine lay, save here and there a few<br /></span>
<span class="i3">In death sat rigid against the guns, grim sentinels in blue;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And their colonel could not speak or stir, but we saw his proud eye thrill<br /></span>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296"></a></span><span class="i3">As he simply glanced to the shot-scarred staff where the old flag floated still!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Now, I hate the tyrants who grind us down, while the wolf snarls at our door,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And the men who've risen from us, to laugh at the misery of the poor;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">But I tell you, mates, while this weak old hand I have left the strength to lift,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">I will touch my cap to the proudest swell who fought in the Dandy Fifth!"<br /></span>
</div></div>


<h3>ON LINCOLN<br />
BY WALT WHITMAN</h3>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">The ship has weathered every rack, the prize we sought is won;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">But, O heart! heart! heart! O the bleeding drops of red,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Where on the deck my Captain lies, fallen, cold and dead.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Rise up&mdash;for you the flag is flung&mdash;for you the bugle trills,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">For you bouquets and ribbon'd wreaths&mdash;for you the shores a-crowding;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Here Captain! dear father! this arm beneath your head!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">It is some dream, that on the deck you've fallen cold and dead.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">My Captain does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">The ship is anchored safe and sound, its voyage is closed and done;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object won;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Exult, O shores, and ring, O bells! but I with mournful tread<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Walk the deck my Captain lies, fallen, cold and dead.<br /></span>
</div></div>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297"></a></span></p>

<h3>THE LITTLE STOWAWAY<br />
ANONYMOUS</h3>

<p>"'Bout three years ago, afore I got this berth as I'm in now,
I was second engineer aboard a Liverpool steamer bound for New
York. There'd been a lot of extra cargo sent down just at the last
minute, and we'd no end of a job stowin' it away, and that ran
us late o' startin'; so that, altogether, you may think, the cap'n
warn't in the sweetest temper in the world, nor the mate neither.
On the mornin' of the third day out from Liverpool, the chief
engineer cum down to me in a precious hurry, and says he: 'Tom,
what d'ye think? Blest if we ain't found a stowaway!'</p>

<p>"I didn't wait to hear no more, but up on deck like a sky-rocket;
and there I did see a sight, and no mistake. Every man-Jack
o' the crew, and what few passengers we had aboard, was
all in a ring on the fo'c'stle, and in the middle was the fust mate,
lookin' as black as thunder. Right in front of him, lookin' a
reg'lar mite among them big fellers, was a little bit o' a lad not
ten year old&mdash;ragged as a scarecrow, but with bright, curly hair,
and a bonnie little face o' his own, if it hadn't been so woful
and pale. The mate was a great, hulkin', black-bearded feller
with a look that 'ud ha' frightened a horse, and a voice fit to
make one jump through a keyhole; but the young un warn't a
bit afeard&mdash;he stood straight up, and looked him full in the face
with them bright, clear eyes o' his'n, for all the world as if he
was Prince Halferd himself. You might ha' heerd a pin drop,
as the mate spoke.</p>

<p>"'Well, you young whelp,' says he, 'what's brought you here?'</p>

<p>"'It was my stepfather as done it,' says the boy, in a weak
little voice, but as steady as he could be. 'Father's dead, and
mother's married again, and my new father says as how he won't
have no brats about eatin' up his wages; and he stowed me away
when nobody warn't lookin', and guv me some grub to keep me
going' for a day or two till I got to sea. He says I'm to go to
Aunt Jane, at Halifax; and here's her address.'</p>

<p>"We all believed every word on't, even without the paper he
held out. But the mate says: 'Look here, my lad; that's all very
fine, but it won't do here&mdash;some o' these men o' mine are in the
secret, and I mean to have it out of 'em. Now, you just point
out <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298"></a></span>the man as stowed you away and fed you, this very minute;
if you don't, it'll be worse for you!'</p>

<p>"The boy looked up in his bright, fearless way (it did my
heart good to look at him, the brave little chap!) and says,
quietly, 'I've told you the truth; I ain't got no more to say.'</p>

<p>"The mate says nothin', but looks at him for a minute as if
he'd see clean through him; and then he sings out to the crew
loud enough to raise the dead: 'Reeve a rope to the yard; smart
now!'</p>

<p>"'Now, my lad, you see that 'ere rope? Well, I'll give you ten
minutes to confess; and if you don't tell the truth afore the
time's up, I'll hang you like a dog!'</p>

<p>"The crew all stared at one another as if they couldn't believe
their ears (I didn't believe mine, I can tell ye), and then a low
growl went among 'em, like a wild beast awakin' out of a nap.</p>

<p>"'Silence there!' shouts the mate, in a voice like the roar of a
nor'easter. 'Stan' by to run for'ard!' as he held the noose ready
to put it round the boy's neck. The little fellow never flinched
a bit; but there was some among the sailors (big strong chaps as
could ha' felled an ox) as shook like leaves in the wind. I
clutched hold o' a handspike, and held it behind my back, all
ready.</p>

<p>"'Tom,' whispers the chief engineer to me, 'd'ye think he
really means to do it?'</p>

<p>"'I don't know,' says I, through my teeth; 'but if he does, he
shall go first, if I swings for it!'</p>

<p>"I've been in many an ugly scrape in my time, but I never
felt 'arf as bad as I did then. Every minute seemed as long as a
dozen; and the tick o' the mate's watch, reg'lar, pricked my ears
like a pin.</p>

<p>"'Eight minutes,' says the mate, his great, deep voice breakin'
in upon the silence like the toll o' a funeral bell. 'If you've
got anything to confess, my lad, you'd best out with it, for ye're
time's nearly up.'</p>

<p>"'I've told you the truth,' answers the boy, very pale, but as
firm as ever. 'May I say my prayers, please?'</p>

<p>"The mate nodded; and down goes the poor little chap on his
knees and put up his poor little hands to pray. I couldn't
make out what he said, but I'll be bound God heard every word<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299"></a></span>.
Then he ups on his feet again, and puts his hands behind him,
and says to the mate quite quietly: 'I'm ready.'</p>

<p>"And then, sir, the mate's hard, grim face broke up all to once,
like I've seed the ice in the Baltic. He snatched up the boy in
his arms, kissed him, and burst out a-cryin' like a child; and I
think there warn't one of us as didn't do the same. I know I did
for one.</p>

<p>"'God bless you, my boy!' says he, smoothin' the child's hair
with his great hard hand. 'You're a true Englishman, every inch
of you; you wouldn't tell a lie to save yer life! Well, if so be as
yer father's cast yer off, I'll be yer father from this day forth;
and if I ever forget you, then may God forget me!'</p>

<p>"And he kep' his word, too. When we got to Halifax, he
found out the little un's aunt, and gev' her a lump o' money to
make him comfortable; and now he goes to see the youngster
every voyage, as reg'lar as can be; and to see the pair on 'em
together&mdash;the little chap so fond of him, and not bearin' him
a bit o' grudge&mdash;it's 'bout as pretty a sight as ever I seed. And
now, sir, yer parding, it's time for me to be goin' below; so I'll
just wish yer good-night."</p>


<h3>SAINT CRISPIAN'S DAY<br />
BY SHAKESPEARE</h3>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3"><i>King Henry.</i> What's he that wishes so?<br /></span>
<span class="i3">My cousin Westmoreland?&mdash;No, my fair cousin:<br /></span>
<span class="i3">If we are marked to die, we are enough<br /></span>
<span class="i3">To do our country loss; and if to live,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">The fewer men the greater share of honor.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">God's will! I pray thee, wish not one man more.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">By Jove, I am not covetous for gold;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Nor care I who doth feed upon my cost;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">It years me not if men my garments wear;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Such outward things dwell not in my desires;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">But if it be a sin to covet honor<br /></span>
<span class="i3">I am the most offending soul alive.<br /></span>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300"></a></span><span class="i3">No, 'faith, my coz, wish not a man from England:<br /></span>
<span class="i3">God's peace! I would not lose so great an honor,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">As one man more, methinks, would share from me,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">For the best hope I have. O, do not wish one more.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Rather proclaim it, Westmoreland, through my host,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">That he which hath no stomach to this fight,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Let him depart; his passport shall be made,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And crowns for convoy put into his purse:<br /></span>
<span class="i3">We would not die in that man's company<br /></span>
<span class="i3">That fears his fellowship to die with us.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">This day is called&mdash;the feast of Crispian:<br /></span>
<span class="i3">He that outlives this day, and comes safe home,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Will stand a tiptoe when this day is nam'd,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And rouse him at the name of Crispian.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">He that shall live this day, and see old age,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbors,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And say,&mdash;"<i>To-morrow is Saint Crispian</i>":<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Then will he strip his sleeve, and show his scars,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And say, "<i>These wounds I had on Crispian's day</i>."<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Old men forget; yet all shall be forgot,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">But he'll remember, with advantages,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">What feats he did that day: then shall our names,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Familiar in their mouths as household words,&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Harry the king, Bedford and Exeter,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloster,&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Be in their flowing cups freshly remember'd:<br /></span>
<span class="i3">This story shall the good man teach his son;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And <i>Crispin Crispian</i> shall ne'er go by,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">From this day to the ending of the world,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">But we in it shall be remember'd:<br /></span>
<span class="i3">We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">For he to-day that sheds his blood with me<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">This day shall gentle his condition:<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And gentlemen in England now a-bed,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Shall think themselves accurs'd they were not here;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And hold their manhoods cheap, whiles any speaks<br /></span>
<span class="i3">That fought with us upon SAINT CRISPIAN'S DAY.<br /></span>
</div></div>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301"></a></span></p>


<h3>THE C'RRECT CARD<br />
BY GEORGE R. SIMS</h3>

<p>"C'rrect card, sir? C'rrect card, sir? What! you've seen my
face before? Well I dare say as how you have, sir, and so have
many more; but they passes me by without a word&mdash;but perhaps
it's just as well; a poor crippled chap like me, sir, ain't fit
company for a swell. But I've seen the time when they all was
proud with me to be talking seen&mdash;when I rode for Lord Arthur
Forester, and wore the black and green. How did it happen? I'll
tell you, sir. You knew little Fanny Flight&mdash;old Farmer Flight's
one daughter&mdash;always so pretty and bright? You used to joke
with her sometimes, sir, and say as, if you she'd marry, you'd
set up a 'pub' together, an' pitch your folks to Old Harry. You
was just down for the holidays, sir, from Oxford, where you
were at school; but <i>you</i> only played at being in love, while I
... was a cursed fool! Well, there were lots of 'm after
her, sir, what with her ways and face; but I was in earnest, you
see, sir, and rode a waiting race. 'Twas one fine April morning,
when she came out to see us train, and just as she stood with her
little hand holding on by my horse's mane, I felt as how I could
do it, and came with a rush, you see, an' I said to her&mdash;all of a
tremble, sir,&mdash;'Fan, will you marry me?' And she blushed an'
smiled, an' whinnied, and after a bit she agreed that as soon as
I found the money to pay for our keep and feed, why we'd run
in harness together. We'd ha' made a tidyish pair; for I weren't
a bad looking colt at the time, and <i>she</i>&mdash;such a nice little mare!
Such a mouth! such a forehead! such action! Ah, well, let 'em
say what they may, that's the sort to make running with us, sir,&mdash;tho,
hang it! they never can <i>stay</i>.</p>

<p>"Well, the time went on, and I rode my best, an' they called me
a 'cuteish' chap, and Lord Arthur put me up to ride for the
Leicestershire Handicap. Lord Arthur, he was a <i>gentleman</i>&mdash;never
was stingy or mean&mdash;an' he said, 'I'll give you five hundred,
my man, if you win with the black and green.' Well, the horse I
rode was Rasper; perhaps you remember him?&mdash;Black all but
one white foot, sir; <i>and</i> a temper!&mdash;he'd pull like sin.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302"></a></span> But jump
like a bird if he had a mind&mdash;plenty of power and pace&mdash;and I
knew he had it in him, and I swore I'd win the race. The night
before the race came off I went down to Farmer Flight's&mdash;they'd
got to expect me regular now on Tuesday and Friday nights&mdash;and
I told her what Lord Arthur said, and how, if I chanced to
win, we'd go into double harness on the strength of his lordship's
tin. An' she put my colors in her hair, and her arms around my
neck, and I felt ... but, hang it! a chap's a fool as
can't keep his feelings in check. But then, you sees, sir, I <i>was</i>
a fool&mdash;a big one as ever was seen&mdash;but then I was only twenty
when I rode in the black and green. I got up early next morning,
an' felt as light as a feather, and I went to start for the
stables; and mother she asked me whether I'd not take my flask
in my pocket, in case it might come in handy; but 'Mother,' I
says, 'when a chap's in love, he don't feel to want any brandy.'
And I thought, as I put on a new pair o' spurs, and a jacket
bran new and clean, that I'd give long odds that I'd pull it off&mdash;ten
to one on the black and green. Well, Lord Arthur gave
me my orders, and a leg up on to my horse, and I just had taken
my canter an' was coming back up the course, when who should
I spy but Fanny, in a stylish sort of a trap, talking away like
blazes to a dark, long-whiskered chap; but I hadn't time to think
of more, for we got the word to start, and Rasper gave a thundering
tear that nearly pulled out my heart; an' then I pulled him
together, for mine was a waiting race, and I knew that what was to
win it was Rasper's pluck not pace. Well, I got round all right
the first time; the fences were easy enough&mdash;at least to a couple
like <i>we</i> were; the only one that was tough was a biggish hedge,
with a post and rails; but the taking-off was fair, and I shouldn't
call it a dangerous jump, as long as you took it with care. And
Rasper! that very morning I said to Lord Arthur, I said, 'I think
as that horse there could jump a <i>church</i>, if he took the thing
into his head'; an' that morning he went like a lady and looked as
bright as a bean, and I knew, if it only lasted, I'd win with the
black and green. I was riding Rasper easy, when, just as we
passed the stand, it struck me the carriage that Fanny was in
was somewhere upon my right hand; and I took a pull at Rasper,
and a glance toward that side, and I saw what made me forget
the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303"></a></span>race and forget the way to ride&mdash;only a kiss! An' what's a
kiss to the like of him and her? But I could not help letting
Rasper feel that I wore a long-necked spur; an' tho I set my
teeth to be cool and steadied him with the rein, I knew that the
devil in Rasper was up, and couldn't be laid again; an' the very
next fence, tho I kept him straight, and he went at it after the
rest, I could feel that he meant to do his worst, and I couldn't ride
my best. For, you know, when a man feels desperate-like, he's
no more head than a child, and it's all <i>up</i> with a jock, you see, if
he goes at his fences wild. Over the next fence&mdash;over the
next&mdash;till I thought, as my teeth I set, if I only could keep my head to
my work, I might pull through with it yet; and I took a pull at
Rasper, an' fell back a bit to the tail, for I'd never forget the
one difficult spot&mdash;the hedge with the post and rail. How it all
comes back! We're in the field&mdash;now for a rattling burst; for
the race is half won by the horse and man that crosses that fence
first. I run up to my horses and pass them&mdash;I've given Rasper
his head; I can hear, some lengths behind me, the trampling and
the tread; and now I send him at it firmly but not too fast&mdash;he
stops&mdash;lays his ears back&mdash;REFUSES! <i>The devil's come out
at last!</i> And I dig in the steel and let him feel the sting of stout
whalebone, and I say, 'You shall do it, you devil! if I break
your neck and my own.' And the brute gives a squeal, and rushes
at the post and rail like mad&mdash;no time to rise him at it&mdash;not
much use if I had; and then ... well, I feel a crash and a blow,
and hear a woman scream, and I seem to be dying by inches in a
horrid sort of a dream.</p>

<p>"No, thank ye&mdash;I'd rather not, sir. You see they ain't all
like you; these gents as has plenty of money don't care who they
gives it to; but as for stopping an' saying a word, an' hearing
a fellow's tale, they'd rather give him a crown, sir, or stand him
a quart of ale. But it brings back old times to be talking to you.
Ah! the jolly old times as I've seen, when I rode for Lord Arthur
(c'rrect card, sir?) and wore the black and green!"</p>


<h3>THE ENGINEER'S STORY<br />
BY ROSA H. THORPE</h3>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304"></a></span></p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">No, children, my trips are over,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">The engineer needs rest;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">My hand is shaky; I'm feeling<br /></span>
<span class="i5">A tugging pain i' my breast;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">But here, as the twilight gathers,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">I'll tell you a tale of the road,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">That'll ring in my head forever,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Till it rests beneath the sod.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">We were lumbering along in the twilight,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">The night was drooping her shade,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And the "Gladiator" labored,&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Climbing the top of the grade;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">The train was heavily laden,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">So I let my engine rest,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Climbing the grading slowly,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Till we reached the upland's crest.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">I held my watch to the lamplight,&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Ten minutes behind the time!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Lost in the slackened motion<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Of the up-grade's heavy climb;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">But I knew the miles of the prairie<br /></span>
<span class="i5">That stretched a level track,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">So I touched the gauge of the boiler,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">And pulled the lever back.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Over the rails a-gleaming,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Thirty an hour, or so,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">The engine leaped like a demon,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Breathing a fiery glow;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">But to me&mdash;a-hold of the lever&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i5">It seemed a child alway,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Trustful and always ready<br /></span>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305"></a></span><span class="i5">My lightest touch to obey.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">I was proud, you know, of my engine,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Holding it steady that night,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And my eye on the track before us,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Ablaze with the Drummond light.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">We neared a well-known cabin,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Where a child of three or four,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">As the up train passed, oft called me,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">A-playing around the door.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">My hand was firm on the throttle<br /></span>
<span class="i5">As we swept around the curve,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">When something afar in the shadow<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Struck fire through every nerve.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">I sounded the brakes, and crashing<br /></span>
<span class="i5">The reverse-lever down in dismay,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Groaning to heaven,&mdash;eighty paces<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Ahead was the child at its play!<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">One instant,&mdash;one, awful and only,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">The world flew round in my brain,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And I smote my hand hard on my forehead<br /></span>
<span class="i5">To keep back the terrible pain;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">The train I thought flying forever,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">With mad, irresistible roll,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">While the cries of the dying, the night-wind<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Swept into my shuddering soul.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Then I stood on the front of the engine&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i5">How I got there I never could tell&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">My feet planted down on the crossbar,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Where the cow-catcher slopes to the rail,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">One hand firmly locked on the coupler,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">And one held out in the night,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">While my eye gauged the distance, and measured<br /></span>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306"></a></span><span class="i5">The speed of our slackening flight.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">My mind, thank the Lord! it was steady;<br /></span>
<span class="i5">I saw the curls of her hair,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And the face that, turning in wonder,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Was lit by the deadly glare.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">I know little more&mdash;but I heard it&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i5">The groan of the anguished wheels,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And remember thinking&mdash;the engine<br /></span>
<span class="i5">In agony trembles and reels.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">One rod! To the day of my dying<br /></span>
<span class="i5">I shall think the old engine reared back,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And as it recoiled, with a shudder<br /></span>
<span class="i5">I swept my hand over the track;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Then darkness fell over my eyelids,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">But I heard the surge of the train,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And the poor old engine creaking,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">As racked by a deadly pain.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">They found us, they said, on the gravel,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">My fingers enmeshed in her hair,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And she on my bosom a-climbing,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">To nestle securely there.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">We are not much given to crying&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i5">We men that run on the road&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">But that night, they said, there were faces<br /></span>
<span class="i5">With tears on them, lifted to God.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">For years in the eve and the morning,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">As I neared the cabin again,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">My hand on the lever prest downward<br /></span>
<span class="i5">And slackened the speed of the train.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">When my engine had blown her a greeting,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">She always would come to the door;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And her look with a fulness of heaven<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Blesses me evermore.<br /></span>
</div></div>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307"></a></span></p>


<h3>THE FACE UPON THE FLOOR<br />
BY H. ANTOINE D'ARCY</h3>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">'Twas a balmy summer evening, and a goodly crowd was there,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Which well-nigh filled Joe's barroom on the corner of the square;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And as songs and witty stories came through the open door,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">A vagabond crept slowly in and posed upon the floor.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">"Where did it come from?" some one said. "The wind has blown it in."<br /></span>
<span class="i3">"What does it want?" another cried. "Some whisky, rum or gin?"<br /></span>
<span class="i3">"Here, Toby, seek him, if your stomach's equal to the work&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">I wouldn't touch him with a fork, he's as filthy as a Turk."<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">This badinage the poor wretch took with stoical good grace;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">In fact, he smiled as tho he thought he'd struck the proper place.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">"Come, boys, I know there's kindly hearts among so good a crowd&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">To be in such good company would make a deacon proud.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">"Give me a drink&mdash;that's what I want&mdash;I'm out of funds, you know,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">When I had the cash to treat the gang, this hand was never slow.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">What? You laugh as tho you thought this pocket never held a sou,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">I once was fixt as well, my boys, as any one of you.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">"There, thanks; that's braced me nicely; God bless you one and all;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Next time I pass this good saloon, I'll make another call.<br /></span>
<span class="i3"><i>Give you a song?</i> No, I can't do that, my singing days are past;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">My voice is cracked, my throat's worn out, and my lungs are going fast.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308"></a></span><span class="i3">"Say! give me another whisky, and I'll tell you what I'll do&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">I'll tell you a funny story, and a fact, I promise, too.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">That I was ever a decent man, not one of you would think;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">But I was, some four or five years back. Say, give me another drink.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">"Fill her up, Joe, I want to put some life into my frame&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Such little drinks, to a bum like me, are miserably tame;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Five fingers&mdash;there, that's the scheme&mdash;and corking whisky, too.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Well, here's luck, boys; and landlord, my best regards to you.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">"You've treated me pretty kindly, and I'd like to tell you how<br /></span>
<span class="i3">I came to be the dirty sot you see before you now.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">As I told you, once I was a man, with muscle, frame and health,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And but for a blunder, ought to have made considerable wealth.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">"I was a painter&mdash;not one that daubed on bricks and wood,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">But an artist, and, for my age, was rated pretty good.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">I worked hard at my canvas, and was bidding fair to rise,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">For gradually I saw the star of fame before my eyes.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">"I made a picture perhaps you've seen, 'tis called the 'Chase of Fame,'<br /></span>
<span class="i3">It brought me fifteen hundred pounds, and added to my name.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And then I met a woman&mdash;now comes the funny part&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">With eyes that petrified my brain, and sunk into my heart.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">"Why don't you laugh? 'Tis funny that the vagabond you see<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Could ever love a woman, and expect her love for me;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">But 'twas so, and for a month or two her smiles were freely given,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And when her loving lips touched mine it carried me to heaven.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">"Did you ever see a woman for whom your soul you'd give,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">With a form like the Milo Venus, too beautiful to live;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">With eyes that would beat the Koh-i-nor, and a wealth of chestnut hair?<br /></span>
<span class="i3">If so, 'twas she, for there never was another half so fair.<br /></span>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309"></a></span></div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">"I was working on a portrait, one afternoon in May,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Of a fair-haired boy, a friend of mine, who lived across the way;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And Madeline admired it, and, much to my surprize,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Said that she'd like to know the man that had such dreamy eyes.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">"It didn't take long to know him, and before a month had flown,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">My friend had stolen my darling, and I was left alone;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And ere a year of misery had passed above my head,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">The jewel I had treasured so had tarnished, and was dead.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">"That's why I took to drink, boys. Why I never saw you smile,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">I thought you'd be amused, and laughing all the while.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Why, what's the matter, friend? There's a tear-drop in your eye,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Come, laugh like me; 'tis only babes and women that cry.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">"Say, boys, if you give me just another whisky, I'll be glad,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And I'll draw right here a picture of the face that drove me mad.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Give me that piece of chalk with which you mark the baseball score&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">You shall see the lovely Madeline upon the barroom floor."<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Another drink, and, with chalk in hand, the vagabond began<br /></span>
<span class="i3">To sketch a face that well might buy the soul of any man.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Then as he placed another look upon the shapely head,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">With a fearful shriek he leaped and fell across the picture dead.<br /></span>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310"></a></span>
</div></div>


<h3>THE FUNERAL OF THE FLOWERS<br />
BY T. DE WITT TALMAGE</h3>

<p>The summer is ended, and we have all been invited to attend
the Funeral of the Flowers. It occurred on a long slope which at
one side dipt into the warm valleys, and on the other side arose
very high into the frosty air, so that on one boundary line lived
cactus and orange-blossom and camellia, and on the other resided
balsam-pine and Alpine strawberry, and all kinds of growths
between.</p>

<p>Living midway that steep slope of land there was a rose, that
in common parlance we called "Giant of Battle." It was red and
fiery, looking as if it had stood on fields of carnage where the
blood dashed to the lip. It was a hero among flowers. Many of
the grasses of the field worshiped it as a god, the mignonette
burning incense beneath it, the marigold throwing glittering rays
of beauty before it, the mistletoe crawling at its feet. The fame
of this Giant of Battle was world-wide, and some said that its
ancestors on the father's side had stood on the plains of Waterloo,
and on its mother's side at Magneta, and drank themselves drunk
on human gore. But children are not to blame for what their
ancestors do, and this rose, called Giant of Battle, was universally
adored.</p>

<p>But the Giant got sick. Whether it was from the poisonous
breath of the Nightshade that had insolently kissed him, or from
grief at the loss of a Damask-rose that had first won his heart
by her blushes, and then died, we know not; but the Giant of Battle
was passing rapidly away. There was great excitement up
and down the slopes. A consultation of botanical physicians was
called, and Doctor Eglantine came and thrust a thorn for a lancet
into the Giant's veins, on the principle that he had too much
blood and was apoplectic, and Doctor Balm of Gilead attempted
to heal the pain by poultices; but still the Giant grew worse and
worse. The Primrose called in the evening to see how the dying
hero was, and the Morning-glory stopt before breakfast to see
if it could do any good. Every flower or grass that called
had a prescription for him that would surely cure. Neighbor
Horse-sorrel suggested acids, and Honeysuckle proposed sugars,
and Myrrh suggested bitters, and Ladies'-slipper, having taken
off her shoes, said all the patient wanted was more quiet about
the room.</p>

<p>But too much changing of medicine only made the Giant more
and more sick, and one afternoon, while sitting up in bed with
a cup of honeysuckle to his lips, and with the fan of the south
wind fluttering in his face, his head dropt and he died. As the
breath went out of him a Clematis that had been <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311"></a></span>overlooking the
sad scene, said: "What time is it?" and a cluster of Four-o'clocks
answered, "A little past the middle of the afternoon."</p>

<p>The next morning the funeral bells all rang: the Blue-bells
and the Canterbury-bells and the Fox-glove-bells and Hare-bells
and all the flowerdom came to the obsequies of the Giant of
Battle. He was laid out on a trellis, and on a catafalque, such
as dead monarchs never had, of dahlia and phlox and magnolia
and geranium and gladiola. There was a great audience of flowers.
Solemnity came down upon them. Even the Cock's-comb
stopt strutting, and Larkspur ceased her fickleness, and Snapdragon
looked gentle, and Snowdrop seemed to melt, and Bachelor's-button
wished it had some one to express its grief to. The
Passion-flower came in and threw herself on the pale cheek of
the Giant with most ardent demonstration of affection. Amaranth
and Hydrangea and Daffodil and Spiderwort and Spiræa having
come far from the night and dew, stood around with their eyes
full of tears.</p>

<p>The funeral services began. Rose of Sharon and Lily of the
Valley took part in them. The Star of Bethlehem sang a hymn
to the tune of Bonny Doon. Forget-me-not said a few words
of commemoration. Then Heartsease arose for the work of comfort,
and read the lesson of the day: "As a flower of the field,
so he flourisheth. For the wind passeth over it, and it is gone;
and the place thereof shall know it no more." And all the bells,
Fox-glove-bells and Blue-bells and Canterbury-bells and Hare-bells,
prolonged the strain through all that day, tolling, tolling out,
"No more! no more!"</p>


<h3>CATO'S SOLILOQUY ON IMMORTALITY<br />
BY JOSEPH ADDISON</h3>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i5">It must be so: Plato, thou reasonest well!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Else, whence this pleasing hope, this fond desire,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">This longing after immortality?<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Or, whence this secret dread and inward horror<br /></span>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312"></a></span><span class="i3">Of falling into naught? Why shrinks the soul<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Back on herself and startles at destruction?<br /></span>
<span class="i3">'Tis the divinity that stirs within us;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">'Tis Heaven itself, that points out an hereafter<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And intimates eternity to man.<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Eternity! thou pleasing, dreadful thought!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Through what variety of untried being,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Through what new scenes and changes must we pass!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">The wide, the unbounded prospect lies before me;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">But shadows, clouds, and darkness rest upon it.<br /></span>
</div></div>

<h3>OPPORTUNITY<br />
BY JOHN J. INGALLS</h3>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Master of human destinies am I<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Fame, love and fortune, on my footsteps wait.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Cities and fields I walk, I penetrate<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Deserts and seas remote&mdash;and passing by<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Hovel and mart and palace, soon or late,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">I knock unbidden once at every gate&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">If sleeping, wake, if feasting, rise, before<br /></span>
<span class="i3">I turn away. It is the hour of fate<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And they who follow me, reach every state<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Mortals desire, and conquer every foe<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Save death: but those who doubt or hesitate<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Condemned to failure, penury and wo,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Seek me in vain and uselessly implore;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">I answer not and I return no more.<br /></span>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_313" id="Page_313"></a></span>
</div></div>


<h3>OPPORTUNITY'S REPLY<br />
BY WALTER MALONE</h3>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">They do me wrong who say I come no more,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">When once I knock and fail to find you in:<br /></span>
<span class="i3">For every day I stand outside your door,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">And bid you wake and rise to fight and win.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Wail not for precious changes passed away;<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Weep not for golden ages on the wane;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Each night I burn the records of the day;<br /></span>
<span class="i5">At sunrise every soul is born again.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Laugh like a boy at splendors that have sped;<br /></span>
<span class="i5">To vanished joys be blind, and deaf and dumb;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">My judgments seat the dead past with its dead,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">But never bind a moment yet to come.<br /></span>
</div></div>


<h3>THE ERL-KING<br />
BY JOHANN WOLFGANG VON GOETHE<br />
(<i>Translated by Sir Walter Scott</i>)</h3>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Oh, who rides by night thro' the woodland so wild?<br /></span>
<span class="i3">It is the fond father embracing his child,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And close the boy nestles within his loved arm,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">To hold himself fast, and to keep himself warm.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">"O father, see yonder! see yonder!" he says;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">"My boy, upon what dost thou fearfully gaze?"<br /></span>
<span class="i3">"Oh, 'tis the Erl-king with his crown and his shroud."<br /></span>
<span class="i3">"No, my son, it is but a dark wreath of the cloud."<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">"Oh, come and go with me, thou loveliest child;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">By many a gay sport shall thy time be beguiled;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">My mother keeps for thee full many a fair toy,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And many a fine flower shall she pluck for my boy."<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_314" id="Page_314"></a></span><span class="i3">"O father, my father, and did you not hear<br /></span>
<span class="i3">The Erl-king whisper so low in my ear?"<br /></span>
<span class="i3">"Be still, my heart's darling&mdash;my child, be at ease;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">It was but the wild blast as it sung thro' the trees."<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">"Oh, wilt thou go with me, thou loveliest boy?<br /></span>
<span class="i3">My daughter shall tend thee with care and with joy;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">She shall bear thee so lightly thro' wet and thro' wild,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And press thee, and kiss thee, and sing to my child."<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">"O father, my father, and saw you not plain,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">The Erl-king's pale daughter glide past thro' the rain?"<br /></span>
<span class="i3">"Oh, yes, my loved treasure, I knew it full soon;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">It was the gray willow that danced to the moon."<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">"Oh, come and go with me, no longer delay,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Or else, silly child, I will drag thee away."<br /></span>
<span class="i3">"O father! O father! now, now keep your hold,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">The Erl-king has seized me&mdash;his grasp is so cold!"<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Sore trembled the father; he spurr'd thro' the wild,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Clasping close to his bosom his shuddering child.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">He reaches his dwelling in doubt and in dread,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">But, clasp'd to his bosom, the infant was dead!<br /></span>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_315" id="Page_315"></a></span>
</div></div>


<h3>CARCASSONNE<br />
BY M. E. W. SHERWOOD</h3>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">How old I am! I'm eighty years. I've worked both hard and long,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Yet patient as my life has been, one dearest sight I have not seen,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">It almost seems a wrong. A dream I had when life was young.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Alas! our dreams, they come not true.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">I thought to see fair Carcassonne,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">That lovely city, Carcassonne.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">One sees it dimly from the height beyond the mountain blue.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Fain would I walk five weary leagues, I do not mind the road's fatigues,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Thro' morn and evening's dew.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">But bitter frosts would fall at night, and on the grapes that withered blight,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">I could not go to Carcassonne,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">I never went to Carcassonne.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">They say it is as gay all times as holidays at home.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">The gentles ride in gay attire, and in the sun each gilded spire<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Shoots up like those at Rome.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">The bishop the procession leads, the generals curb their prancing steeds.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Alas! I saw not Carcassonne.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Alas! I know not Carcassonne.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Our vicar's right. He preaches loud and bids us to beware.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">He says, "Oh, guard the weakest part and most the traitor in the heart<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Against ambition's snare."<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Perhaps in autumn I can find two sunny days with gentle wind,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">I then could go to Carcassonne,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">I still could go to Carcassonne.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">My God and Father, pardon me, if this my wish offends.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">One sees some hope more high than he in age, as in his infancy<br /></span>
<span class="i3">To which his heart ascends.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">My wife, my son have seen Narbonne, my grandson went to Perpignan,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">But I have not seen Carcassonne,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">But I have not seen Carcassonne.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Thus sighed a peasant bent with age, half dreaming in his chair.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">I said, "My friend, come, go with me to-morrow; thine eyes shall see those streets<br /></span>
<span class="i3">That seem so fair."<br /></span>
<span class="i3">That night there came for passing soul the church-bell's low and solemn toll.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">He never saw gay Carcassonne.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Who has not known a Carcassonne?<br /></span>
</div></div>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_316" id="Page_316"></a></span></p>

<h3>THE MUSICIANS<br />
ANONYMOUS</h3>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">The strings of my heart were strung by Pleasure,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">And I laughed when the music fell on my ear,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">For he and Mirth played a joyful measure,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">And they played so loud that I could not hear<br /></span>
<span class="i3">The wailing and mourning of souls a-weary,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">The strains of sorrow that sighed around;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">The notes of my heart sang blithe and cheery,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">And I heard no other sound.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Mirth and Pleasure, the music brothers,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">But sometimes a discord was heard by others<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Tho only the rhythm was heard by me.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Louder and louder and faster and faster,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">The hands of those brothers played strain on strain,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Till, all of a sudden a mighty master<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Swept them aside, and Pain,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Pain, the Musician, the soul refiner,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Resting the strings of my quivering heart;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And the air that he played was a plaintive minor,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">So sad that the tear-drops were forced to start.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Each note was an echo of awful anguish,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">As shrill, as solemn, as sad as slow,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And my soul for a season seemed to languish<br /></span>
<span class="i5">And faint with its weight of wo.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">With skilful hands that were never weary,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">This master of music played strain on strain;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And between the bars of the Miserere<br /></span>
<span class="i5">He drew up the strings of my heart again.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And I was filled with a vague, strange wonder<br /></span>
<span class="i5">To see that they did not break in two;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">They are drawn so tight they will snap asunder<br /></span>
<span class="i5">I thought, but instead they grew<br /></span>
<span class="i3">In the hands of the Master, firmer and stronger,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">And I could hear on the stilly air;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Now my ears were deafened by mirth no longer,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">The sounds of sorrow, and grief and despair.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And my soul grew tender and kind to others;<br /></span>
<span class="i5">My nature grew sweeter and my mind grew broad<br /></span>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_317" id="Page_317"></a></span><span class="i3">And I held all men to be my brothers,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Linked by the chastening rod,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">My soul was lifted to God and heaven,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">And when on my heart-strings fell again<br /></span>
<span class="i3">The hands of Mirth and Pleasure, even,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">There was no <i>discord</i> to mar the strain,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">For Pain, the Musician, the soul refiner,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Attuned the strings with a master hand,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And whether the music be major or minor,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">It is always <i>sweet</i> and grand.<br /></span>
</div></div>

<h3>ON THE RAPPAHANNOCK<br />
ANONYMOUS</h3>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">The sun had set, and in the distant west<br /></span>
<span class="i3">The last red streaks had faded; night and rest<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Fell on the earth; stilled was the cannon's roar;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And many a soldier slept to wake no more.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">'Twas early spring&mdash;a calm and lovely night&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">The moon had flooded all the earth with light.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">On either side the Rappahannock lay<br /></span>
<span class="i3">The armies; resting till the break of day<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Should call them to renew the fight. So near<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Together were the camps that each could hear<br /></span>
<span class="i3">The other's sentry call. And now appear<br /></span>
<span class="i3">The blazing bivouac fires on every hill,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And save the tramp of pickets all is still.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Between those silent hills in beauty flows<br /></span>
<span class="i3">The Rappahannock. How its bosom glows!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">How all its sparkling waves reflect the light<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And add new glories to the starlit night!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">But hark! From Northern hill there steal along<br /></span>
<span class="i3">The strains of martial music mixed with song:<br /></span>
<span class="i3">"Star Spangled Banner, may'st thou ever wave,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Over the land we shed our blood to save!"<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And still they sing those words: "Our cause is just.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">We'll triumph in the end; in God we trust;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Star Spangled Banner, wave, forever wave,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Over a land united, free and brave!"<br /></span>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_318" id="Page_318"></a></span><span class="i3">Scarce had this died away when along<br /></span>
<span class="i3">The river rose another glorious song:<br /></span>
<span class="i3">A thousand lusty throats the chorus sing:<br /></span>
<span class="i3">With "Rally Round the Flag," the hilltops ring.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And well they sang. Each heart was filled with joy.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">From first in rank to little drummer-boy.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">The loud huzzas and wildest cheers were given,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">That seemed to cleave the air and reach to heaven.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">The Union songs, the loud and heartfelt cheers<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Fall in the Southern camp on listening ears.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">While talking at their scanty evening meal<br /></span>
<span class="i3">They pause and grasp their trusty blades of steel.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Fearless they stand and ready for the fray;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Such sounds can startle them, but not dismay.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Alas! Those strains of music which of yore<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Could rouse their hearts are felt by them no more.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">When the last echo of the song had died<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And all was silent on the Northern side,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">There came from Southern hill, with gentle swell,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">The air of "Dixe," which was loved so well<br /></span>
<span class="i3">By every man that wore the coat of gray,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And is revered and cherished to this day.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">"In Dixie's Land" they swore to live and die,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">That was their watchword, that their battle-cry.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Then rose on high the wild Confederate yell,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Resounding over every hill and dell.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Cheer after cheer went up that starry night<br /></span>
<span class="i3">From men as brave as ever saw the light.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Now all is still. Each side has played its part.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">How simple songs will fire a soldier's heart!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">But hark! O'er Rappahannock's stream there floats<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Another tune; but ah! how sweet the notes.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Not such as lash men's passions into foam,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">But&mdash;richest gem of song&mdash;'tis "Home, Sweet Home!"<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Played by the band, it reached the very soul,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And down the veteran's cheeks the tear-drops stole.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">On either side the stream, from North and South,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Men who would march up to the cannon's mouth<br /></span>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_319" id="Page_319"></a></span><span class="i3">Wept now like children. Tender hearts and true<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Were beating 'neath those coats of gray and blue.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">The sentry stopt and rested on his gun,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">While back to home his thoughts unhindered run.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">He thought of loving wife and children there<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Deprived of husband's and of father's care.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And stripling lads, scarce strong enough to bear<br /></span>
<span class="i3">The weight of saber or of knapsack, tried<br /></span>
<span class="i3">To stop their tears with foolish, boyish pride.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">They might as well have sought to stop the tide!<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Through both those hostile camps the music stole<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And stirred each soldier to his inmost soul.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">From North and South, in sympathy, there rose<br /></span>
<span class="i3">A shout tremendous; forgetting they were foes,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Both armies joined and shouted with one voice<br /></span>
<span class="i3">That seemed to make the very heavens rejoice.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Sweet music's power! One chord doth make us wild.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">But change the strain, we weep as little child.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Touch yet another, men charge the battery-gun,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And by those martial strains a victory's won!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">But there's one strain that friends and foes will win,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">One magic touch that makes the whole world kin:<br /></span>
<span class="i3">No heart so cold, but will, tho far it roam,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Respond with tender thrill to "Home, Sweet Home!"<br /></span>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_320" id="Page_320"></a></span>
</div></div>


<h3>COMO<br />
BY JOAQUIN MILLER</h3>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">The red-clad fishers row and creep<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Below the craigs, as half asleep,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Nor even make a single sound.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">The walls are steep,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">The waves are deep;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And if the dead man should be found<br /></span>
<span class="i3">By these same fishers in their round,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Why, who shall say but he was drowned?<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">The lake lay bright, as bits of broken moon<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Just newly set within the cloven earth;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">The ripened fields drew round a golden girth<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Far up the steppes, and glittered in the noon.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And when the sun fell down, from leafy shore<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Fond lovers stole in pairs to ply the oar.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">The stars, as large as lilies, flecked the blue;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">From out the Alps the moon came wheeling through<br /></span>
<span class="i3">The rocky pass the great Napoleon knew.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">A gala night it was&mdash;the season's prime;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">We rode from castled lake to festal town,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">To fair Milan&mdash;my friend and I; rode down<br /></span>
<span class="i3">By night, where grasses waved in rippled rhyme;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And so what theme but love in such a time?<br /></span>
<span class="i3">His proud lip curved the while in silent scorn<br /></span>
<span class="i3">At thought of love; and then, as one forlorn,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">He sighed, then bared his temples, dashed with gray,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Then mocked, as one outworn and well blasé.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">A gorgeous tiger-lily, flaming red,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">So full of battle, of the trumpets blare,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Of old-time passion, upreared its head.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">I galloped past, I leaned, I clutched it there.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">From out the long, strong grass I held it high,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And cried, "Lo! this to-night shall deck her hair<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Through all the dance. And mark! the man shall die<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Who dares assault, for good or ill design,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">The citadel where I shall set this sign."<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">He spoke no spare word all the after while.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">That scornful, cold, contemptuous smile of his!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Why, better men have died for less than this.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Then in the hall the same old hateful smile!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Then marvel not that when she graced the floor,<br /></span>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_321" id="Page_321"></a></span><span class="i3">With all the beauties gathered from the four<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Far quarters of the world, and she, my fair,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">The fairest, wore within her midnight hair<br /></span>
<span class="i3">My tiger-lily&mdash;marvel not, I say,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">That he glared like some wild beast well at bay!<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Oh, she shone fairer than the summer star,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Or curled sweet moon in middle destiny.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">More fair than sunrise climbing up the sea,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Where all the loves of Ariadne are.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Who loves, who truly loves, will stand aloof,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">The noisy tongue makes most unholy proof<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Of shallow waters&mdash;all the while afar<br /></span>
<span class="i3">From out the dance I stood, and watched my star,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">My tiger-lily, borne an oriflamme of war.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">A thousand beauties flashed at love's advance,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Like bright white mice at moonlight in their play,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Or sunfish shooting in the shining bay,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">The swift feet shot and glittered in the dance.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Oh, have you loved, and truly loved, and seen<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Aught else the while than your own stately queen?<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Her presence, it was majesty&mdash;so tall;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Her proud development encompassed&mdash;all.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">She filled all space. I sought, I saw but her.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">I followed as some fervid worshiper.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Adown the dance she moved with matchless pace.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">The world&mdash;my world&mdash;moved with her. Suddenly<br /></span>
<span class="i3">I questioned whom her cavalier might be.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">'Twas he! His face was leaning to her face!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">I clutched my blade; I sprang; I caught my breath,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And so stood leaning still as death.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And they stood still. She blushed, then reached and tore<br /></span>
<span class="i3">The lily as she passed, and down the floor<br /></span>
<span class="i3">She strewed its <i>heart</i> like bits of gushing gore.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_322" id="Page_322"></a></span><span class="i3">'Twas he said heads, not hearts, were made to break.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">He taught me this that night in splendid scorn.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">I learned too well. The dance was done. Ere morn<br /></span>
<span class="i3">We mounted&mdash;he and I&mdash;but no more spake.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And this for woman's love! My lily worn<br /></span>
<span class="i3">In her dark hair in pride to be thus torn<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And trampled on for this bold stranger's sake!<br /></span>
<span class="i3"><i>Two</i> men rode silent back toward the lake.<br /></span>
<span class="i3"><i>Two</i> men rode silent down, but only <i>one</i><br /></span>
<span class="i3">Rode <i>up</i> at <i>morn</i> to greet the <i>rising sun</i>.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">The walls are steep,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">The waves are deep;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And if the dead man should be found<br /></span>
<span class="i3">By red-clad fishers in their round,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Why, who shall say but he was&mdash;drowned?<br /></span>
</div></div>


<h3>AUX ITALIENS<br />
BY OWEN MEREDITH</h3>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">At Paris it was, at the Opera there;<br /></span>
<span class="i5">And she looked like a queen in a book, that night,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">With the wreath of pearl in her raven hair,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">And the brooch on her breast, so bright.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Of all the operas that Verdi wrote,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">The best, to my taste, is the Trovatore;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And Mario can soothe with a tenor note<br /></span>
<span class="i5">The souls in purgatory.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">The moon on the tower slept soft as snow;<br /></span>
<span class="i5">And who was not thrilled in the strangest way,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">As we heard him sing, while the gas burned low,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">"<i>Non ti scordar di me?</i>"<br /></span>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_323" id="Page_323"></a></span></div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">The emperor there, in his box of state,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Looked grave, as if he had just then seen<br /></span>
<span class="i3">The red flag wave from the city-gate,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Where his eagles in bronze had been.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">The empress, too, had a tear in her eye.<br /></span>
<span class="i5">You'd have said that her fancy had gone back again,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">For one moment, under the old blue sky,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">To the old glad life in Spain.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Well! there in our front-row box we sat<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Together, my bride-betrothed and I;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">My gaze was fixt on my opera-hat,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">And hers on the stage hard by.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">And both were silent, and both were sad.<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Like a queen, she leaned on her full white arm,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">With that regal, indolent air she had;<br /></span>
<span class="i5">So confident of her charm!<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">I have not a doubt she was thinking then<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Of her former lord, good soul that he was!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Who died the richest and roundest of men,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">The Marquis of Carabas.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">I hope that, to get to the kingdom of heaven,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Through a needle's eye he had not yet to pass;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">I wish him well for the jointure given<br /></span>
<span class="i5">To my lady of Carabas.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Meanwhile I was thinking of my first love,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">As I had not been thinking of aught for years,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Till over my eyes there began to move<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Something that felt like tears.<br /></span>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_324" id="Page_324"></a></span></div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">I thought of the dress that she wore last time,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">When we stood, 'neath the cypress-trees, together,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">In that lost land, in that soft clime,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">In the crimson evening weather;<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Of that muslin dress (for the eve was hot),<br /></span>
<span class="i5">And her warm, white neck in its golden chain.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And her full, soft hair, just tied in a knot,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">And falling loose again;<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">And the jasmine-flower in her fair, young breast;<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Oh, the faint, sweet smell of that jasmine-flower,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And the one bird singing alone to his nest,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">And the one star over the tower.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">I thought of our little quarrels and strife,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">And the letter that brought me back my ring,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And it all seemed then, in the waste of life,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Such a very little thing!<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">For I thought of her grave below the hill,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Which the sentinel cypress-tree stands over.<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And I thought ... "were she only living still,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">How I could forgive her and love her."<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">And I swear, as I thought thus, in that hour,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">And of how, after all, old things were best,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">That I smelt the smell of that jasmine-flower,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Which she used to wear in her breast.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">It smelt so faint, and it smelt so sweet,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">It made me creep, and it made me cold!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Like the scent that steals from the crumbling sheet<br /></span>
<span class="i5">When a mummy is half unrolled.<br /></span>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_325" id="Page_325"></a></span></div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">And I turned and looked. She was sitting there<br /></span>
<span class="i5">In a dim box, over the stage; and drest<br /></span>
<span class="i3">In that muslin dress, with that full soft hair,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">And that jasmine in her breast!<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">I was here, and she was there,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">And the glittering horseshoe curved between&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">From my bride-betrothed, with her raven hair,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">And her sumptuous, scornful mien.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">To my early love, with her eyes downcast,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">And over her primrose face the shade<br /></span>
<span class="i3">(In short, from the Future back to the Past),<br /></span>
<span class="i5">There was but one step to be made.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">To my early love from my future bride<br /></span>
<span class="i5">One moment I looked. Then I stole to the door,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">I traversed the passage; and down at her side<br /></span>
<span class="i5">I was sitting, a moment more.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">My thinking of her, or the music's strain,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">Or something which never will be exprest,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Had brought her back from the grave again,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">With the jasmine in her breast.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">She is not dead, and she is not wed!<br /></span>
<span class="i5">But she loves me now, and she loved me then!<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And the very first word that her sweet lips said,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">My heart grew youthful again.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">The marchioness there, of Carabas,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">She is wealthy, and young, and handsome still,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And but for her ... well, we'll let that pass&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i5">She may marry whomever she will.<br /></span>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_326" id="Page_326"></a></span></div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">But I will marry my own first love,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">With her primrose face; for old things are best,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">And the flower in her bosom, I prize it above<br /></span>
<span class="i5">The brooch in my lady's breast.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">The world is filled with folly and sin,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">And Love must cling where it can, I say;<br /></span>
<span class="i3">For Beauty is easy enough to win,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">But one isn't loved every day.<br /></span>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_327" id="Page_327"></a><br /><a name="Page_328" id="Page_328"></a><br /><a name="Page_344" id="Page_344">[Pg 344]</a></span></div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">And I think, in the lives of most women and men,<br /></span>
<span class="i5">There's a moment when all would go smooth and even,<br /></span>
<span class="i3">If only the dead could find out when<br /></span>
<span class="i5">To come back and be forgiven.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">But oh, the smell of that jasmine-flower!<br /></span>
<span class="i5">And oh, that music! and oh, the way<br /></span>
<span class="i3">That voice rang out from the donjon tower,<br /></span>
<span class="i5"><i>Non ti scordar di me, non ti scordar di me!</i><br /></span>
</div></div>



<hr class="chap" />
<h2><a name="INDEX" id="INDEX"></a>INDEX</h2>


<p class="idxlet">A</p>

<p>Adams, Charles Fallen, <a href="#Page_185">185</a></p>

<p>Adeler, Max, <a href="#Page_141">141</a></p>

<p>A-feared of a Gal, <a href="#Page_237">237</a></p>

<p>Afternoon, One, <a href="#Page_196">196</a></p>

<p>Agnes, I Lore Thee!, <a href="#Page_81">81</a></p>

<p>Aldrich, Thomas Bailey, <a href="#Page_47">47</a></p>

<p>Almost Beyond Endurance, <a href="#Page_89">89</a></p>

<p>Amateur Night, <a href="#Page_98">98</a></p>

<p>Amsbary, Wallace Bruce, <a href="#Page_107">107</a></p>

<p>And She Cried, <a href="#Page_68">68</a></p>

<p>Anstey, F., <a href="#Page_210">210</a></p>

<p>At Five-o'clock Tea, <a href="#Page_143">143</a></p>

<p>At the Restaurant, <a href="#Page_235">235</a></p>

<p>Aux Italiens, <a href="#Page_322">322</a></p>


<p class="idxlet">B</p>

<p>Bachelor Sews on a Button, How a, <a href="#Page_154">154</a></p>

<p>Bailey, James M., <a href="#Page_57">57</a></p>

<p>Baine, William, <a href="#Page_282">282</a></p>

<p>Banging a Sensational Novelist, <a href="#Page_83">83</a></p>

<p>Barbara Frietchie, Parody on, <a href="#Page_137">137</a></p>

<p>Bary Jade, Lides to, <a href="#Page_168">168</a></p>

<p>Becky Miller, <a href="#Page_115">115</a></p>

<p>Before and After, <a href="#Page_139">139</a></p>

<p>Belagcholly Days, <a href="#Page_93">93</a></p>

<p>Bengaugh, J. W., <a href="#Page_110">110</a></p>

<p>Beyond Endurance, Almost, <a href="#Page_89">89</a></p>

<p>Big Mistake, A, <a href="#Page_129">129</a></p>

<p>Big Words, Don't Use, <a href="#Page_163">163</a></p>

<p>Billy of Nebraska, <a href="#Page_110">110</a></p>

<p>Blackstonian Circumlocution, His, <a href="#Page_233">233</a></p>

<p>Blossom, Henry M., Jr., <a href="#Page_152">152</a></p>

<p>Book Agent, The Merchant and the, <a href="#Page_134">134</a></p>

<p>Boss, John C., <a href="#Page_247">247</a></p>

<p>Bounding the United States, <a href="#Page_101">101</a></p>

<p>Boy, Dot Leetle, <a href="#Page_69">69</a></p>

<p>Boy, Papa and the, <a href="#Page_208">208</a></p>

<p>Bradley, Mary E., <a href="#Page_154">154</a></p>

<p>Break, Break, Break, <a href="#Page_277">277</a></p>

<p>Bridegroom's Toast, The, <a href="#Page_203">203</a></p>

<p>Brooks, Fred Emerson, <a href="#Page_40">40</a></p>

<p>Burbank, <a href="#Page_261">261</a></p>

<p>Burdette, Robert J., <a href="#Page_199">199</a></p>

<p>Burton, Richard, <a href="#Page_267">267</a></p>

<p>Byron, <a href="#Page_269">269</a></p>


<p class="idxlet">C</p>

<p>Candidate, The, <a href="#Page_193">193</a></p>

<p>Carcassonne, <a href="#Page_314">314</a></p>

<p>Card, The C'rrect, <a href="#Page_300">300</a></p>

<p>Cards, Life Compared to a Game of, <a href="#Page_289">289</a></p>

<p>Carlotta Mia, <a href="#Page_228">228</a></p>

<p>Casey at the Bat, <a href="#Page_147">147</a></p>

<p>Casuistry, Cupid's, <a href="#Page_39">39</a></p>

<p>Cato's Soliloquy on Immortality, <a href="#Page_311">311</a></p>

<p>Chance, They Met by, <a href="#Page_203">203</a></p>

<p>"Charlie Must Not Ring To-night", <a href="#Page_169">169</a></p>

<p>Checkers, A Friendly Game of, <a href="#Page_150">150</a></p>

<p>Christopher Columbus, <a href="#Page_155">155</a></p>

<p>Circumlocution, His Blackstonian, <a href="#Page_233">233</a></p>

<p>Coles, Cynthia, <a href="#Page_146">146</a></p>

<p>Como, <a href="#Page_319">319</a></p>

<p>Content, I Am, <a href="#Page_274">274</a></p>

<p>Coon's Lullaby, The, <a href="#Page_136">136</a></p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_330" id="Page_330"></a></span></p>
<p>Corydon, <a href="#Page_47">47</a></p>

<p>Counting Eggs, <a href="#Page_86">86</a></p>

<p>Counting One Hundred, <a href="#Page_57">57</a></p>

<p>Crooked Mouth Family, The, <a href="#Page_122">122</a></p>

<p>C'rrect Card, The, <a href="#Page_301">300</a></p>

<p>Cupid's Casuistry, <a href="#Page_39">39</a></p>

<p>Curfew, The Elocutionist's, <a href="#Page_24">24</a></p>

<p>Cyclopeedy, The, <a href="#Page_239">239</a></p>


<p class="idxlet">D</p>

<p>Daly, T. A., <a href="#Page_114">114</a>, <a href="#Page_228">228</a></p>

<p>Dandy Fifth, The, <a href="#Page_294">293</a></p>

<p>Da 'Mericana Girl, <a href="#Page_114">114</a></p>

<p>D'Arcy, H. Antoine, <a href="#Page_307">306</a></p>

<p>Davis, Daniel Webster, <a href="#Page_49a">49</a></p>

<p>Dead Kitten, The, <a href="#Page_33">33</a></p>

<p>Desprez, F., <a href="#Page_285">284</a></p>

<p>Dialectic Sketch, A Lancashire, <a href="#Page_232">232</a></p>

<p>Dickens, Charles, <a href="#Page_216">216</a></p>

<p>Difficulty of Riming, The, <a href="#Page_179">179</a></p>

<p>Doctor Marigold, <a href="#Page_216">216</a></p>

<p>Dog und der Lobster, Der, <a href="#Page_102">102</a></p>

<p>Don't Use Big Words, <a href="#Page_163">163</a></p>

<p>Dot lambs Vot Mary Haf Got, <a href="#Page_112">112</a></p>

<p>Dot Leedle Boy, <a href="#Page_69">69</a></p>

<p>Double, and How He Undid Me, My, <a href="#Page_171">171</a></p>

<p>Drummond, W. H., <a href="#Page_271">271</a></p>

<p>Dunbar, Paul Laurence, <a href="#Page_35">35</a>, <a href="#Page_153">153</a></p>

<p>Dundreary's Letter, Lord, <a href="#Page_131">131</a></p>

<p>Dunne, Finlay Peter, <a href="#Page_73">73</a></p>

<p>Dutchman's Serenade, The, <a href="#Page_220">220</a></p>


<p class="idxlet">E</p>

<p>Eagle's Song, The, <a href="#Page_276">275</a></p>

<p>Earl King, The, <a href="#Page_313">313</a></p>

<p>Echo, <a href="#Page_244">244</a></p>

<p>Edwards, H. S., <a href="#Page_44">44</a></p>

<p>Ehrmann, Max, <a href="#Page_98">98</a></p>

<p>Eggs, Counting, <a href="#Page_86">86</a></p>

<p>Elocutionist's Curfew, The, <a href="#Page_24">24</a></p>

<p>Enchanted Shirt, The, <a href="#Page_183">183</a></p>

<p>Endurance, Almost Beyond, <a href="#Page_90">89</a></p>

<p>Engineer's Story, The, <a href="#Page_303">303</a></p>

<p>Eve of Waterloo, The, <a href="#Page_270">269</a></p>


<p class="idxlet">F</p>

<p>Face Upon the Floor, The, <a href="#Page_307">306</a></p>

<p>Faith, The Ship of, <a href="#Page_187">187</a></p>

<p>Fairies' Tea, The, <a href="#Page_86">85</a></p>

<p>Familiar Lines, <a href="#Page_149">149</a></p>

<p>Fan, A Lesson with the, <a href="#Page_50">50</a></p>

<p>Feller, A little, <a href="#Page_127">126</a></p>

<p>Father's Way, <a href="#Page_273">272</a></p>

<p>Field, Eugene, <a href="#Page_239">239</a>, <a href="#Page_273">272</a></p>

<p>Fiend, The Weather, <a href="#Page_34">34</a></p>

<p>Fifteen Minutes, Her, <a href="#Page_28">28</a></p>

<p>Finnigan to Flannigan, <a href="#Page_175">175</a></p>

<p>Fiske, John, <a href="#Page_101">101</a></p>

<p>Five-o'clock Tea, At, <a href="#Page_143">143</a></p>

<p>Flannigan, Finnigan to, <a href="#Page_175">175</a></p>

<p>Flowers, The Funeral of the, <a href="#Page_310">309</a></p>

<p>Foss, S. W., <a href="#Page_213">213</a>, <a href="#Page_288">287</a></p>

<p>Fly, The, <a href="#Page_156">156</a></p>

<p>Foolin', Quit Your, <a href="#Page_250">250</a></p>

<p>Fool's Prayer, The, <a href="#Page_268">268</a></p>

<p>Foxes' Tails, The, <a href="#Page_29">29</a></p>

<p>Freckled-face Girl, The, <a href="#Page_97">96</a></p>

<p>Funeral of the Flowers, The, <a href="#Page_310">309</a></p>


<p class="idxlet">G</p>

<p>Gal, A-feared of a, <a href="#Page_237">237</a></p>

<p>Gassaway, F. H., <a href="#Page_294">293</a></p>

<p>Georga Washingdone, <a href="#Page_114">113</a></p>

<p>Gib Him One ub Mine, <a href="#Page_49a">49</a></p>

<p>Gilbert, W. S., <a href="#Page_157">157</a></p>

<p>Gillinan, S. W., <a href="#Page_175">175</a></p>

<p>Girl, The Freckled-face, <a href="#Page_97">96</a></p>

<p>Goethe, Johann Wolfgang von, <a href="#Page_313">313</a></p>

<p>Gorilla, The, <a href="#Page_82">82</a></p>

<p>Grape-seed, <a href="#Page_190">190</a></p>

<p>Grilley, Charles T., <a href="#Page_40">39</a>, <a href="#Page_139">139</a></p>

<p>Greek Meets Greek, When, <a href="#Page_140">140</a></p>


<p class="idxlet">H</p>

<p>Hale, Edward Everett, <a href="#Page_171">171</a></p>

<p>Hammock, Romance of a, <a href="#Page_173">173</a></p>

<p>Harbour, J. L., <a href="#Page_208">208</a></p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_331" id="Page_331"></a></span></p>
<p>Harp of a Thousand Strings, The, <a href="#Page_177">177</a></p>

<p>Hat in the Pit, The Obstructive, <a href="#Page_210">210</a></p>

<p>Hatton, Henry, <a href="#Page_104">104</a></p>

<p>Hay, John, <a href="#Page_183">183</a></p>

<p>He Laughed Last, <a href="#Page_104">103</a></p>

<p>Heaton, John L., <a href="#Page_160">160</a></p>

<p>Henry the Fifth's Wooing, <a href="#Page_254">254</a></p>

<p>Hens, Lavery's, <a href="#Page_201">201</a></p>

<p>He Wanted to Know, <a href="#Page_188">188</a></p>

<p>Her Fifteen Minutes, <a href="#Page_28">28</a></p>

<p>His Blackstonian Circumlocution, <a href="#Page_233">233</a></p>

<p>His Leg Shot Off, <a href="#Page_224">224</a></p>

<p>Hood, Thomas, <a href="#Page_78">78</a></p>

<p>Hopkins' Last Moments, <a href="#Page_84">84</a></p>

<p>How a Bachelor Sews on a Button, <a href="#Page_154">154</a></p>

<p>Hullo, <a href="#Page_213">213</a></p>

<p>Huntley, Stanley, <a href="#Page_204">204</a></p>


<p class="idxlet">I</p>

<p>I Am Content, <a href="#Page_274">274</a></p>

<p>Idyl on "Grass," A Spring, <a href="#Page_53">52</a></p>

<p>Idyl, A Twilight, <a href="#Page_199">199</a></p>

<p>If I Can Be By Her, <a href="#Page_65">65</a></p>

<p>If We Had the Time, <a href="#Page_267">267</a></p>

<p>I Knew He Would Come if I Waited, <a href="#Page_76">76</a></p>

<p>"Imph-M", <a href="#Page_124">124</a></p>

<p>Ingalls, John J., <a href="#Page_312">312</a></p>

<p>Introducin' the Speecher, <a href="#Page_54">54</a></p>

<p>Introduction, An, <a href="#Page_177">177</a></p>

<p>Irish Philosopher, The, <a href="#Page_91">91</a></p>

<p>Irving, Minna, <a href="#Page_68">68</a></p>

<p>Irwin, Wallace, <a href="#Page_230">229</a></p>

<p>Italiens, Aux, <a href="#Page_322">322</a></p>

<p>I Tol' Yer So, <a href="#Page_160">160</a></p>


<p class="idxlet">J</p>

<p>Joke, Leaving Out the, <a href="#Page_238">238</a></p>

<p>Julie Plante, The Wreck of the, <a href="#Page_271">271</a></p>


<p class="idxlet">K</p>

<p>Khan, The, <a href="#Page_225">225</a></p>

<p>Katie's Answer, <a href="#Page_80">79</a></p>

<p>Katrina Likes Me Poody Vell, <a href="#Page_234">234</a></p>

<p>Keep A'goin'!, <a href="#Page_145">145</a></p>

<p>Kerr, Joe, <a href="#Page_161">161</a></p>

<p>King, Byron W., <a href="#Page_42">42</a></p>

<p>King, Benjamin Franklin, <a href="#Page_65">65</a></p>

<p>Kiser, S. E., <a href="#Page_96">95</a></p>

<p>Kitten, The Dead, <a href="#Page_33">33</a></p>

<p>Kleiser, Grenville, <a href="#Page_60">60</a></p>


<p class="idxlet">L</p>

<p>Lamb, The Original, <a href="#Page_95">95</a></p>

<p>Lambs Vot Mary Haf Got, Dot, <a href="#Page_113">112</a></p>

<p>Lampton, W. J., <a href="#Page_39">39</a></p>

<p>Lancashire Dialectic Sketch, A, <a href="#Page_232">232</a></p>

<p>Lariat Bill, <a href="#Page_192">192</a></p>

<p>Lasca, <a href="#Page_285">284</a></p>

<p>Last Moments, Hopkins', <a href="#Page_84">84</a></p>

<p>Laughed Last, He, <a href="#Page_104">103</a></p>

<p>Laughton, James L., <a href="#Page_251">251</a></p>

<p>Lavery's Hens, <a href="#Page_201">201</a></p>

<p>Leacock, Stephen, <a href="#Page_25a">25</a></p>

<p>Leaving Out the Joke, <a href="#Page_238">238</a></p>

<p>Leg Shot Off, His, <a href="#Page_224">224</a></p>

<p>Lesson with the Fan, A, <a href="#Page_50">50</a></p>

<p>Letter, Lord Dundreary's, <a href="#Page_131">131</a></p>

<p>Lever, Charles, <a href="#Page_222">222</a></p>

<p>Life Compared to a Game of Cards, <a href="#Page_289">289</a></p>

<p>Lides to Bary Jade, <a href="#Page_168">168</a></p>

<p>Lincoln, On, <a href="#Page_296">296</a></p>

<p>Lisp, <a href="#Page_202">202</a></p>

<p>Little Stowaway, The, <a href="#Page_297">296</a></p>

<p>Loomis, Charles Battell, <a href="#Page_167">167</a></p>

<p>Lord Dundreary's Letter, <a href="#Page_131">131</a></p>

<p>Lover's Quarrel, A, <a href="#Page_146">146</a></p>

<p>Love's Moods and Senses, <a href="#Page_77">77</a></p>

<p>"L," Song of the, <a href="#Page_60">60</a></p>

<p>Lullaby, <a href="#Page_153">153</a></p>

<p>Lullaby, The Coon's, <a href="#Page_136">136</a></p>


<p class="idxlet">M</p>

<p>Macaulay, <a href="#Page_278">277</a></p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_332" id="Page_332"></a></span></p>
<p>MacDonald, George, <a href="#Page_118">118</a></p>

<p>Malone, Walter, <a href="#Page_313">312</a></p>

<p>Malone, Widow, <a href="#Page_222">222</a></p>

<p>Mammy's Li'l Boy, <a href="#Page_44">44</a></p>

<p>Man Who Will Make a Speech, The, <a href="#Page_227">227</a></p>

<p>Mansfield, Richard, <a href="#Page_276">275</a></p>

<p>Marketing, <a href="#Page_52">52</a></p>

<p>Married Life, Ups and Downs of, <a href="#Page_121">121</a></p>

<p>Mason, She Would be a, <a href="#Page_251">251</a></p>

<p>Masson, Tom, <a href="#Page_28">28</a></p>

<p>Mayor, Pat and the, <a href="#Page_117">116</a></p>

<p>McCarthy and McManus, <a href="#Page_67">66</a></p>

<p>Melpomenus Jones, <a href="#Page_25a">25</a></p>

<p>Merchant and the Book Agent, The, <a href="#Page_134">134</a></p>

<p>Meredith, Owen, <a href="#Page_322">322</a></p>

<p>'Mericana Girl, Da, <a href="#Page_114">114</a></p>

<p>Miller, Joaquin, <a href="#Page_320">319</a></p>

<p>Mistake, A Big, <a href="#Page_129">129</a></p>

<p>Mr. Dooley on the Grip, <a href="#Page_73">73</a></p>

<p>Mr. Potts' Story, <a href="#Page_141">141</a></p>

<p>Modern Romance, <a href="#Page_152">152</a></p>

<p>Morgan, Carrie Blake, <a href="#Page_51">51</a></p>

<p>Morris, Joshua S., <a href="#Page_177">177</a></p>

<p>Mule Stood on der Steamboat Deck, Der, <a href="#Page_164">164</a></p>

<p>Mumbles Head, The Women of, <a href="#Page_279">279</a></p>

<p>Musicians, The, <a href="#Page_316">315</a></p>

<p>My Double, and How He Undid Me, <a href="#Page_171">171</a></p>


<p class="idxlet">N</p>

<p>"Nancy Bell," The Yarn of the, <a href="#Page_157">157</a></p>

<p>Nesbit, W. D., <a href="#Page_24">24</a></p>

<p>New School Reader, The, <a href="#Page_166">165</a></p>

<p>Nocturnal Sketch, A, <a href="#Page_78">78</a></p>

<p>Norah Murphy and the Spirits, <a href="#Page_105">104</a></p>

<p>Nothing Suited Him, <a href="#Page_126">126</a></p>

<p>Not In It, <a href="#Page_198">198</a></p>

<p>Nye, Bill, <a href="#Page_194">193</a></p>


<p class="idxlet">O</p>

<p>Oak und der Vine, Der, <a href="#Page_186">185</a></p>

<p>Oatmobile, The, <a href="#Page_88">87</a></p>

<p>Obstructive Hat in the Pit, The, <a href="#Page_210">210</a></p>

<p>Old Daddy Turner, <a href="#Page_290">290</a></p>

<p>One Afternoon, <a href="#Page_196">196</a></p>

<p>On Lincoln, <a href="#Page_296">296</a></p>

<p>On the Rappahannock, <a href="#Page_317">317</a></p>

<p>Opie Read, <a href="#Page_107">107</a></p>

<p>Opportunity, <a href="#Page_312">312</a></p>

<p>Opportunity, An, <a href="#Page_190">190</a></p>

<p>Opportunity's Reply, <a href="#Page_313">312</a></p>

<p>Oracle, The Village, <a href="#Page_62">62</a></p>

<p>Organist, The Volunteer, <a href="#Page_288">287</a></p>

<p>Original Lamb, The, <a href="#Page_95">95</a></p>

<p>Our Railroads, <a href="#Page_246">245</a></p>


<p class="idxlet">P</p>

<p>Papa and the Boy, <a href="#Page_208">208</a></p>

<p>Parody on Barbara Frietchie, <a href="#Page_138">137</a></p>

<p>Passion, The Ruling, <a href="#Page_219">219</a></p>

<p>Pat and the Mayor, <a href="#Page_117">116</a></p>

<p>Pat's Reason, <a href="#Page_249">249</a></p>

<p>Philosopher, The Irish, <a href="#Page_91">91</a></p>

<p>Phrases, Slang, <a href="#Page_133">133</a></p>

<p>Poor Was Mad, The, <a href="#Page_167">167</a></p>

<p>Prayer, The Fool's, <a href="#Page_268">268</a></p>

<p>Presentation of the Trumpet, <a href="#Page_162">162</a></p>

<p>Proof Positive, <a href="#Page_91">90</a></p>


<p class="idxlet">Q</p>

<p>Quarrel, A Lover's, <a href="#Page_146">146</a></p>

<p>Quarreled, They Never, <a href="#Page_58">58</a></p>

<p>Quit Your Foolin', <a href="#Page_250">250</a></p>


<p class="idxlet">R</p>

<p>Race Question, The, <a href="#Page_35">35</a></p>

<p>Railroads, Our, <a href="#Page_246">245</a></p>

<p>Rainy Day Episode, A, <a href="#Page_75">75</a></p>

<p>Rappahannock, On the, <a href="#Page_317">317</a></p>

<p>Reader, The New School, <a href="#Page_166">165</a></p>

<p>Reason, Pat's, <a href="#Page_249">249</a></p>

<p>Reason Why, The, <a href="#Page_154">154</a></p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_333" id="Page_333"></a></span></p>
<p>Rehearsing for Private Theatricals, <a href="#Page_204">204</a></p>

<p>Reply, Opportunity's, <a href="#Page_313">312</a></p>

<p>Restaurant, At the, <a href="#Page_235">235</a></p>

<p>Riley, James Whitcomb, <a href="#Page_23">23</a>, <a href="#Page_69">69</a>, <a href="#Page_90">89</a></p>

<p>Riming, The Difficulty of, <a href="#Page_179">179</a></p>

<p>Ring To-night, Charlie Must Not, <a href="#Page_169">169</a></p>

<p>"Rip Van Winkle," Scenes from, <a href="#Page_261">261</a></p>

<p>Rivals, Scenes from the, <a href="#Page_258">258</a></p>

<p>Robin Tamson's Smiddy, <a href="#Page_128">127</a></p>

<p>Roche, James Jeffrey, <a href="#Page_206">206</a></p>

<p>Rodger, Alexander, <a href="#Page_128">127</a></p>

<p>Romance, Modern, <a href="#Page_152">152</a></p>

<p>Romance of a Hammock, <a href="#Page_173">173</a></p>

<p>Ruling Passion, The, <a href="#Page_219">219</a></p>


<p class="idxlet">S</p>

<p>Saint Crispian's Day, <a href="#Page_299">299</a></p>

<p>Saxe, John G., <a href="#Page_244">244</a></p>

<p>Scott, Clement, <a href="#Page_279">279</a></p>

<p>Sensational Novelist, Banging a, <a href="#Page_83">83</a></p>

<p>Serenade, The Dutchman's, <a href="#Page_220">220</a></p>

<p>Sermon, A Short, <a href="#Page_231">231</a></p>

<p>Shakespeare, <a href="#Page_254">254</a>, <a href="#Page_299">299</a></p>

<p>She Would Be a Mason, <a href="#Page_251">251</a></p>

<p>Sheridan, Richard Brinsley, <a href="#Page_258">258</a></p>

<p>Sherwood, M. E. W., <a href="#Page_315">314</a></p>

<p>Ship of Faith, The, <a href="#Page_187">187</a></p>

<p>Shirt, The Enchanted, <a href="#Page_183">183</a></p>

<p>Short Encore, A, <a href="#Page_171">170</a></p>

<p>Short Sermon, A, <a href="#Page_232">231</a></p>

<p>Sill, Edward Rowland, <a href="#Page_268">268</a></p>

<p>Sims, George R., <a href="#Page_301">300</a></p>

<p>Siviter, William H., <a href="#Page_219">219</a></p>

<p>Slang Phrases, <a href="#Page_133">133</a></p>

<p>Smiddy, Robin Tamson's, <a href="#Page_128">127</a></p>

<p>Smiley, Joseph Bert, <a href="#Page_181">181</a></p>

<p>Song, The Eagle's, <a href="#Page_276">275</a></p>

<p>Song of the "L.", <a href="#Page_60">60</a></p>

<p>So Was I, <a href="#Page_181">181</a></p>

<p>"'Späcially Jim", <a href="#Page_81">80</a></p>

<p>Speecher, Introducin' the, <a href="#Page_54">54</a></p>

<p>Speech, The Man Who Will Make a, <a href="#Page_227">227</a></p>

<p>Spirits, Norah Murphy and the, <a href="#Page_104">104</a></p>

<p>Spring Idyl on "Grass," A, <a href="#Page_53">52</a></p>

<p>Stanton, Frank L., <a href="#Page_145">145</a></p>

<p>Story, The Engineer's, <a href="#Page_303">303</a></p>

<p>Stowaway, The Little, <a href="#Page_297">296</a></p>

<p>Stuttering Umpire, The, <a href="#Page_225">225</a></p>

<p>Sylva, Carmen, <a href="#Page_274">274</a></p>


<p class="idxlet">T</p>

<p>Talmadge, T. De Witt, <a href="#Page_310">309</a></p>

<p>Telephone, The Dutchman's, <a href="#Page_215">214</a></p>

<p>Tell and His Boy, William, <a href="#Page_282">282</a></p>

<p>Tennyson, Alfred, <a href="#Page_277">277</a></p>

<p>Thayer, Phineas, <a href="#Page_147">147</a></p>

<p>Theatricals, Rehearsing for Private, <a href="#Page_204">204</a></p>

<p>They Never Quarreled, <a href="#Page_58">58</a></p>

<p>Thorpe, Rosa H., <a href="#Page_303">303</a></p>

<p>Time, If We Had the, <a href="#Page_267">267</a></p>

<p>Toast, The Bridegroom's, <a href="#Page_203">203</a></p>

<p>Total Annihilation, <a href="#Page_120">120</a></p>

<p>Train, Misses the, <a href="#Page_23">23</a></p>

<p>Tramp, The, <a href="#Page_292">292</a></p>

<p>Trumpet, Presentation of the, <a href="#Page_162">162</a></p>

<p>Turner, Old Daddy, <a href="#Page_290">290</a></p>

<p>Twain, Mark, <a href="#Page_177">177</a></p>

<p>Twilight Idyl, A, <a href="#Page_199">199</a></p>


<p class="idxlet">U</p>

<p>Undertow, The, <a href="#Page_51">51</a></p>

<p>United States, Bounding the, <a href="#Page_101">101</a></p>

<p>Umpire, The Stuttering, <a href="#Page_225">225</a></p>

<p>Ups and Downs of Married Life, The, <a href="#Page_121">121</a></p>

<p>Usual Way, The, <a href="#Page_125">125</a></p>


<p class="idxlet">V</p>

<p>V-a-s-e, The, <a href="#Page_207">206</a></p>

<p>Vassar Girl, The, <a href="#Page_230">229</a></p>

<p>Village Choir, The, <a href="#Page_109">108</a></p>

<p>Village Oracle, The, <a href="#Page_62">62</a></p>

<p>Virginius, <a href="#Page_278">277</a></p>

<p>Volunteer Organist, The, <a href="#Page_288">287</a></p>


<p class="idxlet">W</p>

<p>Wade, Morris, <a href="#Page_143">143</a></p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_334" id="Page_334"></a></span></p>
<p>Wakin' the Young 'Uns, <a href="#Page_248">247</a></p>

<p>Watchin' the Sparkin', <a href="#Page_41">40</a></p>

<p>Waterloo, The Eve of, <a href="#Page_270">269</a></p>

<p>Waterman, Nixon, <a href="#Page_53">52</a></p>

<p>Way, Father's, <a href="#Page_273">272</a></p>

<p>Way, The Usual, <a href="#Page_125">125</a></p>

<p>Way of a Woman, The, <a href="#Page_42">42</a></p>

<p>Weather Fiend, The, <a href="#Page_34">34</a></p>

<p>When Greek Meets Greek, <a href="#Page_140">140</a></p>

<p>When Ma Lady Yawns, <a href="#Page_39a">39</a></p>

<p>When Pa Was a Boy, <a href="#Page_96">95</a></p>

<p>When the Woodbine Turns Red, <a href="#Page_38">38</a></p>

<p>Whitman, Walt, <a href="#Page_296">296</a></p>

<p>Widow Malone, <a href="#Page_222">222</a></p>

<p>William Tell and His Boy, <a href="#Page_282">282</a></p>

<p>Williamson, H. G., <a href="#Page_76">76</a></p>

<p>Willie, <a href="#Page_98">98</a></p>

<p>Wind and the Moon, The, <a href="#Page_118">118</a></p>

<p>Woman, The Ways of a, <a href="#Page_42">42</a></p>

<p>Women of Mumbles Head, The, <a href="#Page_279">279</a></p>

<p>Woodbine Turns Red, When the, <a href="#Page_38">38</a></p>

<p>Wreck of the Julie Plante, The, <a href="#Page_271">271</a></p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_335" id="Page_335"></a></span></p>

<p class="idxlet">Y</p>

<p>Yacht Club Speech, The, <a href="#Page_43">43</a></p>

<p>Yarn of the "Nancy Bell," The, <a href="#Page_157">157</a></p>

<p>Yawns, When Ma Lady, <a href="#Page_39a">39</a></p>

<p>"You Git Up!", <a href="#Page_161">161</a></p>



<hr class="chap" />
<p class="center"><span class="smcap">How to Develop</span><br />
<big><big>Power <i>and</i> Personality</big></big></p>

<p class="center"><span class="smcap">in Speaking</span></p>

<p class="center">By GRENVILLE KLEISER</p>

<p>Author of "How to Speak in Public." Introduction by
Lewis O. Brastow, D.D., <i>Professor Emeritus,
Yale Divinity School</i></p>


<p>This new book gives practical suggestions and
exercises for Developing Power and Personality in
Speaking. It has many selections for practise.</p>

<p><b>POWER.</b>&mdash;Power of Voice&mdash;Power of Gesture&mdash;Power
of Vocabulary-Power of Imagination&mdash;Power
of English Style&mdash;Power of Illustration&mdash;Power
of Memory&mdash;Power of Extempore
Speech&mdash;Power of Conversation&mdash;Power of
Silence&mdash;Power of a Whisper&mdash;Power of the Eye.</p>

<p><b>PERSONALITY.</b>&mdash;More Personality for the
Lawyer&mdash;The Salesman&mdash;The Preacher&mdash;The
Politician&mdash;The Physician&mdash;The Congressman&mdash;The
Alert Citizen.</p>

<p>"I give it my hearty commendation. It should take its
place upon the library shelves of every public speaker;
be read carefully, consulted frequently, and held as
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_336" id="Page_336"></a></span>worthy of faithful obedience. For lack of the useful hints
that here abound, many men murder the truth by their
method of presenting it."&mdash;<span class="smcap">S. Parkes Cadman</span>, D.D.,
Brooklyn, N. Y.</p>

<p><i>12mo, Cloth, 443 Pages. $1.60, Net; by mail, $1.74</i></p>

<p>FUNK &amp; WAGNALLS COMPANY, Publishers</p>

<p><span class="smcap">NEW YORK and LONDON</span></p>

<hr class="tb" />


<p class="center">HOW TO
SPEAK IN PUBLIC</p>

<p class="center"><i>A Most Suggestive and Practical Self-Instructor</i></p>

<p class="center">By GRENVILLE KLEISER</p>

<p>Author of "Power and Personality in Speaking," etc.</p>


<p>This new book is a complete elocutionary manual
comprizing numerous exercises for developing
the speaking voice, deep breathing, pronunciation,
vocal expression, and gesture; also selections for
practise from masterpieces of ancient and modern
eloquence. It is intended for students, teachers,
business men, lawyers, clergymen, politicians,
clubs, debating societies, and, in fact, every one
interested in the art of public speaking.</p>

<p><i>OUTLINE OF CONTENTS</i></p>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">Mechanics of Elocution<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Mental Aspects<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Public Speaking<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Selections for Practise<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Previous Preparation<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Physical Preparation<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Mental Preparation<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Moral Preparation<br /></span>
<span class="i3">Preparation of Speech<br /></span>
</div></div>

<p>"It is admirable and practical instruction in the technic
of speaking, and I congratulate you upon your thorough
work."&mdash;<i>Hon. Albert J. Beveridge.</i></p>

<p>"The work has been very carefully and well compiled
from a large number of our best works on the subject of
elocution. It contains many admirable suggestions for
those who are interested in <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_337" id="Page_337"></a></span>becoming better speakers. As
a general text for use in teaching public speaking, it may
be used with great success."&mdash;<i>John W. Wetzel</i>, formerly
Instructor in Public Speaking, Yale University, New
Haven, Conn.</p>

<p><i>12mo, Cloth. $1.60, net; post-paid, $1.74</i></p>

<p>FUNK &amp; WAGNALLS COMPANY, Publishers</p>

<p><span class="smcap">NEW YORK and LONDON</span></p>

<hr class="tb" />


<p class="center"><i>HERE'S A MERRY BOOK BY A MERRY MAN</i></p>

<p class="center">THE SUNNY SIDE
OF THE STREET</p>

<p class="center">By MARSHALL P. WILDER</p>

<p><i>Author of "Smiling 'Round the World"</i></p>


<p>"His book&mdash;like American conversation&mdash;is made
up of anecdotes. He talks intimately of Richard
Croker, President McKinley, President Harrison,
Joseph Jefferson, Senator Depew, Henry Watterson,
Gen. Horace Porter, Augustin Daly, Henry
Irving, Buffalo Bill, King Edward VII., Mrs.
Langtry, and a host of other personages, large and
small, and medium-sized. He tells many good
stories. We can recommend his book as cheerful
reading."&mdash;<i>New York Times.</i></p>

<p>"What the editor thinks of it may be summed up in
the statement that he uses it instead of calling the doctor."&mdash;<i>Burlington Hawk-Eye.</i></p>

<p>"Reading the book is like listening to a humorous lecture
by Marshall P. Wilder, full of wit and brightness, and
it will cheer and comfort the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_338" id="Page_338"></a></span> most morose man or woman
just to read it."&mdash;<i>Baltimore American.</i></p>

<p><i>12mo, Cloth. Humorous Pen-and-Ink Sketches by Bart
Haley. Frontispiece Portrait of Mr. Wilder.</i></p>

<p><i>Price $1.50, Net; Post-Paid, $1.64</i></p>

<p>FUNK &amp; WAGNALLS COMPANY, Publishers</p>

<p><span class="smcap">NEW YORK and LONDON</span></p>

<hr class="tb" />


<p class="center"><i>ANOTHER ROARING FUN BOOK!</i></p>

<p class="center">SMILING 'ROUND
THE WORLD</p>

<p class="center">By MARSHALL P. WILDER</p>

<p><i>Author of "The Sunny Side of the Street"</i></p>


<p>"<i>Laugh and the world laughs with you</i>"
can be truly said of Marshall P. Wilder, the
captivating entertainer of Presidents, Kings,
Princes, and the great public. As the Hon.
Chauncey M. Depew says, "His mirth is contagious,"
and as the Right Hon. Henry Labouchere
remarked, "He makes melancholy fly
apace." You'll find laughs bubbling all
through this new book.</p>

<p><i>SOME OPINIONS FROM THE NEWSPAPERS</i></p>

<p>"There are many cheerful, amusing incidents of travel.
It is a very readable and entertaining book."&mdash;<i>Democrat
and Chronicle</i>, Rochester, N. Y.</p>

<p>"A marvelous lot of 'sunny stuff' is to be found in
Mr. Wilder's latest book. He merrily prattles of a thousand
different things and of as many different people."&mdash;<i>Record</i>,
Philadelphia, Pa.</p>

<p>"Written in that bright, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_339" id="Page_339"></a></span>breezy manner, with its mingled
touches of humor and pathos and keen scrutiny of human
nature so characteristic of Mr. Wilder."&mdash;<i>Post</i>, Boston,
Mass.</p>

<p><i>12mo, Cloth, Profusely Illustrated. Price, $1.50, Net;
Post-paid, $1.64</i></p>

<p>FUNK &amp; WAGNALLS COMPANY, Publishers</p>

<p><span class="smcap">NEW YORK and LONDON</span></p>

<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 47194 ***</div>
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