An' tie her to de mas';

Den he also tak' de life preserve,

An' jomp off on de lak',

An' say, "Good by, ma Rosie dear,
I go drown for your sak'."

Nex' morning very early,

'Bout ha'f-pas' two

- t'ree

four

De Captinne, scow, an' de poor Rosie
Was corpses on de shore;

For the win' she blow lak' hurricane
Bimeby she blow some more,

An' the scow bus' up on Lac St. Pierre,
Wan arpent from de shore.

Moral

Now, all good wood-scow sailor man
Tak' warning by dat storm,
An' go an' marry some nice French girl
An' leev on wan beeg farm;

De win' can blow lak hurricane,

An' s'pose she blow some more,

You can't get drown on Lac St. Pierre,

So long you stay on shore.

WILLIAM HENRY DRUMMOND.

THE FLEETING VISITANT

THESE parting words we have to say
Are painful to endure;

Each dollar bill that comes my way
Seems on its farewell tour.

ANONYMOUS.

IN A QUIET NEIGHBORHOOD

I was not well the other day,

And therefore thought at home to stay —

I live upon a quiet little street

And there in peaceful calm remain
Until I felt quite strong again
My daily tasks to undertake and meet.

I'd lain down half a minute, when
A pair of vegetable men

Began explaining what they had to sell;

And then the cry of "Rags!" was heard,

"Old iron!" all my nerves bestirred,

"Umbrellas here to mend!" "Fresh fish!" they yell.

Somebody with a clarinet,

A dinner gong I can't forget,

Ten million motors on the boulevard,
The parrot of the neighborhood,
A load of coal, a load of wood,

And then the girl who 's taking "vocal"

And so, poor

who'd thought to rest

Within a home by quiet blest,
Arose, still feeling indisposed and ill,
And just to get an hour's peace
Went where those city noises cease
Back to my labor in the rolling-mill.

IF I SHOULD DIE TO-NIGHT

IF I should die to-night,

And you should come to my cold corpse and say,
Weeping and heartsick, o'er my lifeless clay

If I should die to-night,

And you should come in deepest grief and woe,
And say, "Here 's that ten dollars that I owe,'
I might arise in my large white cravat,
And say, "What 's that?"

If I should die to-night,

And you should come to my cold corpse and kneel,
Clasping the bier to show the grief you feel;

I say, if I should die to-night,

And you should come to me, and there and then,
Just even hint 'bout paying me that ten,

I might arise the while, but I'd drop dead again.

BEN KING.

IN DEFENCE OF THE ADVERTISING MUSE

Shakespeare speaks:

SOMETIMES When I'm not at work on a play

Historic and full of warfare,

I try my hand, in a casual way,

At an ad. to keep me in carfare.

Why should n't I praise the bilious pill
And in loftiest numbers chirrup,

And make the popular heartstrings thrill
With a poem on soothing syrup?

Why should n't I cleave the cloudless dome
Through the billow of light that 's polar,
To rhapsodize on Excelsior Foam

That preserves the fleeting molar?

Sing ho! for the laurels won by me

On the lotion prepared for freckles!
My harp sha'n't hang on the willow tree
While the soap muse brings me shekels.

For I know in a general sort of way,

While with laughter I'm sorely shaken,
That the critics will rise in their might and say
That they all were written by Bacon.

RICHARD KENDALL MUNKITTRICK.

MY RECTOR

I NEVER see my rector's eyes;

He hides their light divine;

For, when he prays, he shuts his own,

And, when he preaches, mine.

ANONYMOUS.

THE TRUST AND THE TRUSTEE

(A Song for the Time)

IF a trustee in trusting doth trust him a trust,
In trusting the trust thus three things he intrusts:
The truster, thing trusted, and cestui que trust
Two trusts, too, he 's trusting in trusting this trust
With those three things intrusted in trust to the trust,

The trust in him trusted and the trust he intrusts.

Now those three things he's trusted and these two things in trust

By the trustee intrusted through trust in the trusts

That most trusters in trusting trust their trustees to trust,
Are in trust because trusty, trustworthy this trust

Or through other trusts trusted by trustees in trust
And trustworthily treated by the trusts that they trust.

But if trustless, untrusty, trustworthless this trust
That the trustee trusts trusts to through too trusting a trust
In the trusts he 's intrusted to trust with a trust,
Then the truster, things trusted, and the cestui que trust,
And the trust in trusts trusted, and the too trusting trust,
And the trust that he trusted, and the trustee

they bust. ANONYMOUS.

BILL'S IN TROUBLE

I'VE got a letter, parson, from my son, away out west,

An' my ol' heart is heavy as an anvil in my breast,

To think the boy whose futur' I had once so proudly planned
Should wander from the path o' right an' come to sich an end.
I told him when he started out toward the settin' sun
He'd find the row he had to hoe a mighty rocky one,

He'd miss his father's counsel an' his mother's prayers, too,
But he said the farm was hateful an' he guessed he 'd have to go.

I know there's big temptation for a youngster in the West,
But I believed our Billy had the courage to resist,

An' when he left I told him of the ever-waitin' snares
That lie like hidden serpents in life's pathway everywheres.
But Bill he promised faithful to be keerful an' allowed
He'd build a reputation that 'd make us mighty proud,
But it seems as how my counsel sort o' faded from his mind,
And now the boy 's in trouble of the very wustest kind.

His letters come so seldom that we somehow sort o' knowed
That Billy was a-trampin' in a mighty rocky road,
But never once imagined he would bow my head in shame
An' in the dust 'd waller his ol' daddy's honored name.
He writes from out in Denver, an' the letter 's mighty short
I just cain't tell his mother. It will break her poor ol' heart.
An' so I reckoned, parson, you might break the news to her
Bill's in the legislatur, but he does n't say what fur.

--

JAMES BARTON ADAMS.

A BALLAD OF MODERN FABLES

ALL ye who read of lovers' lore

Of Abelard and Heloise

How Aucassin in days of yore

His Nicolette sought sore to please

How various other hes and shes

For Love their very lives have paid;

Put by your tearful threnodies

And read the Fables of George Ade.

And ye who read of joust and war —
How "Gude King Arthure wonne ye grees'
How "Launcelot wolde fayn spill gore

how

"these

On hym that Tristram hight”-
Wight knightes wolde then drayne to ye lees

Ye stirrup-cup." O story frayed!

O Malory, to yon tall trees

And read the Fables of George Ade!

And ye who read how men explore

And sail the frigid Northern Seas:
(I deem such stuff an awful bore

I let 'em drown! I let 'em freeze!)
And Doctors who read of Disease;

Professors who through theses wade:
Cut Latin, Hebrew, Greek, Chinese,
And read the Fables of George Ade.

L'Envoi

Go all: from Deuce Spot to Main Squeeze
Wife, Husband, Bachelor, and Maid-

Stand in the salty, slangy breeze

And read the Fables of George Ade.

FRANKLIN P. ADAMS.

THE MEDICAL TYRO WAITING FOR PATIENTS

THE young doctor sits through his advertised hours
In a well-equipped office perfumed with flowers,
Longing and praying for patrons to come,
For a fee to receive as a comforting crumb.

Yet the bell tinkles not, nor a patient appears
In search of his skill, born of studious years;
He listens intently through long office hours,
And daily the news of the journals devours.

Thus day after day passes most of his time,
Though skill he has much, and ambition sublime;
He's opinions of value, and books by the score,
Yet e'en not a "charity" enters his door.

He writes his indulgent, venerable sire
Of money exhausted and rents that are higher,
And dozes and dreams of the riches of others,
Of sons who have wealthy fathers and mothers.

He wonders how long he must patiently wait
For patients to come and his sorrows abate;
He sees Dr. Doe sporting satisfied airs
With a balance in bank and penates and lares.

And queries if fate with an infamous plot
Be the cause of his sad and most desolate lot;
He wonders if Smith, and Johnson, and Jones,
Could have thus ever lived as professional drones;